GO WEST

Chapter 23: "I Heard Someone Crying"
("Hold Her Down" part 2)

The circumstances leading up to callback auditions had been stranger than Marie-Ange would have expected. It had all begun the first day of the quarter, when Dr. Kitson, director of the UCSD Chorale and Opera Workshop, had announced that the latter of the two was changing its winter quarter production, from Strauss's "Die Fledermaus" to the Broadway musical "The Secret Garden," with auditions the first weekend of the quarter.

Douglas, having seen and enjoyed the musical before, immediately decided that he wanted to be a part of it, so he signed up to audition for the role of the male lead, Archie Craven. He also encouraged Marie-Ange to audition for the part of Lily, one of the two female leads. At first she'd been reluctant, as this was her first quarter at the new school, but after considering the role itself, and the beauty of the music, she'd agreed.

Once she had decided, Douglas quickly began making plans for an ideal audition. As he so often did, he began to get carried away with it, thinking that the best thing in the world would be to audition with the first-act trio of "I Heard Someone Crying," one of the most moving pieces in the entire work. For that, they would need a third voice to play the part of the young girl Mary Lennox, the third principal role. Douglas had practically pounced on Rahne, seeing her as perfect for the part, and after having convinced her (much to Rahne's own confusion, Marie-Ange would have guessed), the three of them set to work learning the trio.

After hearing the three of them working together on the project for a couple of days, Sharon, too, decided to sign up for the auditions, and after a futile attempt to talk Danielle into doing the same, she actually managed to convince Warlock to audition with her.

Ric, as could be expected, wanted nothing to do with it, but he very patiently endured the week of constant rehearsing going on around the house.

The audition weekend came, and their trio was, Marie-Ange thought, a smashing success. The judges had been highly impressed by their obvious hard work (they were one of very few group auditions), and all seemed very hopeful.

Then, when callbacks had been posted the next week, Marie-Ange found, much to her surprise, that not only had she herself made callbacks for the part of Lily, but Rahne had also been called back for the part of Mary. This had come as an even greater shock to Rahne, as she had only considered herself "along for the ride" with the audition, and would never have guessed that she'd be considered for a role.

Douglas, however, had not been called back for the part of Archie. Apparently, this role had been pre-cast; the part was already filled by a music major by the name of Richard Starbuck. Douglas had been highly irritated that no one had thought to tell him this (though he freely admitted that Rick would make a great Archie), and even the fact that his name was on the list for "second-round" callbacks (to fill the lesser lead roles and chorus parts) was not enough to ease his disappointment.

So it was Marie-Ange and a very befuddled Rahne who came to UCSD's on-campus recital hall the following Saturday afternoon for the lead-role callbacks. The competition had been narrowed down greatly: only two singers for each of the female roles had made it this far.

To be completely honest with herself, Marie-Ange didn't much think that she had a chance, and it wouldn't be much easier for Rahne. Rahne's competition for the part of Mary was another freshman alto by the name of Melanie Addiego, and Marie-Ange would be going up against Brandy Noveh, a transfer student from New Orleans, who also happened to be one of the most talented sopranos Marie-Ange had ever heard.

The audition, oddly enough, was "I Heard Someone Crying" again: the same song Marie-Ange, Rahne, and Douglas had used the week before. The idea was to try different combinations of singers, to see who had the best vocal chemistry together. Dr. Kitson was on hand to judge, of course, as were Dr. Sheila Parker and Dr. Harley Mecklenberg, Kitson's fellow voice instructors.

Richard Starbuck (or Rick, as he preferred to be called) seemed, at first sight, completely unfit for the role of Archie. He arrived at the audition wearing shorts, a t-shirt, sandals, sunglasses, and about six earrings in his left ear. His voice, however, had a strength and purity of tone that belied his appearance: an operatic tenor which quite effectively transcended his casual dress and compact frame.

They had Marie-Ange and Melanie sing the trio with Rick first, and she gave it her best, trying to put herself as much into the role as she could: the tragic figure of Archie's wife, still haunting the halls of their home after having died ten years before in childbirth. It was a role she felt some affinity for, oddly enough, and when the song was over, she felt that she had indeed done her best with it.

Next, they had Brandy and Rahne sing the same trio with Rick, and it was nothing short of perfect. Brandy's voice filled the hall, sounding for all the world like the voice of a spirit, and Marie-Ange knew that she herself didn't have a chance. Moreover, after listening, she didn't want a chance; Brandy was Lily on that stage, and to even consider otherwise seemed wrong, somehow. But at the same time, she didn't feel at all disappointed; the show would be a joy to hear.

Next, they tried the other two combinations -- Rahne with Marie-Ange and Brandy with Melanie -- but Marie-Ange's heart wasn't quite in it. She still gave it a good run, but she'd already resigned herself.

Afterwards, the three professors thanked the five for a series of splendid performances. Marie-Ange and Brandy were asked to meet Dr. Kitson in his office in ten minutes, and Rahne and Melanie were asked to meet at the same time with Dr. Parker.

On the way to Dr. Kitson's office, though, Brandy said the last thing Marie-Ange would have expected. "God, I feel like I completely blew it up there. You did so much better than me."

Marie-Ange turned wide eyes on her, all of her hope suddenly coming back in a rush. "Do you really think so? Non, non, you were wonderful! I could feel the emotion in every word when you sang!"

"Really?" Brandy asked, surprised. "Geez, I was trying to get into the role, but I kept getting distracted. It makes me nervous trying to sing against Rick... not to mention following someone as good as you."

"Oh, merci... but I think you shall have the part. You have a remarkable talent."

At this, Brandy actually laughed. "God, listen to us. Well, I guess whoever gets it gets it, right?"

Marie-Ange smiled. "I could accept that."

Dr. Kitson arrived a moment later and ushered the two ladies into his office, motioning for them to take a seat.

He wasted no time with the verdict. "Well, we talked it over, and we've decided to give the part to Brandy."

Marie-Ange looked over at Brandy and smiled, and only then did she feel the first sinking sensations of disappointment. Seeing the excitement on Brandy's face, though, made it seem more than justified.

"Your audition was wonderful, Mireille," Kitson went on, "and it was a difficult decision for us, to say the least. And as much as I hate to use the word 'understudy,' we'd really like you to study the role as well, if you... wouldn't mind that."

"Mind?" Marie-Ange mirrored back. "Non, of course not! I'd love to!"

"Well, good. We'll be posting an official cast list sometime in the next week, once we fill all the roles, and we'll be getting you copies of the full score soon. Do either of you... have any questions?"

Brandy and Marie-Ange exchanged glances, then both shrugged in unison. "Not me," Brandy replied.

"Well, thank you both for auditioning. From what I've heard today, I think the show's going to be a great success."

Both girls got up to leave, but Dr. Kitson voice stopped Marie-Ange in her tracks. "Mireille, could I speak with you for a moment before you go?"

"Of course," Marie-Ange nodded. She looked at Brandy, who gave her a little wave before leaving the office. Marie-Ange took her seat again, and gave the professor a quizzical look.

"First of all," Kitson said at length, "I wasn't kidding when I said that this was a very difficult decision to make. Depending on how tomorrow's auditions go, I might ask you to consider one of the other female roles, if you'd like. None of them are filled yet."

"You needn't push anyone else out of the way on my behalf," Marie-Ange chuckled. "I shall be more than happy to understudy with Brandy."

Kitson nodded. "I may also need your assistance with the orchestra. It calls for a harpsichord, among other things, and Dr. Mecklenberg has been raving about your work accompanying the Madrigals."

"I think I'd enjoy giving that a try."

"Good, good!" He then paused. "Now... you and Aaron are... somewhat close, are you?"

This question caught her completely off-guard. What did Douglas have to do with any of this? "Well... you could say that, yes. Why do you ask?"

Kitson smiled guiltily. "I was just wondering if he's still annoyed with me for not considering him for Archie. We've had Rick in mind for the role pretty much since the beginning."

"I believe that is what he found so... annoying. If you had mentioned before auditions that the lead role was already filled, he would not have auditioned for it and brought his hopes up."

"Well, regardless... don't tell him this, but he's a shoe-in for the role of Dickon. It's a fair-sized role, and I hope he'll take it. And to be honest, it's more his style. Aaron has a good voice, but he's much more a lyric tenor than anything else; he's far more suited for Dickon than Archie. Especially the way he does accents."

She nodded, considering this. "I'll keep the cat in the bag, Doctor."

"Thank you," Kitson smiled. His expression then faded to somewhere between thoughtful and perplexed. "Actually, there was something else I wanted to... discuss with you."

"What would that be?"

Kitson shifted in his chair. "Your arrival here was a complete surprise to the department. It isn't every day that someone with your talent shows up, quite literally out of nowhere. You have a well-trained voice suited for choral music as well as opera, your keyboard skills are making our staff accompanist look nervously over her shoulder, wondering if her job's in danger, and your fellow firsts in the orchestra have come to me and described you as a 'violin goddess.'"

"Thank you," Marie-Ange said, quietly, wondering what he was driving at.

"What I could never figure out, though, is why I'd never heard about you until you came to visit with Aaron last quarter, because there was something very familiar about you. And then it occurred to me..."

Marie-Ange felt panic close cold fingers over her heart as Kitson reached into his desk and pulled out a very familiar-looking issue of STRAD magazine. It had been one of the proudest moments of her life, being made the subject of a five-page illustrated feature in the magazine's December 1992 issue. He lay the issue upon his desk, open to the full-page photo of Marie-Ange posing with her Stradivarius.

"I remember reading this article when the issue came out, and being very impressed. I also remembered that a few months later, I caught a televised broadcast of this same young lady playing with the Boston Pops. When I recalled all this the other day, I pulled out this issue and read it again. And I have only one question. What in the world would Marie-Ange Colbert, a true virtuoso, be doing in my graduate studies program, under the apparently assumed name of Mireille Loiseau?"

"A fair question," she whispered.

There was a pause. "Don't tell me you came all the way out here just because of Aaron," Kitson then said, in as joking a tone as he could manage.

"Non, not as such," she replied, quietly. "But he is a large part of my reason for staying."

Again, there was silence. Kitson seemed to be waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn't even know where to begin. All she could think about was how many other members of the staff might already know.

"From the tone of the article," the professor continued at last, "you seemed very happy at the Massachusetts Academy, and you had your next few years all mapped out. I... could only assume that it took something... very earth-shattering to tear you away from that."

She nodded, but could not bring herself to speak, nor look up into his eyes.

"If it's something you'd rather not discuss, I understand," he went on. "And it hasn't gone any further than this. I assume you have adequate reason."

She struggled with the words for a while before she spoke. "Something very... horrible happened to me at the Academy last autumn," she said at last. "Something... earth-shattering, as you said, that took my plans and my future and dashed them to pieces before my eyes. I... could not stay, after what happened. So I came here, where I could live among friends, and make a fresh start. And... try to forget."

"I understand," Kitson replied, softly. "Um, look... like I said, this never has to leave this room, if you don't want it to. You can go on being Mireille, and get that fresh start, and I won't give you any grief over it. And I'm very happy to have you involved in our program."

"Thank you, Doctor," she nodded. "I think that would be best. I really need the chance to... start over."

"I'm just glad you're doing it here," he smiled. "I mean that."

She nodded in reply, then made an effort to get to her feet. "Is there anything else, Doctor?"

"I don't think so," he shrugged. "Just thank you again for your audition, and I'll see you on Monday."

"Thank you, as well," she nodded, then stepped to the door.

As she opened the door, though, he spoke again. "Actually, Mireille, there is one other thing."

She paused in the doorway to look back at him. "Yes?"

"Will you be going to the rally tonight?"

"Rally?" she asked, wrinkling her brow.

"As I understand it, there's a 'Take Back the Night' rally tonight at the Revelle monument. Open mike. You might want to consider it."

He knew. Even though she hadn't specifically stated that she'd been raped, he'd been able to figure it out for himself. "I shall. Merci, Doctor."
 
 

Brandy was waiting for her at the end of the hall as she left the office. "You okay, Miri?" she asked, noticing the expression on Marie-Ange's face.

"Oui, I'm alright," Marie-Ange smiled, making an effort to clear the confusion. "Congratulations."

"I'll probably feel guilty the whole time... you really were good. The only thing I can think of is that they gave it to me because you're so much taller than Rick is."

They both laughed at this, as it was more than true. Marie-Ange's height had been a factor on stage at the Academy as well. "Do you think it would have embarrassed him?"

"Who can tell?" Brandy shrugged. "Um, hey, as long as we're going to be working together... do you want to go out for coffee sometime? Talk music, or whatever? I'm still pretty new around here myself, and I'm really trying to meet people... It's kind of tough; everyone seems to think I'm some kind of snob, I think."

"I'd like that," Marie-Ange nodded, once Brandy paused for breath. "I... could certainly do with meeting new friends myself."

"Great! Let me give you my number." She fished a slip of paper and a pen from her purse, and quickly scrawled out a phone number. "Are you going to be busy tonight?"

"I... might be," Marie-Ange nodded. "But I'll call and let you know."

"Sounds good. I... need to get going, but I guess I'll see you later, right?"

"Bien sûr!"

Brandy's face broke into another of her characteristic grins. "You have the most beautiful accent. I've got this Fauré piece that's absolutely killing me on the French pronunciation. Do you think I might be able to convince you to give me a little coaching on it sometime?"

"I'd be happy to!"

"Thanks," Brandy smiled again. She reached over to give Marie-Ange's arm a little squeeze, then was off with a wave. "Talk to you later!"

Feeling somewhat more heartened, Marie-Ange headed down to the lobby of the music building, where she found Rahne waiting for her, looking more befuddled than ever. "Bonjour," she called to the younger girl.

Rahne shook her head at Marie-Ange, her eyes wide. "They're givin' me the part!" she said, astounded. "I canna believe it! Did ye get yuir part?"

"Non, they gave it to Brandy."

"Och, I cannae believe this! I auditioned as a favor t'ye and Douglas, and then I got a part and neither of ye did! It doesna' seem fair!"

Marie-Ange patted her on the shoulder. "That's theater for you."
 
 

As the two walked across campus together, on their way back to the house, Marie-Ange noticed something that made her feel very cold inside.

The closer to the edge of campus one walked, the more graffiti one was liable to find on the sidewalks. It was almost always thoughtful graffiti, however, and entire debates of political or philosophical one-liners could often be found scrawled in different colors of paint as one walked along.

What caught Marie-Ange's attention, though, was a brand new message, scrawled in small, even, capital letters in a sedate black.

It read: EVERY MAN IS A POTENTIAL RAPIST.

Written underneath, in red: TAKE BACK THE NIGHT.

Marie-Ange believed in omens. They were an integral part of her life's work, after all. But for the life of her, she couldn't even begin to guess why fate was doing this to her.

Massachusetts Academy, Snow Valley MA
Saturday, 22 January 1994 6:17 pm EST

Mick MacPherson's Underground office was little more than an oversized closet, just large enough for a desk, a Multivac terminal, a few shelves, and a couple of chairs. The decor was, to say the least, spartan, as Mick had been inhabiting the room for less than three weeks: his tenure to date as Hellion co-supervisor.

Somehow, it seemed much longer, he thought to himself as he leaned back in his chair, keyboard resting on his lap, typing the latest in a long string of reports on the day's activities.

A knock at the open door drew his attention away from his screen, and he was mildly surprised to see Tessa standing there, with a few sheets of printout in her hands. "Good evening, Michael," she nodded.

"Evenin', Tessa," he replied, giving her a weary smile. "What's new?"

"I thought you might like to hear the results of Farsight's psychic search of Johnson's corpse," she told him, indicating the pages in her hands. "I've logged the information into Multivac, but I thought you might wish to see it right away."

Mick grimaced. "How did that go, anyway? Is Marsha alright?"

"She performed quite well, given both the difficulty and the decidedly distasteful nature of the task." Tessa seated herself at the only other chair in the tiny space, and handed the pages to Mick.

He scanned past the first page of text, to find that the remaining three were lists of addresses. "What's all this?" he asked.

"One of the first things Farsight discovered was that Johnson believed himself to be dying of AIDS."

Mick blinked once. "Oh. Yeh, that'd explain why he looked as rough as he did. So... what're these?"

"Names and addresses of the women with whom Johnson had sexual intercourse in the past twelve months. These were the ones that Farsight could determine through use of her powers, but apparently there were many more."

"Cripes," Mick whispered, looking at the list. There were a few dozen at least. "That bastard. Always used his powers to get what he wanted."

"What this gives us," Tessa went on, "is a list of his victims, all of whose lives are in danger. Marsha insisted on going back a full year to find as many as she could. It... could not have been easy for her."

"No... No, it couldn't. She didn't have to do this..."

"She felt it to be her duty," Tessa replied. "Now all we must do is find a way to notify all of these ladies that they are at risk."

Mick set the report on his desk and sighed. "And won't that be pleasant. Apart from this, though, what did she find?"

"She found that Johnson was nowhere near the Academy the night of October 27. He was, in fact, in Vermont. What's more, he has not, in the intervening months, had contact with either Tarot or Catseye. He was responsible for the threatening knife and note that arrived on Emma's desk a few days before the attack, but after that, he made no effort toward coordinating revenge until comparatively recently, when he abducted and brainwashed Wraith."

"Damn," Mick cursed. "Well, if he didn't do it, and Camouflage didn't do it, who did?"

"With any luck, Dr. Kokiadis and Rabbit will be successful in their search through the evidence."

"I hope you're right."

Tessa paused. "There is another matter which requires your attention as co-supervisor."

"Oh?"

"Yes. After her search, Farsight made a formal request to be removed from her position as B-team co-leader. We shall have to discuss the matter with Dr. Kokiadis, as well as bring it to Emma's attention. For my own part, I believe that we should respect her wishes."

"I'm inclined to agree," Mick nodded. "Poor girl. I guess she never really got the hang of leadership. But who could we get to replace her?"

"No one, for the time being," Tessa shrugged. "The entire roster has already been placed on inactive status for the foreseeable future. Finding a new co-leader is not an immediate concern.

As Mick was about to reply, they were suddenly interrupted by a somewhat out-of-breath Robby "Bacchus" Jefferson, who all but threw himself into the office. "Mick! It's Chance!"

Mick was on his feet in an instant. "What is it, Rob? What's happened to her?"

"She's gone!" Robby panted. "I went and looked for her in EQ's, and she was gone!"

"The likelihood is that she returned above ground as soon as Security took us off emergency status," Tessa suggested.

Robby shook his head. "Yeah, I figured that too, but then when I went up to check her room in the dorm, all her stuff was gone! I think she took off!"

"Bloody 'ell," Mick muttered, punching a sequence of buttons on his speaker-phone. In a few seconds, a voice came through the tiny speaker. "Security. McElhatton here."

"Mack, this is Dreamwalker. I need to talk to the chief."

"The chief's in conference right now. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yeh, there is. It looks like Chance might'a gone AWOL on us. I need you to scan for 'er if you could."

MassAc Security, 6:24 pm EST

"So what have you got?" Chief DeCandido asked, simply.

Gilbert indicated the gargantuan screen of the chief's computer. "Well, I think we might have a suspect for our cover-up theory."

A.C. nodded, and took over the narration. "While I was talking to Emma, Gil started checking reports on the Buchwald house investigation, assignments, and such. It turns out that the name Dennis Brooks showed up on an awful lot of these. Not only was he the one who made the check on the Buchwald house, but apparently he volunteered for the job."

"Denny Brooks?" DeCandido asked, wrinkling his forehead. "You seriously think he had something to do with this?"

"Well, it wasn't just the check on Flagstaff that may or may not have been bogus. According to the records, he had his fingers in all kinds of pies during the whole investigation. He was constantly volunteering for lab duty, computer analyses... all sorts of things."

Gilbert nodded. "In fact, his name appeared on nearly every single one of the 'INCONCLUSIVE' lab investigations, as part of the lab team."

"Well, of course he'd be there," DeCandido nodded. "He's one of our best agents in the scientific end of things. He does lab work and legwork with about equal frequency."

"That's as may be," A.C. shrugged. "But it's possible that he was playing saboteur all the while, making sure that the data was inconclusive to cover up the truth."

The chief paused. "So... what are you getting at? You think Brooks was our rapist? Can't be. Chapman and the sentries were attacked with mental powers, and Brooks is as human as they come."

"No, but he might have been working for whoever did break in," A.C. replied.

"Can you prove it?" DeCandido asked, looking from A.C. to Gilbert.

"Maybe," Gilbert frowned. "That's why we called you in, actually. Now, down in the lab, when the initial computer scans were made of the blood samples, the semen sample, and all that, is it possible that someone could have gotten in and corrupted the data before the results came through?"

"Possible, yes. But difficult. Especially in a team effort."

"Ah, but during the lab check on the semen, according to the logs, Brooks was working alone."

"Oh?"

Gilbert nodded. "So what we wanted to ask you was this: When the scan was made, would any backup of the original data have been made before Brooks or anyone else could have theoretically tampered with it?"

DeCandido thought about this for a long while, then nodded slowly. "For the systems here in the office, yes. The remote stations around campus dump their data to the main backup system hourly, but for the lab stations and other on-site computers, a backup goes straight to the main data dump."

"Who'd have access to those backups?" A.C. asked.

"Just me," the chief said, quietly. "Mack and I are the only ones who even know about it, for this very reason. I suppose I could call up the original scan data from the dump and compare it to what's in the lab system now. That'd prove it one way or the other."

Gilbert stood, relinquishing the seat to DeCandido. "Have at it, Chief."

"Right. Um... could you two stand over there while I do this?"

A.C. and Gilbert exchanged glances, then obligingly stepped away from the console while the chief went to work. A.C. waggled his eyebrows at Gilbert and gave him a crooked smile. "Be vewy vewy quiet. We're huntin' cwiminals. Huhuhuhuhuh."

"I hope this works," Gilbert nodded in reply.

"Okay, I've found it," DeCandido reported. He continued to narrate the proceedings as he typed. "I'll check the semen scan; that would be the most incriminating piece of evidence. Okay... got it. Let me call up the same file from the lab database, then I'll run a cross-check. This could take a little while."

"Time we've got," A.C. shrugged.

Almost immediately, a sound-bite of breaking glass came from the monitor. DeCandido's eyes widened. "Hello..! That was fast. Oh." His face darkened, and he sat back away from the screen.

"What is it?" Gilbert asked, anxiously.

"You were right," DeCandido nodded. "The data's corrupt. Looks like Denny's our saboteur."

A.C. and Gilbert sat down, and the three shared a brief silence.

"Well, now what?" A.C. asked.

DeCandido replied by keying in a numeric code on the comm device strapped to his waist. "Corsi?" he said into his headset mike. "This is the chief. Now listen very carefully. I need you to gather up a team of three or four armed sentries, and I want you to place Denny Brooks under arrest. No, I'm not kidding. Just confine him until further notice. And keep it quiet, will you? Alright. Keep me posted. DeCandido out."

With that, he switched off the communicator and regarded the other two. "We can question him later, I suppose."

"You know," Gilbert said, furrowing his brow in thought, "maybe it'd be a good idea to re-check the original data you just pulled up. Check it against known biostats, and all that. This might have been an inside job."

"Yeah," A.C. nodded. "I doubt Brooks would have tampered with it unless he had reason to believe you would find something out from it."

"Right," DeCandido nodded, distractedly, turning back to his console and typing in a series of commands. Gilbert once again exchanged glances with A.C. It seemed the chief was none too pleased at having to arrest one of his own sentries.

"This'll take a few minutes at best," DeCandido added as he set the check in motion. He then turned in his chair to face the other two. "You know, this actually makes some sense. Brooks could have been the one who flushed the computer at Dent Hall before it could make its hourly dump, and erased all of the digitized video logs. He also could have helped whoever it was escape to the hangar."

"No, that was something that threw us, too," A.C. frowned. "Brooks wasn't even on campus when the attack took place, or when the flyer was stolen. According to the logs, he drew bodyguard duty that night; he and Platt were in Boston, watching over Roulette and Jetstream."

"It was even mentioned in one place that he tried to get a few other people to take that duty for him, but he couldn't find anyone in time," Gilbert added.

"Hell, that's right!" DeCandido nodded, snapping his fingers at this memory. "He was the one who found Chapman out cold in the Dent Hall office that night! He might've had time to wipe the computer before reporting in to me..." With that, he got to his feet and began scanning the rows of binders on his crowded shelves. He quickly pulled out the one he needed and started flipping through the pages of printout inside.

"What're you looking for?" Gilbert asked.

"Exact times, from the logs," DeCandido answered. "Let's see... Oh. Shit. No, that won't work. He got back to campus at 11:39 pm, and the Dent Hall system had already gone offline by then."

"Then it must have been someone else who knows how to run the Security computers," A.C. suggested.

"Hell," DeCandido muttered, once again punching in a code on his comm unit. "Corsi, it's the chief again. Have you got your team yet? Damn. Okay, as soon as you make the arrest, the whole lot of you come see me for debriefing immediately, clear? Okay. DeCandido out."

"What's up, Chief?" A.C. asked him.

"Well, it sounds like someone else from Security might've been working with Brooks on this, and we don't know who. For all I know, it might be one of Corsi's team, for Christ's sake. I want a chance to question Denny before word gets out about what we're doing here."

Quite suddenly, a "BOING!" sound emitted from the computer. DeCandido looked at the display, and his eyes widened. "We've got a match," he said in a tight voice.

Gilbert and A.C. looked first at one another, then all but clambered over the top of each other to look over the chief's shoulders.

Their jaws dropped in unison as they read the display.
 
 

MATCH(ES) FOUND (90% CERTAINTY OR GREATER): 1

MATCH(ES) FOUND (95% CERTAINTY OR GREATER): 1

MATCH(ES) FOUND (98% CERTAINTY OR GREATER): 1
 
 

DE LA ROCHA, MANUEL ALFONSO RODRIGO - CERTAINTY: 99.89%
 
 

"Well," Gilbert nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "That, um, certainly puts a new spin on things, doesn't it?"

"You could say that, yes," A.C. agreed.

McAudry House, La Jolla CA 4:41 pm PST

"Don't make a sound, now," he whispered, putting his hand over her mouth as he leaned her over her bed. "This will be our moment, cherie; none of the others must hear."

Non! The others! Sharon! Haroun! Help me! Mam'selle Frost! Where are you?! I need you!! Help me!!

The music played on. He was not gentle with her, but she didn't care, she loved him too much, the pain was good, it fed her anger, it kept her from submitting, she already had, it was good, she loved him, he wanted her, she could not refuse him, it hurt, it hurt more than anything she could imagine, she fought, she tried to scream, he told her not to scream, she wanted to please him, she didn't make a sound, not the slightest sound, there was nothing but the pain, he wanted so much for her to love him, he loved her so...

Did you hear my heart breaking?

"My love," he growled through clenched teeth, "aren't you enjoying this?"

...his love, he loves me, he wants me to love him, he loves me, I hate him, he's so kind, he wants me, he wants me to submit, it shouldn't be like this, not like this, for the love of God, he's raping me! Sharon! Mam'selle Frost!! Somebody help me!!

Did you hear my heart breaking?

"You'll forget Amara Aquila ever existed, my sweet... Won't that be nice?"

She let a soft, quiet sigh escape her. It was all she could allow herself. He wanted her to be quiet, the others weren't to hear, this was their private moment, her first love, her last love, no love at all, his eyes, he's angry, he's... he's mad! Help me!!

A sudden pounding on the door...

Did you hear something?

The noise at the door grew louder and more frenzied, but still he didn't notice. "Come on, cherie, let me hear you scream!" he cried, releasing her mind.

It was a scream torn from her very soul, a scream of fury at what he had done to her, of terror that she could do nothing to prevent it...

"Yes! Scream, damn you, scream!!" he gasped, his face a rictus of ecstatic madness.

The door was suddenly smashed open from outside, and a violet blur of fur, claws and fangs cannoned into him and knocked him into the floor.

Her scream died as she felt his crushing weight release her. She heard feline yowls and human cries, barely audible over the sound of her own frantic heart. A panic that was not hers, a surge of adrenaline, a frenzied assault of fear. A final catlike snarl, a strangled, gurgling scream...

The voices left her head, and she was cold. No love, no passion, fury melting quickly into despair.

The music continued, unmoved by these events. Still dazed, still in agony both physically and mentally, she began to cry.

Then Sharon was there, sitting beside her in the bed, violet cat-eyes full of sympathy, pulling her close and holding her. "Cry not, redhair," Sharon whispered, rocking Marie-Ange in her embrace. "Cry not, cry not. Sneaky badboy heart-twister gone. Catseye will protect redhair."

Sharon's hands were wet against her back, but she scarcely noticed. Shock was giving way to memory... every last moment in vivid, graphic detail. She began to tremble, then shake with sobs. "Sharon," she cried, pitifully.

"Sssh. Cry not, sweet redhair," Catseye repeated, holding her friend's head to her shoulder. Here, she noticed that Sharon's hands were bloodied to the wrists, and the blood did not seem to be her own.

No. Not yet. She couldn't think about that yet. She clung to Sharon even as she tried to hold onto her own sanity. She cried until she had no more tears, and Sharon steadied her, trying in vain to soothe her with a whisper or a purr.

Did you hear my heart breaking?

At last, she dared to open her eyes again and look past Sharon's shoulder.

Manuel was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. His face was frozen in a look of shock and horror. Blood still seeped from... from...

Catseye had quite literally torn his throat out with her claws.

...lovehimhatehimloathehimwanthimmondieuhe'sdeadhe'sdeadHE'SDEAD!

The couch. The long couch in the living room. She'd been reading here, within sight of the sinking sun, and had fallen asleep.

Even during the day, the dreams plagued her. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to tell herself that she was safe, but she could not truly believe it.

No. No tears. She would not cry. She would be strong. The house was empty, with Douglas and Danielle at the ranch, Sharon and Warlock off running errands, and Ric in Los Angeles. Nobody was there to hear her scream.

Nobody except...

She heard the soft footfalls first, coming from the opposite end of the wheel-shaped house, and in moments, Rahne was there, surprise and confusion etched on her face. "Marie-Ange?" she called.

"I... I'm alright, Rahne." It was an effort to keep her voice level.

Rahne crossed the huge room and sat beside her on the couch, the concern never leaving her face. "I heard ye scream..."

"It was... just a nightmare. Really, it was nothing. They just... seem so real sometimes."

"Aye," Rahne nodded, looking down.

For a long time, neither spoke a word, and Marie-Ange went on taking deep breaths, trying to calm her racing pulse.

"Were ye... dreamin' about what happened to ye?" Rahne asked, carefully.

Marie-Ange nodded, wordlessly.

Rahne nodded in return. "Ye... dream about tha' often, don't ye?"

"How... how do you know that?"

"I'm a light sleeper," Rahne shrugged. "I've heard ye cry out in the middle of the night a few times."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"'Tis not yuir fault."

After another pause, Rahne went on. "This may sound like a funny thing t'be sayin', but... ye told me once tha' ye were raised Catholic?"

"Oui, c'est vrai."

"Aye. An'... ye've also told me tha' some awful things happened to ye when ye were a wee lass. Is... that why ye stopped believin'?"

Marie-Ange nodded slowly. "I could not believe, Rahne. I could not believe that any merciful God would allow that to happen to me night after night, no matter how fervently I prayed for release."

"Aye," she repeated. "But... I heard somethin' in church a couple of weeks ago, and it made me think of ye. 'Twas about the reasons f'r things happenin' the way they do, and why we must suffer in the world as we do."

Rahne stopped to take a breath, and Marie-Ange waited for her to continue.

"B'lieve me, I know how hard it c'n be t'take faith in the midst of sufferin', but... p'rhaps God was only makin' ye t'suffer that way b'cause He knew it would make ye strong f'r somethin' else later in yuir life. F'r some other struggle that ye wouldna' be able to face otherwise. Does... tha' make any sense t'ye?" She said the last in a small, meek voice.

Marie-Ange took a slow breath, considering this, and then nodded once. "Actually, Rahne, it makes a lot of sense. Thank you."

For a few comfortable moments, neither of the two spoke. Rahne, at length, gave Marie-Ange her best reassuring smile. Marie-Ange herself had to wonder how often Rahne found herself in this role.

"Are ye goin' t'be okay?"

"Yes. Thank you for... checking on me."

Looking perhaps a bit embarrassed, Rahne stood, smoothed her skirts, then started back for the hall, never turning her back to the other girl. "I'll jus' be... in m'room if ye need me."

"Alright. I appreciate that... I really do."

Rahne finally turned and headed back down the hall toward her room. After taking another moment or two to compose herself, Marie-Ange stood as well, and went the other way down the circular hall, opening the panel-door to the office. She took a seat at the mahogany desk, picked up the phone there, and after pausing a moment to remember the number, she dialed.

"Hello, Brandy? This is Mireille. Oui, bonjour to you, too."

She leaned back in the chair, taking a deep breath. "I called to tell you I won't be able to join you for coffee this evening. There is... something else I need to do..."

Highway 79, near Descanso, CA
Saturday, 22 January 1994 5:22 pm

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you this much at a loss for words. Come on, what's been bugging you today?"

Doug looked across the cab of the truck to see Danielle spare him a glance before turning her attention back to the road. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. "Got a lot on my mind, is all."

"So what else is new? Doug, you always have a lot on your mind; it's one of your most endearing qualities when it isn't so damn annoying. This is different, isn't it?"

For a while, Doug looked out the window and watched the blur of green and occasional patch of white flash by. "I didn't sleep too well last night."

"Nightmares again?" Dani asked, her voice suddenly serious.

"She's been having them every night lately. The worst of it is that there isn't a thing I can do about it."

Dani looked over and gave him the familiar arched eyebrows. "Anything you can do, eh?"

"Alright, alright, so maybe it's not something I'm supposed to be able to do, but I really wish it were. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to love somebody this much, and yet not be able to do anything to help them? I mean, I tell her I love her, I show her I love her, I try to be reassuring when I can, and she tells me that she appreciates it, and that it helps, but then every night, when she's asleep..." Doug ground to a halt, then took a breath. "I want to help her, and when it comes right down to it, I can't. And you know, that's something I find really difficult to accept."

A wry chuckle escaped Dani's lips. "Yeah, that's you, alright. You always want to fix the world, and make everyone better, and it pisses you off that you can't. That's another one of your qualities that's endearing and irritating all at the same time."

"Which wins out most often?"

Dani grinned. "Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

"So you are."

"So... what have you done, other than offered moral support? Have you suggested she see a therapist?"

"She didn't think it would be a good idea."

"Um... sleeping pills, maybe?"

"She doesn't like to use drugs when she can avoid it. I even suggested she use her meditation techniques, but she waffled. It's almost like she wants to have these dreams sometimes."

There was a gap in the conversation as Dani took the turnoff that would lead them back to I-8. "Maybe," she said at length, "this is how she comes to terms with what happened. It could be that she's been suppressing it, and this is her mind's way of confronting her with it, so she can really put it behind her." She shrugged. "Best diagnosis I can give. As for you, just go on doing what you're doing. It may not seem like your moral support is doing much, but I think she'd be a lot worse off without it."

"So long as it stays on the endearing side and not the annoying, eh?"

"You got it."

Doug managed a half-smile. "Thanks."

"That's what I'm here for. So, what else?"

"Excuse me?"

"What else is bugging you?"

"What, that wasn't enough?"

"No, it was plenty, but there is something else, yes?"

"You reading my mind again, Chief?"

She snorted. "I don't need my power to read your mind, spud. You're as subtle as the proverbial brick."

Doug did not answer for a long while. "Well, there's another reason I didn't sleep too well last night," he said, carefully. "During one of the brief moments Angie was actually able to sleep, I got a phone call."

"Oh? Who was it?"

"Erin Kilvarough, from Greenbriar."

"Aaaaaand what did she have to say?" she prompted him.

"She told me... that Brainwash attacked the MassAc yesterday."

She turned wide eyes on him. "Oh, no..."

"Yeah," he nodded. "They stopped him... well, actually, they killed him, but there's one Hellion presumed dead, one amnesiac, and two or three in comas. He wasn't... terribly gentle with them."

"But... why?"

"Why did he attack? Well, according to A.C., who told all of this to Erin, he was looking for Catseye. And you know what that means."

Dani exhaled loudly. "It means it's only a matter of time before they figure out that Sharon killed Manuel that night."

"If they haven't figured it out already," Doug nodded. "As of the time A.C. talked to Erin last night, they hadn't."

"Oh, shit," Dani whispered. "Erin knows that Sharon and Angie are here, doesn't she?"

"Well, no. She knows that I know where they are, not that they're living with us. But yeah, if that gets out..."

"...We've got problems," she finished for him.

"It may not be as bad as that. I can always deny it."

"You telling me that you'd lie outright to Emma Frost? My, you are brave. Stupid, but brave."

"I'm hoping it won't come to that."

"Yeah, but if it does..." She paused for a moment. "Damn, I feel like a real louse. Hellions dead and comatose, and all I can worry about is our skins..."

"It's understandable, Chief. For what it's worth, Haroun's okay aside from needing some repairs, and Jenny wasn't involved; seems she went home on a leave of absence last month."

"Are we going to need to relocate?" she asked, suddenly.

"No. That wouldn't be fair to Rahne and Ric, for starters, seeing as they don't even know about what Sharon did."

"Now might be a good time to tell 'em."

Doug shook his head. "There'll never be a good time to tell Rahne, and I'm not just talking about emotional reasons. No, if it comes down to that, I'm thinking it'd be best if just the three of us -- Angie, Sharon and I -- did the relocating. If it comes to that."

For a moment, Dani was too stunned to answer. "If it comes to that, chum, we'll talk." A thought then struck her, and her face took on a look of reproach. "You haven't told them yet, have you?"

"Hm?"

"That their school got attacked? That their friends have been hurt? Nothing too major, I know, but you might have wanted to mention it."

"Not yet," Doug said, quietly. "Erin's supposed to call back tonight with more info on what exactly happened. Once I know more, I'll tell them about it."

"Fine," she sighed. "You know, I jinxed us. I was just thinking to myself the other day that we were past all this crap, and that things just might go right for a while."

"Not your fault," he sighed in return, reaching over to the steering wheel to give her nearest hand a squeeze. "It just happens."

Dent Hall, Massachusetts Academy
Saturday, 22 January 1994 6:31 pm EST

Buford looked up as a knock at the door sounded over the music. "C'mon in!" he called.

The door creaked open, and Kristina slipped into the bedroom of his suite, closing the door behind her as she did. She gave Buford a soft smile, apparent even through the dimness of the room. "How's your chest?" she asked, letting a guilty grimace through the smile as she sat down next to him on the side of his bed.

He started to push himself up onto his elbows, immediately thought better of it, and returned to his earlier reclined position. "'Bout the same as it was when you left, darlin'," he chuckled, determined not to let her see him in pain this time.

"Hurts?" she asked, seeing right through him.

"Yeah, a bit," he admitted with a sigh. Even the sigh was enough to make the burned skin across his chest pull more tightly, but the medical creme he'd rubbed on earlier kept the hurt to a minimum. "I gotta tell you, though, I'm not lookin' forward to the next few days. This is gonna start t' itch like crazy once it gets t' healin'. Anyway, how was dinner?"

"Pretty somber," Kristina frowned, looking down at her hands, her dark hair falling into her face. "We tried to make normal conversation, and at times it almost even worked, but... I think we're going to be a long time recovering from all of this, you know?"

"B'lieve me, I know," he nodded. "But we'll get through. You told me that y'rself, last night."

She very nearly smiled, but still didn't look up. "Yeah, I know. But you know me. Always easier to reassure than to be reassured, right?"

Ignoring the tightness in his skin, he reached over to her and brought his hand up beneath her chin, gently turning her face up to look at him. "We'll take care of each other, darlin'," he whispered. "Just stay with me, and we can make it work if we want it enough."

She did smile, then. "I'm not goin' anywhere, cowboy. You're stuck with me."

"Well, if that ain't just too bad," he grinned back, taking one of her hands in his.

After a comfortable pause, he cast a glance at the book she was holding on her lap with her other hand. "So, what'cha got there?"

"Oh!" she said, looking down at the book as though she'd forgotten it was there. "Well, I figured you're going to be stuck here for a while, taking it easy, and I was worried you might be getting bored."

He motioned his head toward the stereo. "A man's never bored when there's Reba playin'."

Kristina paused, listened to the music for a moment, but declined to comment. "Anyway, I started thinking to myself, and... I thought of a way to pass a few hours while you're recovering. You free for a while?"

"I might get called down t' talk to Miss Frost later on. I hear she wants t' talk t' the leader-types, and since Haroun's not here, they might need me. So... what's this idea?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Buford, when's the last time someone read you a story?"

"Geez, not since I was real little. Mah daddy used t' read t'me ever' now and again. He didn't get a real good education, y'see, an' he was real proud'a havin' learned t' read as good as he did, so he'd read for all'a us kids."

"Well," Kristina smiled, "not to say anything against your dad, but he probably didn't read you anything like this."

"Well, what is it?" he asked.

"We'll see how long it takes you to guess," she grinned. "Um... if it wouldn't hurt too much to move over a little, I'll scoot over next to you so I've got some light to go by."

"Sure," he nodded, then laboriously slid to one side. Buford, simply because of his size, had a pretty large bed, and it wasn't too much trouble to make room. Kristina slipped off her shoes, then lay down next to him, holding the book open over her head. Realizing quickly that this wouldn't work for long, she scooted up so that she could lean back against the headboard and prop the book open against her bent knees. She looked to her side, to see Buford gazing up at her, a curious smile on his face, then turned back to the book.

"'The hero of the tale which I beg the Muse to help me tell is that resourceful man who roamed the wide world after he had sacked the holy citadel of Troy. He saw the cities of many peoples and he learnt their ways. He suffered many hardships on the high seas in his struggles to preserve his life and bring his comrades home.'"

Buford listened to her voice, entranced. Here, she paused a moment, and took a deep breath before going on. When she spoke, though, there was a tension in her narrative that had not been there before.

"'But he failed to save those comrades, in spite of all his efforts. It was their own sin that brought them to their doom, for in their folly they devoured the oxen of Hyperion the Sun, and the god saw to it that they should never return.'"

Here, again, she paused, this time taking a pair of slow, deep breaths. Buford felt a sudden rush of concern. He didn't imagine that this hesitation was coming from her being 'into' the story or anything like that, but for the life of him, he couldn't tell what it was.

"'This is the tale I pray the divine Muse will... unfold... to us. Be- begin it, goddess, at... whatever point... you will...'"

Kristina slowly closed the book. Her right hand, which had been resting on Buford's opposite shoulder, came up to her chest, and Buford knew immediately that something was wrong. Ignoring the pain of his burns, he sat up next to her. "Krissie, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Can't you hear it?" she said in a tiny voice.

Buford grabbed a remote control from his nightstand and switched off the stereo. Even then, he couldn't hear what she was talking about, but he had a pretty good idea of what she meant. "Is it your heart?" he asked, quietly.

She closed her eyes and nodded, taking another deep breath at the same time. "Feel that?" she whispered, taking one of his hands and laying it against her chest.

One of the more unfortunate side effects of Buford's strength and durability was the fact that his tactile senses were not as sensitive as a normal person's. The same lack of sensitivity which prevented him from being hurt when he was hit also muffled certain forms of touch he rather enjoyed.

Even with this lack, though, he more than felt that Kristina's heart was hammering against her ribs. He quickly removed his hand and bent to place his ear to her chest then, to listen. Her pulse was speeding at a rate that suggested she'd been doing wind sprints rather than simply reading a story. Buford felt his own heart rate pick up, then, out of concern.

"It's starting again," she whispered.

"You want'a go to the infirmary?" he asked in a worried tone.

"No, this'll pass," she replied, shaking her head. "Dr. Friedlander's got enough to deal with right..." The sentence was cut off by a gasp, and Buford both heard and felt her heartbeat do a little canter, then speed further still.

"I think we'd better get on down there," he said, looking up to meet her eyes. "Can you move?"

"I think so," she breathed. When she tried to pivot to stand, though, she gasped again and clasped her hand to her chest. "This shouldn't be happening," she said in a small, tight voice. "They told me it wasn't going to happen anymore, and I was even starting to believe it..."

Buford reached to pick her up, but the pain was getting worse, and the last thing he needed to do was to drop her, or something worse, on the long way down to the infirmary. One of the first lessons his daddy had taught him was that a man had to know his limitations, and to know when to ask for help.

He reached for the phone, then, and quickly dialed a four-digit extension. "Hang on, darlin'," he said as the ringing commenced. "We'll get someone up here t' help you."

"Thanks," she winced. "I'll just sit riiiiight here for a sec..."

After a couple of rings, someone picked up. "Infirmary. Student speakin'. Help you?"

"Carlo, is that you?"

"Beeford! What's up?"

"Listen, man, Krissie's havin' some problems up here."

"What is it?" Giancarlo asked, his voice suddenly dead serious.

"It's her heart. Look, we need to get her down there or get someone up here, quick!"

"Yeah, I'll go get the Doc. You at your place?"

"Yep." Buford looked to Kristina again, then, and watched her take another breath, her face a mask of pain and fear. "And hurry, would'ja?"

Underground Quarters (secured), MassAc 7:26 pm EST

Alone this time, Mick MacPherson cautiously poked his head into the guarded room presently occupied by William and Dane Buchwald. He felt a twinge of amusement when he saw that they were in almost precisely the same positions they'd been in when he'd come to interview them the previous night: William sitting up on his cot, Dane seated in a chair, both watching a movie on the supplied TV and VCR.

"G'day, lads," he nodded, getting his quirky grin in place as he slipped the rest of the way in and closed the door behind him. He sidled up to the TV and shut it off. "I hope y'been treated well down here."

"Yeah, real nice place for a prison," Dane snorted, sarcastically. "You guys heard enough yet? You gonna let us go home now?"

"As a matter of fact," Mick nodded, "we have, and we are." He searched his immediate area for another chair, located one, and pulled it up, seating himself ass-backwards, balancing his clipboard on the back of the chair. "In some ways, the timing of all this couldn't be better. We've found some new evidence that clears you, Will, and we'll be more'n happy to send you lads home right away, with what we hope you'll find a generous out-of-court settlement for the inconvenience and the injury."

William let out a held breath. "I told you I didn't do it, man," he said, quietly. "I don't care how messed up I was. I wouldn't do that kind'a thing to anyone."

"So when can we go?" Dane pressed. "And how we gettin' home?"

"You c'n leave soon as you like," Mick shrugged. "We've got the Academy's attorney here t' see you through the settlement, then we can either have y'go back the way y'came -- with Pathfinder's teleportin' power -- or we can have y'flown back in a private plane. That's up to you."

"Well, sooner we're outta here, the better," said Dane, getting up out of his chair. "Come on, Willie, let's get this over with."

"Before y'go, though," Mick went on, holding up one finger to Dane, "I'd like to s'gest a third alternative, if y'd like t' listen."

Dane paused, then looked to his brother before he sat down. William, for his own part, looked interested, and he nodded to indicate that Mick should continue.

"I was takin' a look at y'r school records, Will," Mick went on, indicating the clipboard. "When y'came t' the MassAc, y'weren't in the best'a shape, but y'still had plans. Y'r high school transfer records are first-rate, and the Headmistress noted that y'had a lot of potential. Are y'goin' t' school right now, Will?"

William shook his head. "Nah."

"Why not?" Mick asked.

"Can't really afford to," William explained. "Now that Grandpa can't work no more, me an' Dane both need to work full-time."

"What the hell business is that of yours?" Dane snapped.

"Let me finish, mate," Mick said as an aside to Dane. With the day he'd been having, though, he'd had just about enough of the elder brother's hostile attitude. One more outburst, he told himself...

"Anyway," he went on, "d'you think y'might be goin' t' school anytime soon out there?"

"Don't think I could," William replied, shrugging his uninjured shoulder. "Even if I could afford school, I couldn't take the time off'a work."

Mick nodded slowly. "That's a real shame, 'cause we really do think y'got potential. I talked it over with the other supervisors, and we'd like t' make you an offer."

He paused for a moment, and let the wry grin creep back into place. "B'lieve me, I know this'll sound strange, 'specially after the events of the last couple'a days, not t' mention last spring, but... we'd like to offer you admission to the Academy, on a full scholarship, in both our academic and mutant education programs."

Dane was on his feet before the end of the sentence. "Are you outta your fuckin' mind, 'mate?!'" he bellowed, putting a nasty sarcastic inflection on the last word.

That was the one Mick had been waiting for. He turned a positively withering look on Dane, which actually made the man take an involuntary step back.

"I asked you t' let me finish, please," Mick said in a low voice.

The battle of gazes went on for a few seconds, then Dane sat back in his chair, shaking his head angrily, arms crossed over his chest.

Mick turned back to William. "Now, we know the financial situation can't be too good for you out there, so along with givin' you admission to the Academy itself, we'd also give you a stipend for personal expenses, an additional stipend for y'r family, t' make up f'r the wages that won't be comin' in, and all this on top of the settlement I told you about before. So you'll be able t' get that education free of charge, and y'r family won't be any worse off with you not workin'."

For a moment, William looked too surprised to answer. "You'd pay out all that cash just to keep me here?"

"Well, it'd be just like any other scholarship," Mick shrugged. "All we ask of you is that y'keep up y'r grades, that y'work hard and keep a positive attitude in both classes an' trainin', and y'keep outta any trouble beyond what we already expect from a freshman." With this last bit, he grinned with genuine, if somewhat strained, humor.

Dane continued to rant, the withering look having apparently run its course. "Man, you got a lotta balls, y'know that? Well, lemme tell you somethin'! We don't need your bribes, an' we don't need your help! We're a family, an' we take care of ourselves."

"Dane," William tried to interrupt.

"If you think you can just buy us off, an' lock my brother in this nuthouse you got here, you can just kiss my black ass, man, 'cause we ain't..."

"Dane!" William shouted, bringing his brother to a halt.

After a moment of shocked silence, William went on. "I'll stay."

"What?!" Dane exclaimed. He quickly crossed over and crouched down next to his younger sibling. "Man, you nuts? One of these people tried to kill you! You can't stay here! It's not safe!"

"Look, I ain't got nothin' to hide from these folks," William debated. "I didn't hurt no one, and they proved it! I might never get a chance like this again! If I can get some school, I can get a real good job, pay off the house so you and Grandpa won't have to worry, maybe help Henry so he can go to college too... I need to do this, man."

Dane went on arguing, though Mick could tell it was more out of real concern than reflex anger at the Academy this time. "Willie, you don't need this school no more! You got control of your powers now, and you did it yourself! An' we can keep savin' from work 'til we can put you through school ourselves. This ain't your only chance!"

"But I think it's my best chance. An' my control ain't nearly good enough. Maybe some trainin' here'd do me good."

"I can't believe I'm hearin' this," said Dane, shaking his head. He then turned accusing eyes on Mick. "You usin' some power to mess with his brain or somethin'?"

"Nothin' of the kind," Mick replied. "All I did by way of convincin' was make a reasonable offer."

"I'll be okay, man," William assured his brother. "I can take care of myself out here. And it's my choice to make, isn't it?"

Dane shook his head slowly for a moment, then let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, maybe it is, but that don't mean I have to like it."

Underground Infirmary, MassAc 8:30 pm EST

Emma watched as, one by one, each of the "guests" for this unorthodox briefing filed into her recovery room: Chief DeCandido from Security, Tessa, A.C. and Mick, the Hellion supervisors, Buford, here in place of Haroun as representative of the teams, and Gilbert, who had apparently been very active in the recent investigations since his sudden return. Dr. Friedlander nodded to each of them as they entered, and indicated that they should take seats wherever they could find them.

"First things first," Sharon said once they were all in the room. "I've disabled the camera at Chief DeCandido's request, so there isn't any video record being made of this. An audio record will be kept for the files, as usual. Second, let's keep this as short and to-the-point as possible, for Emma's sake."

"Your concern is touching," Emma managed, adding a smile to the words.

"I'm your doctor; it's my job," Sharon replied, brusquely. "You have the floor."

"Very well," said Emma, pausing to clear her throat. "First of all, I wish to offer my most sincere gratitude and commendations regarding your work in the past thirty-six hours. It is good to know that I have your support."

She quickly continued before A.C. could get a word or a thought in. "Now, Gilbert. I am very glad to see you back, and I hope you will be staying."

"Yes, ma'am," Gilbert nodded.

"Excellent. I'm sure you've told this story numerous times already in one form or another, but I wish to hear it from you personally. What exactly did you discover when you and Roulette arrived at the Buchwald house?"

Gilbert shifted in his seat. "Well, I was sort of half-expecting that if Camouflage were really responsible for last October, there might be some trace of Tarot or Catseye when we found him, and ideally, if we found them, I was going to try to convince Jenny to just go for a rescue and not kill anyone. It turned out he was living in a suburban home outside of Flagstaff, with his two brothers and his grandfather. We... broke in on them, and when he tried to run for it, Jenny shot him: got him in the arm. I went to rabbit-form so I could get a whiff of what was going on, and by the scents and sounds I was getting, their fear was real enough, and they were telling the truth when they said William didn't do anything against us. Jenny took off without me when I defended them, and I called back to get a lift home. William and his brother Dane came with."

"Very good," she nodded. "Mick, how did your interviews with the boys turn out?"

"Between the interviews and the testin'," Mick said, taking up the narrative, "I'd say it all checks out. It's a real shame, what Jenny did, but it might turn out t' be a blessin' in disguise. After talkin' t' Leland about the settlement, then discussin' things with Ace and Tessa, I made the standard pitch t'see if he'd come back, an' he's willin' t' give the Academy another shot."

"You sure that's a good idea?" DeCandido asked.

"Well, I'm glad he wants to stay," Gilbert added, "but yeah, it might be a problem, even though he's innocent. When I left, there were a lot of us who blamed him for raping Angie. What do you think, Beef?"

Buford considered this. "I'm with you, Gilly. I'm glad he's innocent, but I think it might be a while before everyone can trust him."

"You did the right thing, Mick," Emma assured the supervisor. "I'm sure your recruitment was well within procedural limits."

"Gotta keep it between the lines," the Aussie winked.

"Now," Emma continued. "Doctor Kokiadis, Gilbert, Chief, I believe the three of you have a new theory regarding the murder and kidnapping last October?"

"That we do," A.C. nodded, settling back in his chair. "Gilbert did a lot of the computer legwork while I was talking to you earlier today, and he started to notice the name of Sentry Dennis Brooks coming up a lot."

"He seemed to be involved in all of the investigations toward Camouflage," Gilbert elaborated, "and he was in on most of the forensics work checking into the crime scene. It was a hunch."

"A good hunch," A.C. nodded. "It turns out that Brooks had been playing saboteur with the data, making it all inconclusive. We managed to get the uncorrupted data back thanks to the Chief, and we re-ran some of the lab tests."

"And what did you find?" Emma asked.

Gilbert took a deep breath. "It was Manuel who raped Marie-Ange. The semen sample was a near-perfect match. The way we figure, Manuel was the one who mind-zapped the sentries in Dent Hall, then Miss Tessa, then Lieutenant Chapman at the front desk, so that he could get to Angie with no resistance."

"And how did he die?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

A.C. continued, as Gilbert looked uncomfortable with the next part. "We think Catseye must have heard what was going on from her room, busted in on them, caught him in the act, and ripped out his throat. If you look at the photos of his body, which we did," he made a face to show his distaste, "then check out hologram-files of Catseye, which we did, it's pretty obvious she was capable of giving him those... wounds."

"And after she had done this, what then?" Emma prompted them.

"She got them both out, I'll bet," Gilbert replied. "She probably realized what she'd done and made a run for it, taking Angie with her. Records say that when the flyer was stolen, the guards around the hangar were taken down physically, not mentally. I think Catseye knocked them out and stole the flyer."

"Then how come it crashed?" Mick asked.

"Because Catseye never had training with the Hellflyers, of course," Emma answered before anyone else could.

"Now wait a second," Buford interrupted. "I... I can see how she'd kill someone that was rapin' her best friend. I gotta say, I probably would'a wanted t'do the same. But if she did, isn't that... well, not exactly self-defense, but defendin' someone who prob'ly couldn't defend herself, the way she did for all of us against Brainwash?"

"What's your point, Beef?" A.C. asked.

"What I mean is... why'd she leave, if it was..." He fumbled for a term.

"Justifiable homicide?" the Chief offered.

"Yeah. Like that."

Gilbert shook his head. "I really don't know. We're talking about the Mind of Catseye here; I don't know why she does anything."

"You're shaking your head, Chief," Emma interjected here. "Do you disagree?"

DeCandido crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "With the idea that Catseye killed De la Rocha? Not at all. It makes perfect sense. But there has to be more to it than that; there's too much else that happened for her to have been working alone."

"What, you think this was planned?" Mick frowned, his tone indicating that he found this unlikely to say the least.

"If we assume that Catseye was working alone after she killed De la Rocha, we've got to accept a lot of things which, frankly, I can't attribute to her."

"Go on," Emma nodded to him.

The Chief nodded back, then continued. "When Manuel was found, he was fully dressed, and there was no apparent external evidence that he'd been involved in sexual intercourse with anybody. We'd have to assume that Catseye somehow cleaned him and dressed him, making it look as though he'd died with his clothes on.

"Then there's the matter of the dorm rooms. They were demolished, doors ripped off the hinges and all. We'd have to assume that Catseye did all of that, being so careful about it that she didn't leave behind any fingerprints or hair traces, which would be a neat trick for her. Not to mention the struggle and blood found in Catseye's room. Here, we'd have to assume that she did the damage herself, and that the blood came from self-inflicted wounds. This isn't even taking into account the spray-scents that were used on both rooms to keep anyone like Gilbert from smelling anything.

"Also, the computers in Dent Hall were flushed, but near as we can tell, it was done well after Chapman was knocked out, so it couldn't have been De la Rocha. We'd be assuming that Catseye, a self-admitting technophobe, hacked her way in past security failsafes and knocked out the system, all the while not leaving any form of trail, even from the self-inflicted wounds we're assuming from before.

"Getting across campus unseen, knocking out the guards and cameras, and stealing the flyer... that I can see. Crashing the flyer because she couldn't fly it... that I can also see. But like I said, if we're assuming no one else was involved, Catseye would have had to do all of that in an insanely short timespan."

"This is certainly possible," Tessa said, speaking for the first time.

DeCandido shook his head at her. "Look, I know I didn't know the girl very well, but come on. She was a flake. I can't believe she'd be capable of all this."

"Why not?" A.C. asked, simply.

"Sharon may have been... unusual," said Emma at this point, "but she also possessed the keenest intellect I've ever encountered. As Gilbert said, no one, including myself or any other telepath, knows what goes on inside her mind."

"No, I don't think I can go for all that either," Buford disagreed. "Okay, so none of us know why she wanted to leave, but I'm with the Chief. I can believe she'd steal the flyer, but you're tryin' t'say that she did a lotta real intricate things t' make it look like someone had kidnapped 'em. I mean... would Catseye do that to us?"

"I know what you mean," Gilbert nodded. "I don't like the idea of that either, but it's the best theory we've got."

"Personally," A.C. continued, "I don't see what all the fuss is about. Now, all of you know Catseye, so you're bound to have some personal bias, for whatever reason. All I know is from what I've read and heard, and from that, I don't see any reason why this couldn't have happened the way the Chief just said. Two of her qualities that have been repeated over and over again in the records are her sheer brains, and the fact that she will do anything, and I do mean anything, if she feels strongly enough about it. So, if Catseye really felt strongly about wanting to disappear and throw everyone off her trail, who's to say she couldn't have hacked the computer, or wounded herself, or cleaned up after herself?"

There was a short silence, as everyone appeared to be considering this. Emma felt an urge to listen to their thoughts to see what they all made of this, but with her medications, her entire mind felt as though it were wrapped in cotton.

She spoke instead. "As Sharon's teacher, I would have to say that she would have been more than capable of what you're suggesting, Chief. I... believe we should assume for now that Catseye had her reasons for not wanting to be followed, and given that we have not heard from her, we must assume she and Marie-Ange do not wish to be found."

There was another long pause, and lacking a telepathic means to gauge their reactions, she instead scanned their faces. Buford looked troubled and uncertain. Tessa was a mask, as usual. Mick and A.C. looked wearied and grimly certain, Gilbert unusually fresh and anxious, DeCandido still somewhat disbelieving, and Friedlander simply impatient.

"I assume you have taken Brooks into custody, Chief?" Emma asked.

"Yes, we have."

"Have you questioned him yet?"

"Did it first thing."

"And what did you learn to support or deny this theory?"

DeCandido snorted. "Well, he confessed right away, even gave me more than I questioned him about. I think he was relieved to have finally been caught. He says he was working alone, but I don't know if I can take that at his word. He wasn't even here the night of the attack, and I still think there may have been someone else in Security involved."

"And I'm sure you'll take the necessary precautions," Emma nodded. "How did he become involved? Did Manuel force him?"

"No, I'm afraid that's where it gets sticky," DeCandido sighed. "Denny knew that Manuel was here, and he had orders to help him from his other employer: Sebastian Shaw."

"What?!" A.C. practically yelped.

"Then Manuel was working with Shaw?" Tessa mused. "Quite possible."

"Oh, come on," A.C. frowned. "You think Shaw sent De la Rocha here just to rape somebody? That's absurd!"

"I don't know why Shaw did anything," DeCandido replied. "All I know is that Denny had orders from Shaw to help Manuel any way he could, and once Manuel got killed, he had orders to put a lock on any evidence that might incriminate Manuel, and in turn lead us back to Hellfire."

Buford drew one hand over his face. "This is all way over my head."

"I'll tell you this, though," DeCandido went on, looking straight at Emma. "Denny Brooks is a good man. A family man. The way I see it, he's been about ready to crack under the weight of all this, and he's just glad it's over. Now, if you ask me, I don't think he was working for Shaw out of any particular love for the man or his causes. I really feel strongly that any work Denny was doing for Shaw would have been under duress. I... just want you to take that into consideration."

"Duly noted, Chief," Emma replied.

"People, let's try to speed this along," Sharon suggested at this point.

"Very well," Emma assented. "What is the status of those injured in the battle with Brainwash?"

Sharon sighed. "It's not looking good for Gemini. By now, Cassie should have shifted twice, but both times, she's just gone into convulsions and required sedation. Take that to mean what you will, but by all appearances, Paul was killed, and Cassie can't make the normal change.

"Haroun, meanwhile, flew off to FTI this morning, and Doctor Mackey has since called to give us his prognosis. Haroun should be fine after some extensive maintenance, and Mackey wants to speak to you, Emma, about some new modifications he'd like to try, with your permission and Haroun's. I told him he could wait his turn."

"Thoughtful," Emma nodded.

"Right. Anyway, Jean-Pierre has shown no improvement. We don't have any means to verify it yet, but he's lost all memory of the Academy, or anyone here, or why he's in America in the first place. Etienne's watching him, and he's relaxing, but he's not getting better.

"As for the others, Tom should be fine in time, as should Buford, and Kyle has regained consciousness, appetite, and his normal sense of humor."

Sharon cast a glance over at Buford before she went on. "There is one other matter, though, that's recently come up. I'm going to have to request... No, screw that, I'm her physician, so I'm going to make it a demand. We need to place Kristina on inactive status immediately and until further notice."

"What happened to her?" Mick asked.

"A couple of hours ago, for no apparent reason, she began showing signs of an unspecified tachycardia."

A.C. blinked. "And translated for the medical-term-impaired, this is..?"

"Highly accelerated heart rate," Sharon explained. "Kristina has had a heart condition since birth. She had a number of operations for it up until she was eleven years old, and she's been able to lead a pretty normal life since. When she went into cardiac arrest in the fight, though... I can only guess that this strain either aggravated the existing condition or created a new one. This means no strenuous work, no training, no powers, and serious medical attention. She's stable now, but she'll need to see a cardiologist, and the sooner the better."

"Thank you, Doctor," Emma said when Sharon had finished. "Does anyone else have any pressing news?"

When there was no reply, she went on. "Very well. Doctor, by all means refer Kristina to a specialist as soon as possible. No expense spared."

"I've got a few leads already," Sharon nodded.

"Good. Chief, keep Brooks in custody. I should... speak to him in the morning, to judge both his claims and your own. In the meantime, please continue following up your investigations as to any other security leaks, as well as finding Roulette."

"I'm on it."

"As for Catseye and Tarot," Emma continued, then paused for a moment. "While it seems that they may not wish to be found, I think it would be in our best interests to make the attempt to do so all the same. I would like investigative teams to look into likely places they may have gone. To start with, their homes: the Colbert estate in France and the tourist vessel ALEXA in Boston. Also, the Thibaudet family in Paris: their address and telephone number are in Tarot's file. I would like volunteers amongst those of you present to make these investigations, and Security personnel, apart from you, Chief, are not to be involved."

"Well, I'm not too up on French, but I'm willing to take a road trip to Boston," A.C. shrugged. "How about you, Mick? You game for another?"

"Sounds like a plan, mate."

"I shall contact Chez Colbert and the Thibaudet home," Tessa offered.

"Excellent," Emma nodded, pausing to clear her throat again. Like it or not, Sharon was right: this entire process was exhausting. "Buford, until Haroun returns, you are the senior Hellion, and any assistance you might offer the supervisors in maintaining some level of activity for those still able would be appreciated. By no means, however, are you to aggravate your own injury. I trust your judgment on this."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Buford. "I won't let you down."

"Once again, then, I thank you all for your hard work. However, this situation is far from over, and I will thank you all for your continued efforts. Unless anyone else has a concern, I believe we may call this meeting closed."

After only the briefest of silences, Sharon got to her feet and started shooing everyone out. "Okay, people, let's leave the convalescing to convalesce."

"Sharon," Emma tried to call out, but her voice was more a croak.

The doctor approached Emma's bedside as the others filed out. "Take it easy, now. No more bravado for a while, okay?"

"No, it's just that... I hate to reduce you to messenger, but could you fetch Gilbert for me before he gets too far? There's something I need to discuss with him alone."

"Can't it wait until you've rested?"

"Please, Sharon... It's important."

Raising her eyebrows slightly at the use of the word "please," Sharon at length relented, and hurried out of the room. A few quiet moments passed, then the door opened again, and Gilbert cautiously stepped inside.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked.

"Yes, Gilbert. Please, come closer; my voice isn't what it was."

With characteristic hesitance, Gilbert crept up to her bedside, and at length pulled up a chair and regarded his teacher, waiting patiently for her to speak.

"I understand that you abandoned the Academy specifically to accompany Jennifer."

"Yes," he nodded, this time without hesitation. "I had a pretty good idea of what she was going to do."

"You might have informed us of your intent."

"No, I couldn't. I think you know why."

Frost very nearly smiled. "Not the most obedient thing in the world to do."

"It needed to be done. Given the chance to do it over, I'd still have gone."

There was a long silence, interrupted only by the sounds of the status monitors beeping away.

"I... wanted to thank you," Frost said at length, "for preventing what could have been a catastrophe. And in so doing, you showed exceptional initiative, willingness to take responsibility for your actions, clear thinking, perseverance, and in the end, you kept your head under extreme pressure and made what can only be called command decisions in the field. I am highly impressed."

"Thank you," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes.

Frost took as deep a breath as she could. She was beginning to drift off, but she needed to finish this thought first. "As you heard, Cassie is in a bad way."

"Yeah, I heard."

"I have also been told that Marsha wishes to be removed from her leadership role."

Gilbert nodded, though this was the first he'd heard about it.

"As a consequence of this, but more as a consequence of your actions... Gilbert, I would like you to lead the B-team."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard correctly. You've demonstrated qualities I specifically seek out in a leader, not the least of which being the ability to work under pressure."

"But... I'm just a rabbit. I'm not even a good fighter. How could I lead anybody?"

"I think that being a rabbit will actually enhance your capabilities as a leader. Rabbits have a lot of good common sense."

Gilbert shook his head, then looked back up to meet his teacher's eyes. "I don't know if I could..."

"I need you to try, Gilbert. Will you?"

"Well... do you think the others would accept me?"

Emma closed her eyes and smiled. "They have no reason not to," she whispered.

"I..." He ground to a halt, collected his thoughts, then slowly nodded. "Okay. I'll try. But only until Cassie gets better. Which she will, I'm sure."

"Thank you. I... should probably rest now. We'll formally announce your new status tomorrow. Until then, please do keep this meeting under wraps."

"I will," he said, standing. "Thanks, Miss Frost."

"For heaven's sake, Gilbert, call me Emma," she replied in a sleepy voice.

For a long time, Gilbert did not answer, nor did he move. At length, though, he padded to the door, opened it, and slipped out, leaving Emma dozing peacefully.

Revelle Monument, UCSD 8:24 pm PST

The rally hadn't been anything like Marie-Ange had expected, or indeed hoped, and as she stood next in line at the base of the Revelle monument for her turn at the microphone, she found herself wondering if this had been such a good idea.

A good-sized crowd had gathered for the event. Several hundred students at the very least, most of them women, shouting slogans and carrying signs, seeking unity in their cause. It was to be a peaceful demonstration, but she more than felt a palpable air of hostility and anger, reflected in many of the signs, and shouted out by several of the speakers.

She looked back to the crowd, scanning for her friends. She spotted Sharon first: her height, not to mention her hair (colored lime green this week) made her difficult to miss. Rahne, standing close to the others, looking somewhat uncomfortable in the crowd. Warlock, Danielle, and Danielle's friend Ben, exchanging a few words over the noise. And lastly, Brandy, Harris, and Douglas. She felt badly for the latter two, as their presence had solicited a few accusatory looks from some of the more vocal demonstrators. As they had approached the rally en masse, Douglas had even remarked to Harris, in a sotto voce Sean Connery impersonation, "My boy, we are pilgrims in an unholy land."

A large part of Marie-Ange wished that her friends hadn't been so ready to come with her when she'd announced her intention to speak at the rally. This was something she felt she had to do for herself, yes, but in her own mind, it felt as though she'd dragged them into it with her.

She noticed then that Douglas was looking at her, and giving her a soft, encouraging smile. He nodded once, one corner of his mouth twisting upward. He mouthed something to her, but from this distance, she could not tell what it was. In response to her puzzled look, then, he flashed her a pair of hand-signals. The first was a thumbs-up, and the second, a sign-language gesture with hand raised, and middle and ring fingers tucked into his palm: "I love you."

She smiled and looked away, turning her attention back to the young lady currently speaking. Like several of the previous speakers, this one was a rape victim. Her assailants, for there had been several, had tied her up, gagged her, taken turns with her, and then left her lying in an alley. Marie-Ange shuddered involuntarily at the descriptive language she used in relating this to the crowd, and again, her resolve began to wear thin.

But then, she heard something that made her thoughts click into place. "Every man is a potential rapist," the woman with the microphone was saying: the very same words she'd seen earlier that day, painted on the sidewalk on the way home from the audition. And the words kept coming. Fight back. Find solidarity. Learn to defend yourself. Men are the enemy. No one wants to be 'just friends.' Trust no one except one another. Take back the night.

They were thoughts she'd heard echoed in several of the previous speakers, and every time, the reaction of the crowd grew louder. She looked again to Douglas, and saw that he and Danielle were now exchanging words, and Dani was shaking her head, looking annoyed. Brandy was looking up at her though, and she gave Marie-Ange a comical, exaggerated grimace, as if to say "Can you believe this?"

The speaker raised a clenched fist to the crowd as she finished, eliciting still greater noise as she stepped away from the mike.

Marie-Ange took a deep, centering breath, then walked out to the microphone stand. She took a moment to remove the microphone, and to untangle the wire from the stand, as the noise of the crowd diminished. Gradually, the dull roar receded, and all eyes were on her.

"Hello," she said, quietly. "My name is Mireille Loiseau."

"Go, girl!" came a shout from the audience.

"Thank you," she half-smiled in the direction of the comment. "My... story is not so different from many, essentially. I... was raped three months ago by a man whom I'd known for some time. He... overpowered me, humiliated me, and had me completely helpless. Also, when I was a child, I was molested and violated time after time by men and women I barely knew. So... like some of you here tonight, and most of those who spoke before me, I have been a rape victim."

Marie-Ange glanced down at her friends, and the first thing she noticed was the look on Brandy's face. Marie-Ange hadn't told her exactly why she'd felt the need to speak at an open-mike Take Back The Night rally, but by her expression, Brandy had figured it out before this. She looked sympathetic, maybe a little sad, and more than a touch indignant. Douglas, on the contrary, was completely unreadable, as he was fully engrossed in her words.

"However," she went on, deliberately, "I find that I cannot agree with most of what I've heard tonight. I do not know what I expected, coming here tonight, but not this. Not this anger. Not this... hatred.

"I feel for what has happened to all of you who can call yourselves victims. I am enraged by the indignities that you... that we have suffered. None of us asked for this. We have been victims of a brutal crime, one which takes an act of love and turns it into a twisted display of dominance, of control... Oh, yes, I know full well that we have suffered.

"However, it is what happens after which I find to be the most important. Yes, I was a victim of something horrible, that has changed my life forever, but there are some changes I refuse to make, in spite of everything I've gone through.

"'Every man is a potential rapist.' The more I hear that, the angrier it makes me. More than that, though, I deeply pity any of you who honestly believe it to be true, because you are still victims, even now that the act is finished.

"We have all been victims. All of us here. Perhaps not of rape, or molest, but every human being has been a victim of something they never wanted. The question, though, is not what has made you a victim, but what you have made of yourself after. Some of you have become so blinded with hate for what has happened to you that you carry on being a victim, wearing it for all to see like some kind of medal, or badge of honor. In a lot of ways, it is easy to go on being a victim, so long as you can show it to others. Yes, by all means, speak out, make your voice heard, learn to defend yourselves, take back the night, and try to prevent this horrible crime from happening to you and your loved ones, but... Mon Dieu, hate is not the answer! Men are not the enemy! We can trust more than just one another if we can learn to open our hearts again! Those of you who cannot... you are still victims, as you're letting the one who dominated you once continue to do so, even now. You're allowing your rapist to go on ruling your life, changing you into a parody of yourself. For your own sake, don't be a victim anymore! Never forget what has happened to you, but stop reliving it every moment of your life!"

Here, finally, she paused for a moment, but only for a moment, as she suddenly wasn't sure she wanted to hear the response.

"Every man is a potential rapist?" she asked them all. "Perhaps so, even as every woman, every man, every human being, is a potential thief, or liar, or murderer, even. For my own part, I would prefer to think that every man and woman is a potential friend. And thankfully, I have my friends to remind me of this each day, and to help me through the past."

One last look over the crowd, then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Thank you."

The response was completely mixed as she replaced the microphone and stepped down from the speakers' platform. To one extreme, there were loud cheers and whistles from a good many of those in attendance, not the least of which coming from her friends. Mixed in with this, though, were a number of disapproving shouts, and a smattering of outright booing.

In spite of the reaction, though, she felt better than she had in a long time as she melted into the audience, and made her way to Douglas and the others. She was congratulated and hugged by each of them in turn, the last being Douglas, who held her tightly for a long time.

"They'll be talking about that one for a while to come," he said in her ear, and she could hear that he was smiling.

"I can only hope," she said in reply.

Meanwhile, the next speaker carried on the rally by stating that she agreed with a lot of what the person before her had said, but...

McAudry House, 11:41 pm PST

"I'm glad," Doug said at last, breaking the long silence.

"Glad for what?" Marie-Ange asked sleepily, not lifting her head from his chest.

"A lot of things, really. I'm glad you said what you said up there, for one, but even more so, I'm glad you didn't let yourself carry on being a victim all your life."

She pushed herself up slightly, and turned to look at him through the darkness. "Merci. I am a hypocrite, though."

"What does that mean?" he asked, giving her a puzzled look.

She shifted under the covers, then pushed herself into a seated position, facing herself away from him. "Even with all I said, and all I believe, Manuel has changed my life forever. The name I gave them tonight, the name I use every day... It is a lie that I live constantly, and I do so because of what he did to me."

"Well, you could think of it that way," Doug replied, sitting up behind her and putting his arms around her, "or you could think of it as a fresh start, in a new place, with other people who care about you." He reached to brush aside a long tendril of hair so that he could kiss her shoulder.

When Marie-Ange did not reply, Doug let a breath out in a sigh, then continued. "You'd go back to the Academy if you could, wouldn't you?"

"But I cannot."

"Why not?"

There was a long silence, and she gradually went rigid in his arms as she considered this.

"Honestly," Doug said. "Sharon can't go back because of... her role in all of this, but who's to say that you couldn't go back alone? Go back to living your life as a teacher and a mentor to all the others back at the Academy, like you used to be."

"I... I couldn't. Sharon saved my life. She took care of me when I would have given up and died. She brought me here through hardships I can scarcely imagine. I couldn't just abandon her now."

"Well, yeah, she saved your life," Doug nodded. "But do you honestly think that she'd begrudge your wanting to go on living that life? Do you think any of us would be so selfish as to keep you away from being what you've wanted to become?"

She shook her head, and looked back over her shoulder at him. "No... I know you wouldn't. But..." She trailed off.

"Tell me," Doug whispered, laying his head on her shoulder.

After a pause, she slipped out of his arms so that she could turn to face him. "Douglas," she whispered, placing the palm of her hand against his cheek, "I... could not. Perhaps he has changed me, and changed my life, but... here now, with you, I am happier than I have ever been. I would never leave you, mon coeur, never. Jamais, jamais, jamais. Not for anything in the world. Je t'aime, Douglas. Je t'aime bien et je t'aime toujours."

"Je t'aimerai aussi, ma chère," he replied, leaning close in the darkness to kiss her.

They held each other in the darkness for a long while, then settled once more beside one another to sleep. This time, Doug hoped, she would have no dreams.

Gradually, as Doug listened, her breathing became deep and regular, and she seemed to be asleep, lying against him, his arm still around her. She did not twitch, this time, and when he reached to stroke her hair with his free hand, she did not startle awake, as before. She seemed to finally be at peace.

So naturally, the phone rang. With as much an economy of motion as he could manage, Doug reached over to his bedside table, where the cordless phone was lying, and switched it on, bringing it to his ear. "Hello?" he said, very quietly.

"Doug?" came a female voice.

"Speaking."

"Doug, it's Erin."

"Hi, Erin. How're you feeling?"

"You really want me to answer that?" Erin asked. Her voice was tense and bordering on anger.

At about that time, Danielle picked up the other phone from across the house. Doug could hear that she, Ben, Warlock, Rahne and Brandy were still watching TV in the family room. "McAudry house, over ten billion served!"

"I've got it, Chief," Doug told her.

"Hello, Dani," Erin added.

"Oh, hi, Erin!" Dani said by way of greetings. "I'll, ah, just let you two talk, then. G'night!"

Dani hung up, leaving Doug and Erin to continue the conversation. Doug glanced down at Marie-Ange, who still seemed blissfully asleep. "So what's up, Erin? You sound tense."

"I am tense, thank you very much. Before I say anything else, I just want you to know that I just had to lie to a very dear friend because of a promise I made to you: another dear friend. But I have to tell you, that promise is wearing extremely thin."

"Can you elaborate, please?"

"Ohhhh, yeah, I can elaborate. I talked to A.C. earlier this evening, and between that and some email, he gave me the final results from the Brainwash attack. Interested?"

Doug closed his eyes and bit back on a sarcastic reply. "Look, Erin, I'm sure you haven't been having the best of nights, but that doesn't mean you have to patronize me, okay?"

There was a brief pause from the other end of the conversation. "Okay, sorry. You're right, though, it has been a pretty lousy night."

"I can imagine." He checked once more to be certain Marie-Ange was sleeping soundly before he continued. "By all means, go on."

"Okay. First of all, Frost is in pretty lousy shape from the gunshot wound she got, but she's conscious again, and it's pretty certain she'll recover if she doesn't overextend. Which is a valid concern."

"True, very true."

"As for the Hellions themselves, we have Haroun going in for serious reconstruction, Buford still burned, but recovering, Tom Grindle with cracked ribs, also recovering, Cassie Spangler still unable to turn into her brother Paul, which could very well mean that Paul's dead, we have Kyle Burns making a thankfully speedy recovery, we have Jean-Pierre Delacroix... you know, Etienne's brother?"

"I remember," Doug told her.

"Right. He's amnesiac, possibly incurable. With Frost out for a while, I might very well be going down to see if I can help in any way. And then there's Kristina."

"I thought she recovered."

"So did they. It turns out the attack brought out an old heart condition of hers, and she's been taken off duty, as it were."

"Damn," Doug whispered.

"There's more, though. I... really think you should know about this part."

"Tell me."

"Well, they've pretty much figured it out that Brainwash had nothing to do with the attack last October, and after some intensive investigations, they're theorizing that it was in fact Empath who raped Tarot, and that Catseye both killed him and made a very slick escape, leaving behind false evidence to throw people off her trail."

"Is that right?"

"Yep. Now... you already knew that, didn't you?"

Doug sighed. "So I did."

"Goddammit, Doug!" Erin suddenly exploded. "Why the hell didn't you tell anybody?"

"Because they asked me not to. Just like I asked you not to tell anyone that I know where they are."

"Yeah, I know I did, and that's the very promise I came yea close to breaking a few hours ago. If you remember, I made that promise on the condition that I wouldn't tell anyone so long as no one would get hurt because of it. Well, take a good look at the MassAc, and tell me why I should go on lying to them!"

"Because they don't need to know," Doug said, evenly. "If they had, Brainwash probably would have attacked anyway. From everything I've heard about this attack, he did it because he had a major bug up his butt, and wanted to throw some pain around. Finding Catseye seemed almost secondary."

"Maybe," Erin admitted in a husky voice. "We can't be sure of that, though."

"Exactly. We can't be sure, so we can't assume that your keeping of your promise to me is what got anybody hurt."

Erin let out a long sigh. "Well, then, I feel I should warn you."

"Of what?"

"Of the fact that they're going to start looking for the two of them. A.C. has already asked for my help on anything computer-related, which is going to put me in a serious moral pickle, let me tell you."

"Are you going to tell him?"

There was a long pause before she answered. "No, dammit. Because quite frankly I can't bear the idea of the Hellions coming out there and knocking your house down if you won't tell them where to find their friends. But I'll tell you something else. They've got a lot of resources at their disposal, and they just might find them without my help. Now, you say you know where they are. I don't know how closely you keep in contact with them, but I have the feeling it's closer than I need to know..."

Doug tightened his arm around the sleeping Marie-Ange. "You could say that, I suppose."

"Uh huh. Well, you'd better warn them, then, that their former school is looking for them, and if they want to stay hidden, they'd better keep an eye out."

"Thanks, Erin. I really do appreciate this."

"I don't like this, Doug. I don't like any of it."

"I know. That's why I appreciate it as much as I do."

She sighed again. "Okay. I'd better go. I should at least try to get some sleep..."

"Likewise. Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll manage. Just take care out there, okay? And think about this?"

"I will, I promise. If you talk to A.C. before I do, give him my best."

"Will do... Good night, Doug."

"G'night, Erin. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it," she said just before hanging up.

Doug switched off the phone and replaced it on his bedside table. He then put both arms around Marie-Ange and hugged her to him. She had been right about one thing: in many ways, they were living a lie, all of them, and it seemed that the lie was finally beginning to catch up with them.
 

Next: "Wheel in the Sky"

Go West #23: "I Heard Someone Crying"
by Jeremy Bottroff, 4 September 1995

This story (c) 1995, 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

"I Heard Someone Crying" from THE SECRET GARDEN, book and lyrics by Marsha Norman, music by Lucy Simon, (c) 1991, 1999 Calogie Music/ABCDE Publishing Corp., based on the novel by Frances Hodgson Burnett

"Hold Her Down" performed by Toad the Wet Sprocket, lyrics by Glen Phillips, music by Todd Nichols, Glen Phillips and Toad, (c) 1991, 1999 Wet Sprocket Songs (ASCAP), from the album FEAR

Haroun Al-Rashid (Jetstream), Amara Aquila (Magma), Beef, Bevatron, Chance, Marie-Ange Colbert (Tarot), Tom Corsi, Manuel De la Rocha (Empath), Sharon Friedlander, Emma Frost (White Queen), Danielle Moonstar (Mirage), Douglas Ramsey (Cypher), Rictor, Sebastian Shaw (Black King), Rahne Sinclair (Wolfsbane), Sharon Smith (Catseye), Jennifer Stavros (Roulette), Tessa, Warlock, Hellfire Club, Hellions, Massachusetts Academy (c) 1999 Marvel Entertainment Group

Sentry Dennis Brooks, William Buchwald (Camouflage) and the Buchwald family (Dane, Henry, "Grandpa"), Kyle Burns (Wraith), Lt. Michael Chapman, Gilbert Dane (Rabbit), Chief DeCandido, Jean-Pierre Delacroix (Lightningrod), Thomas Grindle (Hardbody), Robert Jefferson (Bacchus), Christopher Leland, Esq., Dr. Mackey, Michael MacPherson (Dreamwalker), Lt. "Mack" McElhatton, Sentry Platt, Cassie and Paul Spangler (Gemini), the Thibaudet family, Marsha Wilson (Farsight), Kristina Yarborough (Embers), Dent Hall created by Jeremy Bottroff, (c) 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

Devin Johnson (Brainwash), Erin Kilvarough (Oracle), Greenbriar Academy created by Michael Jones, (c) 1999 Michael Jones/Everbard

Giancarlo Annichiarico (Kilowatt), A.C. Kokiadis created by Keith R.A. DeCandido, (c) 1999 Keith R.A. DeCandido/Albe-Shiloh

Dr. Parker, Dr. Mecklenberg and Dr. Kitson are based largely on three of my music professors from Humboldt State University: Sheila Marks, my voice teacher, Dr. Harley Muilenberg, who taught the wonderful madrigal and jazz choirs, and the late Dr. Ken Hannaford, who kept teaching and singing right up to the end, knowing full well he had an inoperable brain tumor.  Inspiring teachers, all.

Richard (Rick) Starbuck is a talented tenor with whom I had the pleasure of singing in the UCSB Schubertians.  Among the highlights were the unforgettable duet of "The Scotsman" in a pub in England whilst we were on tour...

Brandy Noveh is also very real.  I met her while playing Eistenstein to her Rosalinda in an Opera Workshop scene from Die Fledermaus, and she in fact went on to play Lily the summer after I left HSU.  I'm sure it was a magnificent show, and I wish I could have seen it...

Melanie Addiego is actually a soprano, a fact of which I was reminded when I came back to visit HSU in 1998 just in time to see her senior recital.  (Which was simply excellent.)

Ben Aldridge and Harris Finkelstein have this Tuckerization thing down.

The version of THE ODYSSEY which Kristina was reading to Buford was the translation by E.V. Rieu, published by Penguin Classics

Doug's Sean Connery quote was from INDIANA JONES AND THE LAST CRUSADE.  I used to have a sound-file of it which played right as I logged onto AOL...

The University of California, San Diego is a real place, as two of my real-life cousins could more than attest right about now.