by G.M. Shephard

Michael, alone again deals with the pain of taking a life, while Megan far away deals with her own buried emotions. Meanwhile Liz makes a startling discovery that things aren't quite what they seem.

Angel S:1 E:13 "Hope Lost"
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright  © 2012
Edited by: jeffusually
kittylover

---United States Embassy, Moscow---April 3, 1987

Megan sat beside the bedside watching Eugene sleep. She held on to his hand, careful not to disturb any of the pick lines in his arm. His hand slowly squeezed hers and his eyes fluttered and opened. He brought his hand up and yawned, then turned to look at Megan.

"Hey there, how long have you been here?" he said as he started to wake up.

"Only an hour. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by a truck, other than that I'm okay. Where are we, this place looks different?"

"You are in the U.S. Embassy. We moved you here the other day. You caught a staph infection and we put you under until the antibiotics fought it off. We decided it would be better to move you to better facilities where we could be in control of your medical care. My dad flew in, he's a neurosurgeon, one of the best, and will be treating you while you remain here."

"A doctor? Well I can't wait to thank him for raising such a gifted young woman."

"I'm not that young, but thank you."

"How are you holding up?"

"It's been a rough week, but I'm hanging in there. Been getting lots of rest as well. Fortunately I didn't have to continue on the tour."
"All things considered, though, I would rather be in Kazakstan right now."

"Dr. Roth and some of the Engineers are there now. They are determined to set an example and show to the people of the US and USSR that we are not going to let this little incident keep us down."

"That's a great idea," Megan heard a strange voice behind her. She saw a man in a suit who looked vaguely familiar, "Eugene, you mind if I come in?" Gene didn't speak but raised his hand and waved him in.

"Well you look beat to hell, but looks like you have some great company."

"Hey Bob," he said with a low voice. "Bob, this is Dr. Megan McCormack, Megan, Dr. Meersman. Bob is my partner back in the States."

"Doctor, pleasure to meet you. So you're his phantom partner?" she asked.

"Hahaha. Gene here didn't paint me to be that mysterious did he? To answer your question, yes, we are working on some research projects together." Megan looked at him, studying his features.

"Doctor, you look very familiar, have we met before?"

"Yes, indeed we did, last November at the Presidential banquet in DC."

"Oh right, I remember now. I remember you met Gene that night and you gave him your card."

"Yeah, I had to suck up all my pride to meet him there in that den of thieves, having to subject myself to all those politicians, but it was worth it. I think we have a good thing going and are making a lot of progress."

Gene looked up at him. "Well, gonna be a while before I can resume, and even then, I'm not sure what capacity I can resume."

"Nonsense Gene, you never got up from your chair before, so I don't see anything being different." He paused, "sorry, I didn't mean that."

"No, don't worry about it, I know you well enough, that's just your way. So what made you come all the way to Russia?" He pointed to Megan, "She's fine, let her stay."

"I have been talking to some of the heads of our project and I have a proposal for you. Since you are probably going to be here a while, why not get back to work as soon as you can, and be part of something special at the same time?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Your friend here is correct, we need to show the people that this incident was a political one, and nothing to do with science. We and the Russian scientists are committed to unity and research for the betterment of the people. I can't stand the politics and want avoid it as much as possible. What would you say if I were to tell you I have made arrangements to start a lab in Star City. I have partial approval to move some of the items and we can start sharing our research with our Russian counterparts as we were supposed to in the first place."

"All of them?"

"Well not all the items, some for obvious reasons can't be moved. What do you think?"

"I think it's great, thank you for taking the initiative," Eugene said in a quiet weak voice.

"Of course, what are partners for. Get some rest and we will talk about it in a couple of weeks after you get a bit stronger. I will leave you two be, but it's good to see you and I'm glad you are going to be all right." Meersman took Gene's hand and gave him a comforting squeeze. "Get some rest now. Doctor, pleasure meeting you." Megan stood up and shook hands.

"Dr. Meersman, you mind if I talk to you outside a moment?"

"Why of course. Gene, you don't mind if I steal her for a moment?"

"No, go ahead." The two left the room and stepped out into the hall.

"How can I help you Doctor?" Meersman said.

"I've decided to stay in Russia for a while until he heals up and gets through therapy. I've called my partner and he is going to resume full control of my practice again. I would like to offer any help I can."

"Possible, have you talked it over wi...well of course you haven't, you two just found out about it. Talk to Eugene and if he's ok with it you and I can talk more. What's your doctorate in?"

"Physician, then I switched to Psychology."

"Oh, that kind of doctor. Well, we aren't doing much in the way of biology. We have a lot of rocks that might need a professional to listen to their problems." Megan snorted as the joke suddenly hit her."

"Oh my god, that was funny, thank you, I needed a quick laugh. Seriously though, I don't mind, I can do do research, filing, or if you need me to just answer phones. Anything, I just want to help."

"Ok, thank you Doctor, we will be in touch. Now get back in there, your patient needs you."

---Houston Police Department, Westside---April 24, 1987

Reid stepped into Captain Brown's office. Brown was a large bald headed black man whose domineering presence would better serve the public out on the streets, rather than behind a desk babysitting his officers, but he had grown tired of seeing the crime scenes first hand. He would rather see photographs of the bodies, where the the smell of death couldn’t reach his nose.

"You wanted to see me sir?"

"Reid, have a seat." Reid sat down and tried to get comfortable. Calls into the office were seldom pleasant, most of the time a bitch session for something he had done wrong. His lieutenant, Whithers walked in with Ferguson trailing. Reid started to get very nervous nervous seeing this many department heads in the room.

"Sorry we’re running late," Whithers said.

"Reid,” Brown started as the two Sergeants took a seat, “we have been going over your case files and we're a little perplexed."

"About what sir?" he asked, starting to get even more nervous, but still able to control his mannerisms.

"At first we thought it was a fluke, but we see a trend here, one that we hope won't change. The last several months, you have been closing quite a few of your cases, making some solid arrests. The DA has been coming back confident of convictions. You were promoted to Detective quite young. We had high hopes, then we got mediocre results from you. Looks like you are starting to finally shine."

"Thank you sir," Reid said, relaxing his sphincter muscles knowing this was a rare pleasant visit to the Captain’s office.

"Now we know your sister's disappearance has played into much of your performance. Personally, that is not excuse, you leave that shit at home. Hell, if you want a sister that bad, you can have mine. I wouldn't mind her taking a hike for a while. What I am getting at is, if this new and improved Reid is the real deal, then I think you can serve better in Homicide and get away from those bullshit crimes. What do you say, wanna move up to the big leagues?"

"You deserve it Reid," Whithers chimed in. "I've noticed the improvement in your attitude. You seem more focused. We also like your dedication, something that some of the others are lacking."

"Thank you Captain for the opportunity."

"Ok, great, that's what I wanted to hear. Here's how it's going to work. We are going to move you to Homicide Division on a probationary status. You prove yourself out there, you stay out there. But I have a couple of conditions."

"Yes Sir?"

"First, you wanna search for your sister, that's fine, but absolutely none of it on my time. I don't want to seen any more of that on your desk. Take it home, and work on it there, otherwise let the detectives I have assigned take care of it. Two, you hand over your cases to Harris and Gutierrez."

"Sir, what about the Owen case?"

"That will go to Gutierrez. I know you are very into this case, but if you want Homicide, you can't have the Owen case. Choose right now. I personally wouldn't take a deadbeat case over this opportunity, and Homicide won't come up for you again for quite a long time."

"I see," Reid paused in thought. Could he really give this case up? "Sir, can I request you give the case to Harris. He started with it, and knows Karen better. Gutierrez, well you know he doesn't like her."

"Well, he will have to get over it. Harris' plate is too full right now to take in that case. Maybe in a couple of months, but not now. The case isn't going anywhere anyway, so don't stress. The feds pulled out and frankly I am considering shelving it."

"What do you mean the feds pulled out? When?"

"The other day, I got a call and they are handing the case back to us. There is no evidence that it is interstate, and they frankly have no jurisdiction unless it was a kidnapping. We don't have any reason to believe it was, so they are out. They don’t give a rats ass about those two missing, so what do we care they are dropping the case. I don’t know why I am going on about this, get out of my office and get to work. You report to Whithers now.” The men all got up and turned to leave.

“Thank you sir.”
”¨“Yeah, yeah, make me proud, and don’t screw things up.” Reid walked out wondering how he was going to break the news to Karen. She wasn’t going to like the fact that he traded her case for a promotion.

---Big Bear Lake, CA---

The bald eagle soared over Big Bear Lake waiting for it's prey to swim close to the surface of the calm clear blue water. Now mid April, ski season finally over, a peaceful calm came over the mountain for the briefest of moments. With no snow to attract skiers, and the weather not yet warm enough for camping, the mountain would belong solely to the local residents for a couple more weeks. It was a perfect time for me as I knelt along the eastern side of the lake meditating, my long legs folded under me and my hands resting open palm on my knees.

My eyes closed, I tried to enter into the state the Japanese called Mushin or empty mind, where my mind came to a complete rest. My efforts were made near impossible as the faintest sound of every leaf blowing in the gentle breeze stimulated my ears. Squirrels a hundred yards away nibbling on leftovers from the campers the night before could be heard by Kaaren's ears. I opened my eyes and looked for the eagle in the sky. My vision, now equal to hers in sharpness and clarity, spotted her immediately. She was majestic and free, not a care in the world other than finding food for her and her young high up in the mountain where few could reach. In many ways I felt as she did. I was alive and free, yet so much plagued my mind.

I was alone again and now feeling in greater despair than back in November. A large hole still existed, one that Liz and Ash used to fill. My best friend now blamed me for the injuries Gene sustained and rightly so. Megan had refused to talk to me, leaving me alone to grieve and suffer the guilt of the lives I took. It's an easy thing to say one would kill those who deserved it in order to save those you love, but living with someone's blood, regardless of how evil they may have been is harder to do than many may think. It scared me to think about how easy it was to take a life, to remove someone from this world with no effort, no fear of consequences. Their humanity staring back at you begging for more life as you sucked it from them, sending them to meet their maker. All this power, I knew I needed to harness it for fear it would consume me.

The eagle flew north, disappearing over the trees along the hillside. I looked around, quickly confirming there was no one around before taking off after the eagle, crossing the lake in the time it takes to blink. I caught up with her as she began flying upward, making for the high cliff line, and flew alongside before she saw me, immediately taking evasive maneuvers by banking hard to the right and heading low toward the tree line. Her long wingspan and heavier build made it difficult for her to maneuver away from me at the tree line, where a falcon could bank and turn sharply as it hunted prey in the forest. At first I gave her the respect of keeping my distance, but stayed intimate with her, matching her every movement. Slowly, little by little, I moved closer to her, shifting below her just as she started to climb high, reaching for the safety of her nest high on the cliff's edge. As she conceded, knowing she couldn’t get rid of me, yet concluding I meant her no harm, she led me back to her home, landing on a long branch sticking out of the cliff wall. Careful not to get too close to the nest, I came to a hover a couple of yards away and watched her. Inside the nest were four eggs. In several weeks, she would have new offspring and would spend the better part of her time teaching them to fly. Eventually all would leave the nest and all but one would wind up dead before winter arrived. It was sad how so few of these majestic creatures survive.

I left the nest behind, accelerating high into the clouds, passing into the upper stratosphere and heading south southeast toward Texas. It was a cloudy day in Houston, with a thick layer of clouds hanging over the city, shielding it from view. Instead of racing to my destination in my usual rush, I slowed to a glide and stretched out my arms as if I were the eagle. Both she and I, strong, powerful, and free.

---Houston Police Department, Westside---

The Sergeant didn’t bother waiting for me to approach the bench, he picked up the phone and dialed.

“Reid, Big Bird’s here to see you,” he stopped listening to Reid, “Big Bird, tall blond chick, the one that teaches you your ABCs...Sure, I’d be happy to bring her to the back...Oh, to that little cubicle of yours. So sorry, I misunderstood. Well I will bring her back as soon as I have nothing better to do, I got a no good piece of shit I need to take care of.” He hung up and looked at me, “hey sweet thing, welcome back into my life.”

“Big Bird? That’s original, never heard that before,” recalling the girls at the bar oh so long ago.

“Hey, what do you say you and I go get a drink some time and then get naked.”

“Yeah right.” Sergeant Miller gave me sour look after turning his offer for a good time down without giving it a thought.

“Clyde, what the hell did you do now?” He looked over to the handcuffed young scruffy looking perp. “I told you boy, I didn’t want to see your ass in here again.” Miller hit him hard on the face while the arresting officer held onto his upper arm. He remained still, taking the blow, but I could see him start to get angry. “What the fuck did my piece of shit son do now?”

“Breaking and entering downtown. Broke into several businesses.”

“This true?” he said, putting his face right up to Clyde’s. “What’s the matter boy, I don’t take good enough care of you, you have to keep humiliating me like this? Well, you gonna answer your old man?” Clyde started to speak when Miller hit him again. I watched with disgust, wanting to give Miller a lesson on real fatherhood. Miller grabbed his son by the arm and forcibly pulled him toward the back, motioning for me to follow. He led us down the walkway with the mess of cubicles on the left and a bank of interview rooms on the right. We stopped at the row where Reid’s desk was and Miller pushed his son up against the wall.

“Reid, come get your tramp here, I got family business to take care of.” I stood to Miller’s left as Reid got up and started walking down the row. There was a loud commotion as two officers hurrying around collided, one dropping their coffee mug. In the confusion, I heard a gunshot and a second later, I felt a gun pressing against my head. Miller fell forward clutching his back, screaming. A half-cuffed hand wrapped around my left side and pulled me tight.

My quick thought process decided to play along for fear he would discharge the weapon toward me, and give me away. He hid his skinny body behind my equally slender frame, using me as a human shield while holding the .38 firm against my skull and half cocking the weapon. He backed me against the wall as the other cops reacted and drew their weapons.

"Get the fuck back, or I'm gonna blow this bitch's brains all over the wall," he yelled as the officers took position cutting off his escape. "You piece of shit," he yelled toward his father who was lying on the ground trying frantically to rub away the pain caused by the round impacting his vest. “I’m not going to let you beat me anymore, you’re going to apologize or the broad gets it.” I was being used as a bargaining chip, uselessly trying to gain respect from a man who didn’t respect himself, much less have any to give. My heart was racing knowing I was in a really tight bind. Any shot or superhuman feat would forever give me away to a full office of police.

"There's no way out of this Clyde, let's be reasonable,” one of the officers said. Clyde instantly knew he was screwed, shooting his abusive father in the middle of his station. All attempts to talk to him failed. As I watched Reid retreat to the rear, Clyde backed me up further, hugging the wall and inching closer to the exit. Taking him out would be so easy, but doing so in a safe manner where no one could get hurt, or my secret be revealed was the challenge. The gun was half cocked and ready for a shorter trigger pull. A new officer arrived on scene, immediately taking charge of the situation.

"Clyde, Whithers here, you know me right? Let’s talk, I'm here to work with you. Tell me what you want."

"Put the guns down, put em down right now. I want my piece of shit dad to respect me." He tightened the gun against my temple, emphasizing his commitment to splattering my skull.

"Guys, lower your weapons," he said to the officers around him. They slowly complied and holstered their weapons as Clyde brought me up against a cabinet, shielding his 9 o'clock. With his left and back covered, he had only his front and right sides to worry about. To his 3 o'clock was a wall and bank of windows stretching to the far side of the room. There were no doors along the right side of the wall for any surprises to appear from and the only threats would come from straight ahead or from behind the cubicles near the windows. As Whithers negotiated with Clyde, I sensed a faint thought pattern in Clyde. I could almost feel his fear and could tell he was moments away from giving up in a bloodbath. My time was running out and I needed to make up my mind whether I wanted to stay hidden or come out of the closet. My inner self would be safe from the world knowing, but my alien nature would forever be made public. It was appealing to be known to the world, but I wasn't ready.

If I was sensing Clyde, maybe I could read Whithers. Concentrating I tried to get relaxed. A strange sensation permeated my head. Faint thoughts of the officers nearby started to take a scrambled form in my mind. I could hear bits and pieces as they prepared for a showdown. I focused as much of my attention as I could on Whithers. Slowly, the others faded away. It was just fragments, but something about the “flank left” kept popping up. There was nothing but a wide open area to my left. Instead, I figured he was referring to his left which was nothing but cubicles. Switching to infrared, I scanned the area. Sure enough there were at least three hot bodies crawling their way forward. They were going to ambush him where they could get a clear headshot. I slowly put my hands up as if cooperating, and began distracting him.

"Clyde, please don't kill me, please."

"Shut your hole bitch," he yelled out, addressing the officers while pushing the gun harder against my skull. "I'm gonna kill her."

"Clyde," I said, getting his attention, "don't you have someone that cares for you?" I asked him a question, trying to get him thinking just as Reid popped up in the firing position. Clyde reacted faster than anyone thought. He re-positioned his arm over my shoulder, pointing it at the hero cop while still using me as a shield, effectively protecting himself against all threats other than Reid. Reid struggled to get a firing solution as Clyde's gun was shifting to the right, slowing to an optimal firing position. I could hear the mechanics of the gun starting to react to the extra pressure applied on the trigger. The half-cocked hammer started to move back in slow motion. It was now or never. I reached up with both hands, my right grabbing the wrist a split second after my left hit the barrel of the handgun, pushing it far to the right, safely away from Reid, as the gun discharged. Clyde was stunned as I exerted force on his wrist, opening his hand so the weapon fell to the ground. Before it impacted I stopped it with my foot and focused my attention on his arm.

Safe, I grabbed the upper part of his wrist with my now free right hand and pushed his arm up, while facing to my right and stepping under his arm with my right foot first. Keeping a solid grip on his arm I pivoted with my hips, turning on the heels of my feet. The sudden rotation of my entire body gave me much leverage and the movement twisted his arm so that his thumb was now reversed and was pointing downward, forcing him into a bent over position. My left foot, which was behind me, was now my front facing foot after the 180 degree pivot. I sidestepped wide to the left behind Clyde's body, taking his twisted immobilized arm with me. The pain made him move in the direction I was pulling him, and once I sensed his momentum building, I stepped behind him further with my right foot and pivoted on the heel of my left foot while squatting and applying downward pressure on the nerve cluster in his wrist. To cheat, I applied extra force to get him to comply. He spun in a wide circular motion while dropping like a brick. He yelled as he hit the hard floor teeth first, breaking a few off. My left knee came down and dug deep into his armpit, while my right remained raised, bracing his arm. As I dropped my right knee I dragged the secure arm down the top of my upper leg toward the ground while spreading my knees apart, effectively stretching tightly across my kneecaps. Before I could do any more, an officer knelt down, pressing his own knee into Clyde's shoulder blade, thinking he was rendering him even more immobile than I already had him.

"You son of a bitch," one of the officers yelled as he struck the thug in the back. Whithers grabbed the abusive officer and pushed him aside.

"Asshole, he’s subdued, get the fuck out of the way." A dozen guns were pointed at the man's head while Whithers tightened the cuff already on his left hand hand, securing it while I kept the other hand firmly pinned to the ground. Whithers grabbed the short length of chain and took hold of the other cuff, priming it to rapidly secure the other hand. Not taking a chance, I opened the man's hand and grabbed the palm of his hand, squeezing his fingers together and rotating his wrist toward me, forcing it toward Whithers' other cuff. The ratchet sounded as Whithers tightened the cuffs to the point they were cutting off his circulation. The man finally secure, I released all grip on him and backed off. A hand reached down in front of my face. I looked up to see Reid offering to help me up. It wasn't necessary, but I accepted it any way, standing to find the department staring at me. The cops started clapping as Reid pulled me close and hugged me.

"That was by far the most amazing arrest I have ever seen in all my years of law enforcement,” Whithers said. Reid released me from his smothering hug and looked at me.

"Karen, my god, you...hell, thank you. That was-"

"-Kick ass, is that what you are trying to say Reid?" Someone blurted out.

---United States Embassy, Moscow---May 1, 1987

Megan sat at her small desk reading when there was a knock on her door.

“Just a moment,” she called out while she looked in the mirror and fixed her hair. She grabbed her purse and opened the door to a large bouquet of roses, “Aw, they're beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as my M&M, happy birthday baby,” Damien said, handing his daughter the roses.

“Thank you Daddy, come inside a sec while I put them in some water.”

“I feel like you are back in college, visiting you in your dorms. I would have thought they would have given you a little bigger apartment space.”

“I kinda like it. It forces me to simplify.” Megan finished setting her roses in a vase and grabbed her purse again, “are we going to the cafeteria or are you gonna venture out tonight?”

“It’s your birthday, anywhere you want?”

“I know a great place around the corner, they serve raw beef, you will love it?”

“Honey, I can’t stand going for sushi with your brother, and you want me to eat raw beef?”

“I’m kidding Daddy, it’s a western restaurant, they have steaks. Nothing us Texans would write home about, but, pretty good nonetheless. I want you to take me there.”

“Steak, now you’re talking.” The two exited the embassy and passed through the security gate, Megan saying goodbye to the cute Marine standing guard. They turned the corner and proceeded down the street, passing by some shops closed for the night. “It’s strange being outside, you sure it’s safe?”

“Very safe. We are being watched, but that’s a good thing. People on both sides know we are going out and will keep an eye on us. The Russians won’t let another thing happen to me.”

“I won’t let another thing happen to my baby girl. When are you going to come home and stop making your mother so worried?”

“Not tonight Daddy, we can talk about me settling down on any day other than today. I want to have a good night.” Tthe two stepped inside and were promptly greeted. Megan asked for a table in the very crude Russian she had picked up. The hostess ignored her and spoke in decent English, obviously well versed to accommodate the American traffic from the Embassy. He recognized her and promptly gave her priority seating, bumping several parties who had arrived before them. Megan and her father took a seat after handing the host their coats and got comfortable. After twenty minutes of enjoying their first drink and looking over the menu, they put their order in and relaxed, enjoying a quiet fancy father daughter date.

“When was the last time we went out like this, just the two of us?” Damien asked.

“Years, I think it was just before I told you I was switching careers.”

“Very sneaky too. Got a good meal in before you told your old man all that money he spent on med school was about to be washed down the drain and you wanted to go back to school and become a psychologist.” Megan had just completed her residency and wasn’t enjoying medicine as much as she thought. The long hours and difficulty dealing with patients dying prompted her to second guess her choice of careers. Since she was a little girl, she looked up to her father, and wanted to be a doctor like him, but she wasn’t quite feeling it. As she interacted with patients, she found she had a gift of listening and helping them deal with their illnesses mentally.

“It wasn’t that much longer of a road, I finished in four more years.”

“Then my baby decided she wanted to be an astronaut. Never got to see you much after that. I’m glad I can now.”

“Same here, I missed you.”

“You know, all that Med school was not a waste. I am extremely proud of you. Your field laparotomy was impressive. Opening Gene up as cleanly as you did with what you had and stitching him back up in the field was very very good work. I didn’t think you came out of your residency with so much experience, especially dealing with gunshot wounds.”

“I had my fair share, I just have a good memory, especially when it comes to procedures. After I snapped out of it, I was running on instinct. I wasn’t really thinking.”

“Surgeries are nothing instinctual. Some of it yes, but there is a lot of planning and studying that goes into preparing for a surgery. In your case, you didn’t have much to work with, and had you lost Gene, no one would have blamed you for not being able to save him.” Megan became really silent and turned her head. She curled her hand up and put her downward facing fingers up to her mouth as tears started to stream down her face. Damien got up and sat in the booth next to his daughter, and put his arms around her drawing her head on his chest. “Oh sweetie, it’s ok. Talk to me, what’s the matter?”

“What if Gene is like this because of me?”

“I just got done saying you weren’t the cause-” she shook her head back and fourth rapidly cutting off his sentence.

“No Daddy, it was me that caused him to get shot in the first place.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t shoot him, those terrorists did?”

“Yes, but if I had listened to their commands and not started freaking out, Gene wouldn’t have had to save me.” Damien was hearing the story for the first time and became uneasy at the thought of someone threatening his daughter.

“He saved you?” Megan grabbed the napkin and started wiping her face, her makeup getting all over the cloth napkin.

“I was so afraid, I wouldn’t stop screaming. The man put his gun to my head and started to pull the trigger when Gene attacked him. He lost the fight and the jerk shot him instead of me,” Damien squeezed her really tight.

“Oh honey, I didn’t know that’s what happened. Eugene saved my little girl and let her come back to me.”

“But if I hand’t become so scared, he wouldn't have tried shooting either of us. Gene would still be able to walk.”

“Honey, you don’t know that. You can’t blame yourself, everything happens for a reason, like they always said in church. Maybe there is some greater good that will come out of all this. Gene’s life is not over. He’s strong and his spirits are high. He will do just fine, it will take a little bit of time for him to adjust. You know that right?”

“Yes, I guess, I can’t help it though. Every night, I keep seeing him shoot Gene and every night I wake up feeling so guilty.”

“What if you kept silent, didn’t do anything wrong and they still shot him, you ever think of that? Stop beating yourself up, you should be proud of yourself. Tell you what, I was going to wait until after dinner, but I will give this to you right now to help you take your mind off this and put your thoughts back to what’s important, my little girl’s birthday,” Damien withdrew a small gift-wrapped box and handed it to her. “Happy birthday M&M.” Megan shook the box, knowing whatever was inside sparkled and was expensive and that her father never disappointed. She excused herself and went to the ladies room to clean up before returning in a better mood.”

“Thank you Daddy,” she said as she carefully peeled the paper away and opened the box. Inside was a silver chain with a cluster of diamonds, a large one in the center, “Oh wow, you remembered?”

“Thats the one you wanted right?”

“Yes, thank you.” Damien helped her put it around her neck and watched the diamonds sparkle.

“You are so beautiful, you know that? Intelligent and beautiful. You make me proud.”

“You’re the best dad a girl can have, I love you. I promise to come around more often when we go home.”

“I would like that, and so would your mom. Your sister is driving her up the wall.”

“Daddy, stop it, no gossip...ok, no gossip on my birthday,” Megan didn’t talk with her family about each other, but she and her dad had a special trust, and would ofter bend the rules to vent their frustrations.

“Sorry. Your mother tells me you are letting Ron and Summer stay at your place.”

“Yes, makes sense. They sold their house a little earlier than they thought. He won’t start his job in Osaka for a few months, so instead of renting, I am letting them stay there so they can save some money.”

“That’s nice of you. What about your friend?” Megan looked down and didn’t say anything. “I’m sorry, you two get into a fight?”

“Not really, it’s little difficult to talk about, frankly, and I really don’t want to think about it.” Instead they talked about old times, memories of her growing up. They continued to talk for hours, catching up on all the lost time between them, eventually heading back, where they sat in the Embassy lounge until midnight. She gave her dad a kiss on the cheek as he dropped her off at her apartment.

“Thank you Daddy, I had a wonderful night.”

“So did I, you have a good rest of the night and I will see you tomorrow. I love you, my little M&M.”

“Love you too Daddy.”

“Oh, do me a favor and promise me you won’t wear those outside the Embassy.” Megan reluctantly agreed, not really worried about being mugged, but she agreed to keep him happy.

---Houston Police Department, Westside---

“I have a question,” Officer Dixon said raising his hand.

“What is it?” Sergeant Ferguson asked with a little hesitancy.

“She going to make us wear a blue skirt as well? Because it’s bad enough we have to waste a day having some broad teaching us shit we already know.”

“Dixon, put a sock in it, and knock off the sexist shit or I will have you on patrol wearing a pink armband with Hello Kitty on it like they do in Thailand. Karen has agreed to spend a few days teaching you sorry bunch of losers a thing or two about control holds, defense against weapons, and weapon retention. Two of us, and I won’t say who, are on a long vacation because one didn't know how to secure a prisoner and the other didn't know how to retain his weapon, letting his disgruntled son grab his duty weapon. If it weren’t for Karen here, we would have had to get into our finest dress blues to say our farewells to Reid here. So for the next few days, she knows more than you maggots, and you will show her respect. Everyone understand me?”

“YES SIR!” They all shouted.

“Good, now on the mats, you will address her as Sensei, which is Japanese for teacher. Karen Sensei has a second degree black belt and has studied for over ten years. I spent a couple years learning some of these techniques and they are very applicable out on the streets. So with no further adieu, everyone show your appreciation,” The crowd of off-duty officers gave me a moderately warm welcome. The female officers gave the loudest welcome, as this was their second class.

Reid approached me a week after the incident asking if I would be willing to teach the officers some Aikido techniques similar to the one I used against the dirtbag using me as a human shield. As part of my agreement, the female officers had to be included, and be allowed to have an all girls lesson prior. It was a really fun day working with them on the mats teaching them everything I knew. By the end of the day, their current inventory of control holds were even more effective, and they had an extended repertoire of new techniques.

“Dixon, right?” I asked, starting by addressing his question.

“Yes.”

“The hakama is a traditional Japanese pant worn by men. The Samurai used the excessively baggy pants to hide their foot movements during a duel. Yes, they do look like a skirt.” I thought to myself just how close to a skirt the hakama was, and how much time I spent wearing them. “In Aikido, they are part of our uniform, and a symbol of rank. A student who has received their black belt is given the honor of being allowed to wear them on the mats.”

“Doesn’t sound to honorable to me, dressing like a chick. I think I will stick with boxing,” he said, bringing all the male officers to a laugh. His buddy that was making some snide comments to me back in December gave him a high five.

“You, lawnmower,” I pointed at him. He was a large guy, easily 6’3” and lots of body mass. A good solid thickness of fat over muscle. He was not someone to screw with.

“Who me,” he asked in a slightly shocked voice, slowly connecting my choice of names, with his desire to give my nether regions a little shave.

“Yeah, you. Why don’t you come up here and help me out.,” The guys got wild and cheered him on.

“Go show her who’s boss Gutierrez,” He took a stance in front of me.

“You look really strong.”

“I can bench press 225 pounds. Could probably lift your skinny ass over my head.”

“I’m sure you can. Do me a favor, come over here and show me how strong you are. Grab my wrist with both hands and hold me as tight as you can.”

“This is going to be embarrassing, you know that don’t you?” he said to me as he grabbed my wrist.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a few of the women I worked with last week tap the guys next to them, encouraging them to watch closely, knowing well what was about to happen. Gutierrez grabbed my left wrist with his right hand and grabbed my upper arm just above with his left. For the sake of the lesson, I didn’t let him get a solid grip as I wanted him to learn to react fast to a situation. I stepped back slightly getting off the line of attack while reaching up with my right hand and taking a grip on the knife edge of his right hand. By stepping back I broke his grip with his left hand. I pushed his right hand outward while keeping a firm grip, raising his arm high as I began to pivot and move in toward him.

He thought he would try and make up for his loss by raising his left hand and wrapping it around my neck, but I was too fast and had already ducked under his right arm and took position behind him. My thumb was applying pressure on the back of his downward facing hand while the rest of my right fingers remained in control of the knife edge of his hand. His left elbow was high in the air up near my face. I brought my left hand up and grabbed ahold of his open fingers, squeezing them together and pulling them toward my body, pinning his hand against my belt. It was only a split second and he immediately began to react by struggling. Staying within the realm of human force, I began applying pressure on the vulnerable hand and cut downward, inflicting intense pain on his nerves.

Gutierrez immediately hit the deck as it was the only direction he could move that wouldn’t cause intense pain. I torqued his wrist and dug his shoulder into the mat. He struggled, but my grip on him was firm and he couldn’t move. The guys watching were laughing at him. I put my left knee down low near his head while guiding his arm against my still raised right knee. Using my legs to lock his shoulder and stress his arm, I released my grip with my right and let my left take over while the knife edge of my right hand dug into into his elbow. Finally I dropped my right knee and tucked it tight into his armpit, leaving his shoulder blade in between my legs. Reid, on cue, rushed in and cuffed his wrist, while I maintained a tight inescapable control over the large officer. In seconds he was cuffed securely. While he laid on the ground swearing, his buddies continued laughing at him.

“Way to go lawnmower, eat that mat,” one called out, forever solidifying his new nickname as if he were a fighter pilot gaining his call sign.

“Way to go girl,” one of the female cops called out. Reid unlocked the cuffs around Gutierrez’s wrists and let him slowly get up. I stayed kneeling down as he stood up looking down at me with disbelief.

“Gutierrez, take a knee,” I commanded and he quickly complied. I bowed to him and slowly, he returned the courtsey. Turning to the other students, I addressed them.

“There is no shame in what we do here today. One by one, each of you will have a turn with the techniques I present. These are not intended to humiliate, but to save your life. Watch this scenario played out a different way.” Reid handed me a small holster with an orange rubber gun in it. I clipped it to the straps on my hakama and let Reid be my uke for this demonstration. I called one of the female officers up to help demonstrate. She pretended to be a second attacker going for my weapon while Reid attempted to neutralize my shooting hand. I modified the technique, stepping sideways protecting my weapon while putting Reid into a firm Sankyo hold. Instead of dropping him, I maneuvered his body as a shield in between me and officer Kelly, who was attempting to go after my weapon.

Once in control of the situation, I threw Reid instead of dropping him. Much to the shock of the class, he didn’t fall, but executed an impressive forward roll where he recovered and returned to a wobbling standing position. The week I spent with him teaching him proper ukemi allowed him to recover from the throw without injury, but in the streets, the attacker would have sustained injury impacting a hard floor. With Reid out of the picture, I turned my attention to Kelly, who lunged at me with a wooden knife. I demonstrated the same technique I used on the first thug in the alley behind Neiuport 23, only Kelly, experienced in Judo, was able to break her fall, landing safely on the mat, where I pinned her. When we were done, I bowed to her, Reid, and Gutierrez and let them return to sit with the crowd.

“Later we are going to practice this technique as well as several others where one or more persons might try to overpower you and take your weapon. Gutierrez used strength, while I used the attacker’s momentum, pressure points and my entire body to gain control. While the arms can have tremendous strength and be intimidating, even women with weaker physical strength can overpower the strongest men. You might ask why it is that you have a woman teaching you these techniques. Women start off learning Aikido with the supposed disadvantage of not having the strength. If you see what I did to Officer Kelly, she did not fly though the air because of my strength, but because of the momentum of her forward direction of travel. While keeping the knife in a safe direction, I secured her wrist, and directed it in the opposite direction. Her sudden movement through the air was her own defensive technique. I found myself in a situation just like this, only it was a live blade. Let’s just say he didn’t know how to fall like Kelly, and he suffered a broken wrist and shoulder.” An officer raised his hand. I pointed to him and after he gave his name, I allowed him to proceed.

“So you are saying we don’t need to be strong?”

“No, these techniques can be useful regardless of strength. One reason women do really well, is they,” I stopped and corrected myself, “we don’t have strength, so we start learning the techniques properly. Most of the men will waste a lot of time using strength instead of doing it the easy way. Those who really master their skills go back and relearn, pretending to be weak. I will say this, once you learn the right way, you can reintroduce your strength to compliment your proper technique. When you do, you can be very devastating. I myself have more strength, but I limit myself. In time, you can do the same. There is nothing mystical with what I am showing you, but all part of physics,”

I gave a brief lesson on the laws of motion and how the momentum of an object with considerable mass is not easy to stop and reverse direction. By leading that momentum, one can use the attacker’s energy against them. In a short time, their skepticism having a woman teaching them self defense rapidly faded, and they became enthusiastic. One by one throughout the day, they all approached and asked me how I would defend against certain types of attacks.

---United States Embassy, Moscow---

Eugene engaged the brakes on his chair and made sure the wheels were properly locked before beginning his routine. His gloved hands gripped the small armrests of the chair and began struggling to push himself up. Some feelings of pain had returned and the area where Megan had opened his abdomen hurt as he tightened his muscles. After about ten seconds of struggling, he completed his first push up and hovered over his chair, his arms supporting all his weight. Finally, he grew tired and lowered himself again, resting a moment, then tried again and again. After, he grabbed the dumbbells off the chair next to his bed and started a series of reps with the 15 pound weights. He was through his second set when Dr. McCormack knocked on the door.

"Come in," Gene called out.

"Eugene, I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

"No not at all Doctor, just exercising, adding some bulk to these scrawny arms."

"Good, how is that coming along?"

"Slow, but I am determined. I've never been much of a quitter."

"I can see that, you have been making a lot of progress in the four months you have been with us."

"Getting there, hopefully I can get out of here soon. Getting tired of being cooped up in this hospital."

"Well, let's talk about that. I think if you can lift yourself consistently then I think we can let you have a private place until we can make other arrangements. I don't see why that can't happen by August, September at the latest."

"Another two months?"

"Don't worry, I think it is closer to a month. We just want to make sure you can handle yourself on your own. Of course you will have people watching you, I know one in particular."

"Doctor,” Gene said, stopping his curls and looking Damien in the eyes, “I ever tell you how amazing of a daughter you have?"

"Damien, son, call me Damien and yes, about a thousand times. She makes me proud and so do you. She told me what you did, and I just wanted to say thank you for keeping my baby safe. I can't imagine being in that situation, but had you not reacted with the speed and selflessness you did, my daughter would not be with us any more." Damien put his arm on his shoulder.

"Damien, I wish I could say it was me being heroic, but it really wasn't. I confess, it was more like I was trying to prove to myself I am not a coward. I'm sure Megan told you what happened up there?"

"Yes, she's my daughter, we talk about everything. She told me all about it, but whether you were out there to prove something, it doesn't matter. You used that failure to learn, and grow stronger. It's because of that, that you were able to muster up the courage, rising above your worst fears, all to keep Megan in this world. No matter what, you are my personal hero and I thank you. From me and my whole family, you are a much better man than that guy she was with. It's great to see some real men are left in this world." Damien opened his chart and switched subjects, going over Gene's latest lab results. After about ten minutes, Damien thanked him again and left him to continue his exercising.

---Bunker---

"Ashley honey, pick what you want for lunch." After a few minutes the young 11 year old returned from the pantry with a couple of cans of food. "Sweetie, don't carry so many at once. A little extra walking back and forth isn't going to kill you." Ashley ignored her mother, figuring she was half way there and it was pointless to turn around. She reached the kitchen and started stacking the cans on the counter. She was a second away from proving her mother wrong when one of the cans fell.

"Goddamn it, what did I tell you." Liz screamed at her daughter, giving in to her stress. Ashley, getting older, didn’t immediately start crying, but yelled back.

"Don’t you talk to your mother like that, you watch who you are talking to, you got that miss?” Ashley put on a large frown.

“I’m sorry,” she said through her sad face.

"Oh, honey, Mommy didn't mean to yell, come here." Ashley was starting to get a little taller and Liz found her height to be awkward. Too short to keep standing, yet too tall to squat to her level. Instead she pulled up a chair and sat down, pulling Ashley toward her. "Just listen to me when I tell you something ok, we can't just go to the store and buy these, understand?" She shook her head, acknowledging she did. After a brief make up session between mother and daughter, Liz reached down and grabbed the can that had landed upside down on the floor. It was slightly dented around the edges, but there was nothing leaking. As Liz picked it up, something caught her attention. She pulled it toward her for closer inspection. Below the expiration date, was a manufacture date. She read it over and over and over again hoping she was reading it wrong. The light blue stamp on the bottom of the can read Jan 12, 1887. ‘That can't be right.’

"Ash, do me a favor sweetie, can you go to your calendar and tell your mother what was the date we first started staying here. Ashley ran over to her wall and scanned through the dates she had written on it with her markers.

"October 17, 1986"

"Honey are you sure?"

"Yes Mommy, I positive. Why?"

"Nothing, just making sure this food is still good." It was a good lie for the time being, she needed to figure things out.

“And what’s the date today?” Ashley moved along the wall coming to the current month.

“July 17th I think.” Liz processed the dates in her head, concluding that it was either a misprint, or something else. To test her theories, she went to the supply closet and started going through all the cans one by one looking for dates.

---Later that day---

"Ashley, do your mother a favor and go to your room for a bit," she said with a commanding voice as the lights announced Dwayne's return. Liz sat on the chair in the kitchen with a couple cans of food sitting before her. She waited as Dwayne finished his routine and entered the small dining area.

"Hi Liz." She didn't respond. "What's the matter?"

"Why don't you come over here a moment." He set his bag down on the table and pulled up a seat.

"What's going on?"

"You tell me Dwayne," a chill ran up his spine as she spoke to him in a tone she never used with him. She got emotional, and sometimes lost it, but there was something about her voice that scared him.

"I don't know what you mean. You wanna help me out?" She pushed the two cans toward him. "What, you don't like spam and cream of mushroom soup?"

"No, not that at all, look at the dates." He looked at the labels that were partially burnt from his butane torch.

"There are no dates, the label is burnt where they must have been. They are still good if that's what you are worried about. Hell, I don't think Spam goes bad." He brought himself to a laugh until he realized her face was dead serious. He felt his face fluster and grow warm.

"Nah, Dwayne, not really worried about them being too old, but I am worried they are not ripe yet. You wanna explain to me how food manufactured after armageddon arrived in our possession?" Dwayne faked confusion and looked at the can again.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh cut it out, look on the bottom of the fucking can."

"Liz, no need to swear like that, just calm down. You never cussed like this. What's up with you lately?"

"What's up with me?" She repeated it again saying it louder the second time, "I'll tell you what the hell's the matter with me, living in this goddamn dungeon. So help me Dwayne, you better explain this shit right now. If there is something you're not telling me." She was yelling as he found the stamped manufacturing date under the can. He cursed himself silently for being so sloppy while she continued to carry on. She got in his face, keeping up the attack, preventing him from coming up with a good excuse for his blunder. Finally he snapped and threw the can of Spam across the room.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed as he stood up, bringing himself to stand slightly over her. Liz instantly became afraid that she pushed him too far. Doubt started to seep into her mind, hoping she didn't make a mistake and falsely accuse him. "Liz, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Sit down, there's something I need to confess to you." A look of fear came over her as she sat down, a sobbing mess.

"What have you been hiding from me Dwayne? What's out there?" The split second she said those words, his mind began to formulate an idea.

"Liz, I haven't been honest with you, but the world above isn't quite what I have led you to believe. There are survivors, and there are some operations still running.”

“You telling me people are alive up there, that we are not alone? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” He stopped and looked at Ashley’s door. Liz turned to look as well and saw the door cracked open. “Ashley, close that door right now and go to bed.”

“But I’m not tired Mom.”

“Ashley, mind your mother and shut that door right now.” Liz could hear her complaining to herself as she jumped onto the bed, causing the springs to squeak. She stood up and motioned for Dwayne to walk into the supply closet, where she closed the door and resumed the conversation. “So, why have you been lying to me?”

“Liz, I am looking out for you. It’s a frightening world up there. At first it wasn’t so bad, but as the sky grew dark, riots broke out. It was mass anarchy. People were killing for food, water, gas, weapons. You name it. Remember the way everyone was acting the day we came here? People were already shooting each other over a gallon of gas, or a pack of Ding Dongs. The military didn’t have time to control the people, before long, a large population of survivors dwindled to half. Some manufacturing continued for a few months, until people started getting sick from the radiation. They became mad and savagely attacked anyone for any reason.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me any of this?” Dwayne put his head down, pretending to get emotional, while he formulated the next round of fibs to get him out of this jam unscathed.

“I’m afraid Liz,” he said in a quiet voice that only Liz could hear, “I’m afraid of what’s out there. I hate going outside for fear I will run into someone who will kill me, or I will be forced to kill them. I didn’t mean to lie to you, but there is not a lot of hope for us. I didn’t want to steal that hope from you.”

“What you tell me is true?” He forced tears up as he sat down on the bags of rice in the corner, grabbing a bottle of whiskey as he sat. He took a long drink.

“Yes it’s all true. I wonder why we bother continuing. There’s not much to look forward to.” Dwayne handed her the bottle. His story was troubling, but if true, made her very afraid. She took a couple of long sips herself, coughing from the burn of the whiskey going down her throat.

“I want to go outside.” Dwayne, convinced he was in the clear, picked his head up.

“Liz, we are simply not going to have this discussion again.”

“No Dwayne, we are going to have this conversation. I want to see first hand what’s out there. I am tired of being cooped up in here.” He stood up.

“No Liz, we are not, it’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t give a shit, you just got done saying there is nothing to live for, so screw it, let’s live on the edge.”

“Liz, I didn’t really mean that.” She looked at him with a serious stare.

“Well Dwayne, I mean it, I want out. I can’t take this anymore. I don’t give a shit about the radiation.” Dwayne reached up and started shaking her.

“Damn it Liz, get a grip, you can’t go out there.”

“Why not, you go out all the time, I just want to go outside the door, that’s all.”

“No Liz, I won’t risk it. You are not going outside, that’s final.”

“What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” Dwayne’s heart rate was climbing, he was losing control.

“Then I’m going outside right now. Just you fucking try and stop me.” Dwayne smacked her hard on the face. Liz covered her cheek in horror, feeling the warmth spread where his hand impacted.

“You sorry son of a bitch," she said as she kicked him hard between the legs. He doubled over and fell to his knees. Liz seized the moment and made for the front. She grabbed the suit off the hook and struggled to get it around her feet. She paused a moment and turned the wheel to open the large steel door before resuming her efforts to pull the suit up. She turned and saw Dwayne still hunched over, moving toward her.

“Stop Liz.”

“No, get away from me.” Ashley came running out of her room and grabbed ahold of Dwayne.

“Leave my mommy alone.”

“Ashley, stop it, I’m trying to stop your mom from leaving. She’s going to kill herself going out there,” Ashley turned and saw her mom was indeed planning to go outside and turned against her.

“No Mom, don’t go. Please don’t,” she said with a very worried voice. “Don’t leave me alone, I don’t want you to die out there.” Ashley grabbed ahold of Liz’s waist and held on tight. Dwayne came over and grabbed her wrists as she struggled back. Finally, he let go and put his arms around her.

“Ashley, tell your mother not to go out there. Help me out, she’s going crazy and won’t listen to me.” Ashley became a crying mess, tugging on Liz, begging her not to leave.

“Mommy, please. I’m afraid, I don’t want to lose you too. Don’t leave me alone.” The pleas of her daughter to not leave her orphaned sank deep into her heart. She no longer had a father, and the thought of her being raised alone by Dwayne was somehow deeply troubling.

“That a girl,” Dwayne said as Liz sat down on the cold concrete floor, reaching up and pulling Ashley close to her. She looked up at her.

“Ashley honey, I won’t leave you alone. I just couldn’t stand being in here anymore. Don’t worry, Mommy’s not going to leave.”

“I don’t want you to die like daddy.”

“I know you don’t. You’re such a treasure and I don’t want to leave you ever.”

---Karen and Reid---

“This is a pretty fancy place for a detective's salary, don’t you think?” I asked Reid as we sat at the bar waiting for a table. The first round of drinks on Reid’s dime arrived and we toasted although I had my necessary head start and downed four before he arrived. I needed to relax, but would need many more drinks before I got to that point where this impervious body could wind down. My nerves were shot, after spending the day debating this outing. I was a little scared going out alone for a nice dinner with Reid, although he insisted it was a long overdue thank you for all I have done for him. He was a good friend and I trusted him, but I was scared knowing, as all men do, that this body I now occupied was much to be desired.

Being alone in Reid’s company, on what felt like a date, was scary, but equally so, it was welcoming. Ever since April, Megan has eluded me. All calls to the Embassy have been ignored, and without ID, I can’t get inside to look for her. My loneliness has been overwhelming me, driving me mad, especially since I can’t sleep the time away. Having a buddy to talk to tonight was somehow comforting.

“Yes, it’s a little fancy, but you deserve it. I never got a chance to thank you for saving my ass amongst all the other things you have done for me. This little outing is simply the least I can do.”

“Thank you Reid, I really appreciate it, but I’ve told you many times that I don’t need recognition for what I do. I just do what needs to be done.”

“Karen, come on, deep down we all need recognition of some kind. Stop being so stubborn and just relax and let someone do something for you.”

“What about your girlfriend, won’t she mind you taking a strange woman out for a fancy dinner,” Reid started laughing.

“No, she doesn’t mind, she likes you.”

“What, I’ve never met her before, how does she know me so well?” Reid became silent and looked away.

“Uh oh, avoiding eye contact, someone’s guilty. Come on Reid, confess and I can talk to the DA about going easy on you,” Reid started laughing at my interrogation joke when he looked back at me. His face started projecting an oncoming serious conversation. He took a couple sips of his cocktail and looked me straight in the eye.

“Ok, but you can’t tell anyone, especially downtown.”

“Trish?” His eyes went wide as I made the connection.

“Damn detective, how did you figure that out?” he said, giving me an honorary detective title.

“I’ve had some suspicions for a while, but nothing solid.”

“Ok, I really wanna hear this, were we that obvious?”

“For starters, you treat her like hell in the station, but she keeps looking after you, defends you at times, and knows about your personal life. Other things, she seems to visit you quite often throughout the day. I’ve seen some winks you two have given each other.” The host came over and informed us our table was ready. Reid pulled a $10 bill out of his pocket and left it on the bar while I grabbed both of our drinks.

“Can I take your coat Ma’am?”

“Thank you,” I said, slipping my business coat off, not really enjoying the restrictive feel it had. I handed it to the host who took it to the wardrobe while we dined.

“You know, if you don’t mind me saying, you look really good all dressed up in a suit.”

“Thank you. Trying to look a little more professional. I can’t always wear jeans. Anyway, quit stalling, back to Trish. If you two are dating, why do you treat her like hell around the office?” I asked, recalling all the times he picked on her mistakes, his shouting matches with her.

“It’s just an act.”

“Sounds lame, why would you treat the person you love like that, regardless of the reason? What are you afraid of, that people will find out you two love each other?”

“It’s awkward working together, we want to keep it professional and besides it’s difficult for her being a woman.” He continued to talk while I scanned through the menu deciding what to order, trying to pick out what kind of steak I wanted.

“Trish told me about that, how she gives up her femininity in order to work without getting harassed, but is that really healthy. Isn’t that setting other female cops up to have to conform to being something they are not just to work as equals in law enforcement? Women aren’t going to break through that barrier if they have to try looking and acting like men in order to get respect.”

“I guess you are right, why can’t we just let you girls be girls. You and I both know you are just as capable of doing the job. Sure us guys are stronger than you ladies are, but you have been demonstrating that strength is not as important as skill and teamwork.”

“I recommend you quit being afraid of everyone and let your love be known.”

“How about you, you have someone you care about?”

“I do, but we can’t be together. Everyone else just doesn’t compare, so I found happiness being alone.” It was as good of a fib as I could come up with. Normally, I would have dodged the question entirely, but I was desperate for someone to talk to. I picked up my whiskey and took a long sip as the waiter came to take our order. We sat in silence a while after ordering before Reid spoke up.

“Karen, there are some things I need to talk to you about. Before I do, I want you to know that I very much want to find your family and I will do everything I can to help you.” His sudden change of voice started to worry me.

“I know you do. You have been remarkable in your diligent pursuit. I thank you very much for not giving up on them.”

“I don’t want to give up, but I might not have a choice.”

“Of course you do, you always have a choice. What do you mean,” I said, my voice getting a little elevated.

“Karen, my boss took a liking to my work - all thanks to you - and moved me to Homicide. Now this all happened back in April, and I was supposed to back out of your case, but after your little demonstration, I convinced them to let me work part time looking for Liz out of gratitude. We take care of each other, but we are reaching an impasse. They need me to be focused, to let go and hand everything over to Harris. You are going to be in good hands with him and I promise I will do what I can on the side.” I sucked down the rest of my drink and called the waiter over to order a double.”

“So that’s it? Took me out for a fancy dinner to say you are taking the money and running? I help you solve a few cases, you get recognized for it, now you are leaving me with an idiot who doesn’t care about my case?”

“Karen, come on, Homicide is where I should have been years ago until I screwed it up. I know what it’s like, trust me, I do, pushing all your dreams and aspirations aside to focus solely on finding the people you love.”

“I don’t have any aspirations, all I want is to find them. That is the driving force of my life. With all I’ve...Michael has done for the world, you would think someone on this fucking planet could show a little interest in finding his family. I thought you were it, that sole person who gave a shit. I guess you're no different.

“Look, I am not telling you I am giving up on you, I am just saying, I have to put a lot of attention into Homicide now. I might get in trouble for working on missing persons when I could be dealing with the deceased.” I got up and dropped a $10 bill on the table. “What are you doing, where are you going?”

“Reid, don’t get yourself in trouble over them. I think you have a great idea. It’s time I stop thinking of them as missing persons and face the fact that they are dead in a ditch somewhere and never coming back. Thank’s for the drink.” I stormed out without stopping to get my suit coat. He followed in pursuit, but I ran faster until I found a safe spot, hitting the clouds. As I lifted high into the sky I turned and watched him turn the corner to find me long gone.

---Gene’s Apartment United States Embassy, Moscow---July 28, 1987

Gene rolled his chair to the window and looked out over the river. It was a wonderful view; he had to push himself up a bit to get the full sight of the park below.

“What do you think Gene?” Megan asked, and he gave up and sat back down.

“It’s alright. I will have to manage.”

“They finished with the installations, so you are all set. The bathroom has all the support in order to get yourself cleaned up. The sinks and kitchen appliances have all been lowered, and I am always down the hall, you can call me anytime you need.”

“Thanks Megan, you have been a big help, I really appreciate it.”

“No I haven’t. This isn’t helping you.”

“Megan, we aren’t going to start this again are we?”

“Start what?”

“You carrying on about how this is all your fault?”

“It is my fault. We would all be home right now, and you still walking if I had kept my mouth shut.”

“Great, here we go.”

“I’m sorry Gene, I can’t stand seeing you like this. It hurts. It hurts because it was me that enslaved you to that chair.”

“You know what Megan, you used to be a very strong, intelligent woman with her head screwed on real tight. Now, I look at you and think how immature you are.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means. Megan, damn it, stop having pity for me. If you are, then go back home. I don’t want you here if you are going to come visit me every goddamn day feeling guilty for taking my legs. Snap the hell out of it. That asshole with the gun is the only one that caused this, not you, not me, not the makers of the gun, but that one man, the one who pulled the trigger. Me walking and me sitting forever in this chair was defined by that man’s decision to tighten his index finger. Now I could have been a chicken shit like up in space and watched him put a bullet through your pretty little face, or I could have sacrificed myself to let you live. I knew there was nothing I could do to overpower him and him shooting me was a sure thing, but my life was worth sacrificing to save you and if you are going to cheapen that sacrifice by living in a perpetual depression over the fact that my legs are nothing but dead lifeless meat, then get the hell out and leave me alone.” No longer able to take Gene screaming at her, Megan got up, grabbed her purse and ran out the door.

---Crystal Search---

"Damn it," I said aloud. I was starting to get frustrated flying all over the rural Midwest. Looking for a small cornfield in the middle of endless cornfields was starting to drive me insane. Everywhere I looked, the features looked the same. Vast flat land with squares of land tightly packed together like a giant crudely laid out chess board. This had to be my 100th flight over the area since returning from Russia. In my mind I could recall just what the landscape looked like, but none of the the ground before me appeared like my memory. Below me a small town rolled by and I began prepping for a landing. My male pride was holding me back, keeping me from achieving my goal. I knew I would need to suck it up and ask for directions. The pilot in me knew to go nowhere without a detailed flight plan, but the truth was, at first I enjoyed the challenge. It was something all my power couldn't achieve. It made me feel mortal and limited my actions. Truth is, I was wasting time, I needed that information, if anything to unlock something that could help me find them.

I touched down on the outskirts of town and proceeded into town on foot. It was a small quaint town, one where everyone knew each other. There were no malls, no mega grocery stores, just small mom and pop shops catering to the local folk and surrounding farms. The town was frozen in time from the mid 50's and hadn't evolved much beyond that period. A couple of small restaurants whose crude ventilation spewed pleasant smells of home cooked meals into the air. Beyond starving, I thought a bite to eat sounded good after finding what I was looking for in town. A nice burger while I read over the maps sounded good.

I ran into a couple of sheriff’s deputies sitting in their squad car eating sandwiches in between calls. The older of the two, who was sitting in the passenger seat, locked eyes with me and called out.

“Hey sweet thing, where did you come from? I know everyone in my town, and surely I would remember such a pretty face like yours.” He was in his fifties and a bit overweight. The three inverted chevrons on his uniform told me he was a sergeant and the younger one in the driver’s seat was likely a rookie. “Where ya headin love?”

He was making me sick as he was trying to hit on me, while his face was covered in tomato sauce. “Just trying to find a store where I could buy a map,” I replied.

“You don’t need a map, if you want to find a place in my town, you can ask me, I know every square inch of this place. Where is it you are trying to find, if it's love you came to the right place.”

“No thanks Sergeant.”

“Playin hard to get now are we?” He had no idea how hard it would be to get me. I decided to move on.

“Sorry, not interested.” As I turned to walk away I saw him look at me all funny and put his sandwich down, opening the car door. His trainee seemed to roll his eyes, knowing what was coming.

“How does a pretty little thing like yourself know these are Sergeant’s stripes unless you’ve been in trouble before? You walking my town and I don’t know about it?” he said as he closed the door. There was a drop of tomato sauce clutching tightly to the polyester tie that he would likely lick off later.

“Look, I am just passing through, and stopped to get a map, is that a crime?” I asked as the rookie rounded the front of the car with his hand on his service revolver as trained.

“Let me tell you something Miss, I determine what’s a crime in this town, not you, you understand me?” Now get up against the wall.” He grabbed my arm and turned me around. “Hands against the wall.”

Not wanting any trouble I reluctantly put my hands up. The fat slob of a cop began patting me down. I began to think this was his plan from the start once I wasn’t returning the interest in his powerful presence most other girls would have shown him.

“Well well well, what we got here? That’s a lot of maps you can buy with this kinda cash.” I had several one hundred dollar bills in my coat pocket and he found them.

“Since when is carrying cash illegal?” I retorted, feeling slightly vulnerable at the moment. Before he could say pig, I could dismantle this slob and his greenhorn rookie, but I did not want to attack a law enforcement officer.

“I’ll tell you when, when you are not carrying ID that makes me think you are doing one of two things, if not both. You are either selling drugs, or you are selling this amazing body of yours,” he said as he undid the strap sealing my overcoat. “What are you wearing an overcoat for in the middle of summer? Whatcha got under here?” He opened my coat making sure to feel around my body. He pulled the coat back and looked at me funny seeing me in a pair of jeans and a snug T-shirt. “Why don’t you have ID?”

“I don’t drive,” I replied.

The rookie chimed in as his superior continued to search me. “I thought you needed a map of the US, you're not walking cross country are you.”

“I’m taking a bus,” I said, improvising.

“Well if you’re taking a bus, what do you need a map for?” the Sergeant said, keeping the pressure up. He continued to look at my unkept haphazard fashion under my coat with a bit of confusion.

“Look deputies, I just want a map to mark the places I have been to along my trip. I’m not hooking or selling drugs. Do I look like a drug user to you?” I said as he moved his hands up and down my thighs searching for anything he could use as an excuse

“Sir, it’s obvious she is not on drugs, and most hookers don’t dress in T-shirts, jeans and overcoats. I recommend we let her go. All we can get her on is not having ID and that’s not worth the paperwork. I will finish up here, go back to the car and finish eating.”

The kid was quite a detective. I was half expecting his superior to blast into him, when he did exactly that and returned to the car.

“Yeah, you finish up here, I’m going to go eat.” Some balls he had talking to his Sergeant like that. I turned my head slightly to see him walking back to the car with his tie raised to his mouth.

“I’m sorry Miss, he is a little phobic when it comes to strangers from out of town. I hope he didn’t bother you too much. Can I get your name?” he asked as I turned to face him. He gazed into my blue eyes and smiled as if he were looking deep into my soul.

“Karen. My name is Karen,” I said as he wrote into his notepad. “Karen, you got a last name?”

“Karen Santucci,” The young rookie asked. He looked fresh out of the academy and looked about Kaaren’s age of about 20-22. His skin was a little darker than most, and he was very well built.

“Miss Santucci, can I ask where you are going?” He said continuing to ask questions.

“Nowhere in particular, just touring the Midwest before I head home."

“And may I ask where home is, Miss Santucci?”

“Houston, Texas,” I replied, getting annoyed at the questioning.

“Houston, very nice. Have you been the Space Center there?”

“Yeah, once or twice.”

“I would love to go there sometime. I have this thing for outer space. You think there’s other life out there? Maybe on Mars?”

“Look, I would like to talk astrophysics with you and the plausibility of life on other planets, but I have things to do, and so do you. Can we hurry this up?”

“You’re right Miss, I apologize.” This kid was too polite. It’s amazing he’s survived this long without getting eaten alive by the other deputies. “Do you have an address in Houston you can give me?”

“Are you going to mail something to me, look, I didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t understand why you need all this information. I would like to be on my way, it’s getting late.”

“I understand, it is a lot, but since we did stop you I have to make a report, especially if you don’t have any identification. If something were to happen to you, there would be a record of your last whereabouts. It’s really dangerous not to have identification. When you get home, I recommend you getting a state issued ID card so that authorities can verify your identity.”

‘If only I had an identity, except I have no clue as to who I am any more,’ I thought to myself. “Sure, I will deputy-” I looked at the brass nameplate above his badge. -“Deputy J. Jones.”

“One last thing and I will let you know where you can get your map, deal?” He was rather nice, unlike his partner. I could see him rising high in this field and becoming a great cop. “Do you have anyone I can contact, any family, friends, you know in case of an emergency?” I figured he wouldn’t look me up, so to get rid of him, I dropped the only name I could, one that would likely get him to back off.

“Deputy, I don’t want anyone to know I was out here traveling, but if it would help, and you have any issues, you give my good friend Detective James Reid a call, I do some work for him at Houston PD Westside.”

“Detective James Reid huh, name sounds familiar. What do you do for him?”

“Sorry, not open for discussion. Look I am a very good citizen, but I am very private and don’t like anyone prying into my business. Now I appreciate you standing up for me with your boss. Seriously that was pretty courageous, but, he started harassing me. I didn’t do anything to warrant being stopped and questioned like this was a Soviet Police State or something.”

“Stand up for you? When did I do that?”

“When you told him to go back to the car and leave me alone.” He had a curious look on his face.

“Oh yeah, that,” he said, recalling that part of the conversation. “You know Miss, I am really good at reading people. You have been a little hard to figure out, but you know what, I know exactly how you feel. With all these people in the world, it still does get lonely and it’s nice to keep to myself too at times. Here’s my card, do me a favor and let me know you got where you were going safely. Now, lets get you that map, can I give you a ride?”

“Thank you, but I prefer to walk if you don’t mind,” I said, declining his invitation, not really wanting to sit behind the tub of lard that he got stuck with as a trainer.

“I understand. If you walk down this street a couple of blocks, there is a drugstore. They will have what you are looking for. Have a good day Miss and enjoy the rest of your journey.”

I thanked him and took off around the corner to get my map and get out of this hick town. After a couple minute walk I arrived at the Middleton Drug Store. About as generic of a name as you could get. It was a small little store unlike the bigger stores we have in California or Texas. This place was small, but still had variety.

“How can I help you, Miss?” an elderly clerk politely asked me, surprised to suddenly see someone standing in his store.

“I am looking for a map, can I buy one here?” The clerk looked as if he was in his 70’s but still had a thick head of hair that would make him the envy of many men who were going bald in their 30’s. What he had in hair seemed to be a compensation for his lack of teeth. Several of his lower teeth were missing, which likely kept him from enjoying the finer foods in life.

“Of course, come on in, get out of the heat young lady. I got lots of maps here for you.” I approached the counter where the old man set a box with a handwritten sign on the side that said “MAPS”

“What kind of a map could I get you Miss?” He said as his shaking hands unpacked a variety of maps and spread them out onto the counter. “I have city maps, county maps, state maps, world maps, treasure maps."

“I need a topographical map of the Midwest.”

“The Midwest, is that so?” He leaned over to me and asked, “Say, you’re not one of those meteor freaks are you?”

“A meteor freak? What’s that?”

“Almost a year ago, a region of the Midwest was riddled with meteor impacts.” He opened a large US map and showed me an area of the Midwest, tracing his trembling finger across the zone.” They say there were hundreds of impact sites along this longitude. Parts of Europe and Asia were hit as well but not as severely.”

“So what are these meteor freaks you talk about? You talking aliens?”

“There are rumors that something landed at one of these sites, but I don’t believe in that stuff. Meteor freaks are tourists, fortune hunters, scientists, and most of the time just crazy people who flood these areas looking for pieces of the heavens. It’s brought a lot of business to the area, but mostly the locals are getting tired of them.”

“You don’t happen to know where those sites are, do you?”

“Funny you should ask that, I have-” he paused as if in deep thought. He frantically searched through his box of maps, “Here we are. Seems like there’s a map for that,”
he handed me a sealed map with graphics of several blazing meteors streaking through the sky.

“Impact Zones of the Midwest,” it read on the cover. It was sealed, forcing one to purchase the map.

“I take it this is part of that tourist business,” I said, looking at the wrapping around it.

“A little steep too. Someone is making a pretty penny off it. They sell for $20.”

“Little steep, but I don’t mind. Let me take one, as well as one of these topographical maps,” I said, fishing through my pockets for my cash, suddenly wondering if the sheriff’s deputy put my money back. Sure enough the wad of bills in my pocket confirmed he wasn’t as much of a creep as I thought he was.

“Anything else you need young lady?”

“No thank you sir, you have been most helpful.”

“That will be $20 even. You can have this one for free, no one has ever come in looking for one. Might as well give it to someone who needs it,” he said, pointing to the topographical map. I handed him a $20 and thanked him, opening the maps on the counter and giving them a quick rundown.

“Do you know where the best spots are?” I asked as I looked over the impact zone map, committing it to memory.”

“Well this was a favorite location for tourists. It’s mostly been picked through, but you might get lucky.” Several of the locations had a little gun icon next to them.

“What does this mean?”

“Most of these impacts were on private farms. Some of the farmers have been known to shoot to scare trespassers away. Be careful, I wouldn’t want such a lovely lady like yourself shot over some rocks.”

“Oh, I will be ok, don’t worry about me.” I continued to look over the map and came across a site that was marked “Restricted.” It was the only impact zone on the map that was marked that way. “What about this site?”

“That’s near some small town in Kansas, I forget the name. Nothing super special there other than this site. Rumors say there was a landing there, but I think it was just a military plane that crashed. Anyway, the government took this guy’s farm and fenced it off. Can’t go near it.” I got excited as I compared the two maps, finally finding the spot on the topographical map. I lined up the streams on the map near the highway. The images from my memory started to fall into place and synchronize. A bit north was the hills, just beyond, another highway. Off to the east was the small town. Was this it, did I finally find it?

“Sorry, do you have a road map of the area?” I asked with great excitement.

“Sure do.” The old man opened the map out on the counter and pointed to the general area. After a moment of scanning I lined up the roads and identified the highway.

“Interstate 70,” I said aloud, tracing my finger north to where the other highway dipped slightly. It was the old US Hwy 40. That was it, ‘I finally found my crash site,’ I thought to myself as I scanned the maps, committing everything to memory. “Sir, I love ya, you’re the best. Go ahead and re-sell these, I got what I need.” I took off for the door and hurried to a safe part of town and lifted off, while re-securing my instrument cluster to my wrist. I made a few calculations and headed north to Kansas.

---The Cornfield---

The farmhouse to the north, right off the interstate, the streams to the west and the large
cornfields, everything lined up perfectly. I was hovering just above the fields I crashed into. The gouges in the Earth's soil were still there as was the dead corn crop from last year. The were no cars on the roads and no people in the area, making it a perfect time to safely touch down and start my search. I landed in the big clearing and searched the long trenches. There were little poles with numbered flags sticking a foot or so out of the ground. The flags were one of several different colors. Most of the impactors had a large quantity of flags that were white or grey. A few craters were littered with the same ratio, but also included small quantities of red, blue, yellow and green flags. The meaning of the color schemes evaded me for the time being, but I was able to speculate what they might mean, likely relating to the type of meteoroids that were recovered at the scene. I made my way over to the large crater I had found; it was completely empty. It was as if the government officials missed it, or someone already made off with the grand prize. The large tire tracks next to the crater gave the impression my latter conclusion was the correct one. I made my way back to where I remembered emerging from the corn and started walking back to the spot where I crashed.

After a short walk, I came to the impact crater, which was different from the rest. In the other field, the impacts were caused by eastward traveling objects, but the scar I etched was facing an angle leading one to conclude the object was traveling northwest. My first crash ever, recorded in a cornfield and protected by a chain link fence with barbed wire. There was a single blue flag sticking up out of the crater I had created. I sat and let the flag's presence sink in. The significance of the color codes on the flag became all too clear. The blue crystal I had been searching for all this time, was likely now in the hands of the government. I had just started to process the implications the blue crystal's discovery would have when I heard voices coming from the large clearing. As I tuned my hearing, I noticed a faint buzzing sound coming from nearby. On the ground nearby, I saw what looked like a claymore anti-personnel mine, but it was smaller and had a little red light beeping.

"Shit, time to go," I said to myself, realizing I had tripped an alarm. As I turned away from the alarm, something shiny in the dirt outside the crater caught my attention. It was small and gold in color. I knelt down as I heard the voices moving toward my position. I reached down and dug the small object out of the soil. It appeared to be a ring, a small gold ring like a wedding band. As I wiped the mud away, my hands began to tremble. A tear made its way to the surface and ran down my cheek. I stood there, uncaring about the rapidly approaching voices, staring down at my wedding band. Inside was the inscription Liz had etched proving it was indeed mine. Before I could start to ponder how it wound up here, a voice rang out.

"Up ahead!" I heard the sound of a weapon being cocked. "Don't move," the voice yelled from still a little way away. I didn't turn around, instead breaking off into a sprint through the corn away from them. Gunshots sounded as they opened fire.

"He's running!" one of them yelled, not catching on that it was a female taking them on a chase. I continued to slowly accelerate as I maneuvered between the rows of dead corn. Endless flocks of crows took to flight as the sound of jet fighters announced the presence of air support. Apparently an alien presence was suspected by the government to qualify for this kind of reaction. I stopped running and started flying low between the rows, making a sharp turn. Shifting my vision to infrared, I tried to pick up the fighter's heat signature. A single pair of white objects were flying in a low circular pattern. The corn flew by faster as I kept increasing speed. My dense body plowed through the chain link fence and almost collided with a red truck as I cross the road and into an adjacent field. After leaving the zone, I turned and went vertical, rising above the pair of F-16s still circling the field. I watched as they continued to search the rows of dead corn below them, likely communicating with whomever was on the ground and decided to shoot first and ask questions later. The made another pass before straightening out, breaking off their off their pattern and turning toward me. With my small size I was still beyond visual range, and had little time. My eyes locked onto the two birds, I flew sideway to the left to get out of their way. As I shifted my position, the two Falcons, adjusted their heading so that I was still directly to the 12 o’clock.

"Oh shit!" I said out loud, tuning my vision. "Shit, shit," my body was reflecting their radar, the waves bouncing off me and returning to their threat assessment display. The waves increased their frequency giving me a rough indication that their speed was increasing, rapidly approaching visual contact. Quickly, I turned and flew off in the opposite direction only to find more radar emissions coming from dead ahead. There was no time to maneuver. A Falcon banked hard to avoid collision, but it was too late My body collided with his port side wing, passing through with the same resistance as a paper banner had on a football team. An explosion erupted as fuel ignited as I passed through the F-16’s fully fueled wet wing. Unscathed other than my burning clothing, I turned and went vertical, making for the safety of high altitude, watching the pilot below eject clear of his crippled aircraft. The Falcon exploded into a massive fireball, engulfing a neighboring cornfield in flames.

I turned toward the west coast while continuing my ascent high above the range of any fighter or missile. As I flew toward my sanctuary in the mountains, I looked down at the dirt-covered gold ring and examined the band that Liz gave me on my wedding day. I read the all familiar inscription inside and kept replaying it over and over in my mind throughout my flight home.

---Megan’s Apartment, United States Embassy---August 3, 1987

Megan listened through the handset as the call connected as if making a local call home, yet her phone signal traveled through Europe, clear across the Atlantic and half way across the US. It rang four times before the soft cute voice of a young girl picked up.

“Moshi Moshi,” she said

“Is that my favorite niece?”

“Hi Aunt Megan? When are you coming home?”

“Oh, in a few weeks honey. Are you being good?”

“Yes,” she said in her cute little voice with a hint of accent in her English.

“Ok, well I will bring you some goodies from Russia when I come home ok?

“Can you bring me one of those dolls?” A male voice sounded scolding her. There was a harsh rustling sound as Ayumi and Ronan fought a fierce battle for control of the phone, but he finally won.

“Hey sis, how are you holding up?”

“Hi Ron. I’ve been better.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Leave it to you. To think I need someone to share my problems with, but time and time again, I am always coming to you.” Megan and her older brother always had a great relationship. He wasn’t the smartest tool in the shed, a former Marine, but he was simple and didn’t take crap from people. He had a no-nonsense policy similar tp hers. What he lacked in smarts, he made up for in wisdom. The family relied on him time and again to sort out problems each of the others brought to the table. His ability to offer wise counsel when she was growing up planted the earliest seeds into her being that would direct her to a career in psychology. After she began seeing patients, Megan often recommended some of Ron’s advice. Most of the time it was sound, and her patients who put it to use benefitted.

“Well sis, I am always here. How’s Dad dealing with the Russian cuisine?”

“I finally got him out on my birthday. You know, I just looked up with that sad look in my eyes and said “please daddy,” he was powerless.

“Hahaha, you girls have it easy. Ayumi does that to me all the time. How can us dads resist? I’m glad you were able to get him out and cultured a little. I can’t imagine going to another country for months and not go exploring.”

“We had a great night. I haven’t spent a lot of quality time with him over the last several years, so it was good to go out and not be bothered. He did say he will probably be coming home in a couple of weeks.”

“What about you? We all miss you and are worried about you. For some reason this whole thing has Mom more worried than your little joy ride to the stars.”

“Joy ride huh? You just watch it and remember who saved that hide of yours. How’s the house doing?”

“Great, I appreciate you letting us stay here. Beats renting for a few months until we move back to Japan. Ayumi and Natsuko love the spa out back.”

“What are you doing for hot water?”

“What do you mean, the heat works fine?”

“Really, it hasn’t worked since I bought the place.” She started to think that perhaps Michael fixed it without telling her. He had spent some of his free time putting his engineering skills to use and fixed the place up for her to show appreciation for letting him stay. “Have you talked to Karen?”

“No, not since April when Mom and I came to get your stuff. She was talking to us a little, then just walked out without saying goodbye. Left her key on the table next to the door, and that was it. Took everything with her. Is everything ok between you two?”

“I hope so. It’s mostly my problem, not hers, but I can’t talk about this one. I love you, but she...well I just can’t talk about it.”

“I understand, well I have to get Kitty Chan here to bed.”

“Ok, you two have a good night, say hi to Natsuko for me.”

“Sure, and sorry about Ayumi. She needs to learn a few manners. She knows better than that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She shouldn’t be asking for things. She has been enjoying this doll you have here. You know according to Natsuko, these Russian dolls actually originated in Japan. Anyway, we have been keeping it from her, but she wants one of her own.”

“I haven’t brought mine home yet.”

“Oh, right. We just thought it was yours. Has some kind of angel on the outside, and an astronaut on the inside, then there is some kind of note with writing inside in Russian,” Megan froze, her mind racing, thinking hard about what Ronan just told her. “Meg, you there?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m here, sorry. Total duh moment. Sorry I got that one a few years ago. My Friend Nikolai gave it to me. In fact, that is real important to me and should be in my office, can you do me a favor and put that on the shelf in my office and be sure to lock up?” Megan’s heart was beating faster. She knew Mitri met Kaaren, but was he able to see through her as well? “Ron, I have to get going, I will call you in a week. Say hi to everyone,” she said, hanging up right after Ron said his goodbye. Megan sat there in silence in her room thinking about the doll, as she picked up the phone and dialed another number.

"This is Holland," the voice said on the other side.

"Mr. Holland, it's Dr. McCormack,"

"Good morning Doctor, what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Holland, I am wondering if you might be able to arrange a meeting with Nikolai. Is that something you can do?"

"Of course, I can make a few calls. How soon did you need to meet him?"

"As soon as you can, it's urgent."

"Can I ask what the nature of the meeting is?"

"It's a private matter," she said, not wanting to give any details and having decided it sounded better than saying it was personal."

"Ok, let me see what I can do, are you going to be around around lunch time, I should have an answer by then?"

"That quick huh? Yes I will be around. Thank you for your help."

"Sure, no problem," she hung up and leaned back in her chair in thought.

"So Mitri?” She said out loud, pausing briefly, “you got to meet Michael?"

To Be Continued....Episode 14 “Dwayne’s World”

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