 
### VANESSA

David Lee Howells

Copyright 2013

Smashwords Edition

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1 – TAPS

Chapter 2 – MOTHERS

Chapter 3 – ALLIANCES

Chapter 4 – 1 PM

Chapter 5 – 2 PM

Chapter 6 – 4:40 PM

Chapter 7 – ANNIE

Chapter 8 – MELISSA and MARY

Chapter 9 – RELEASE

Chapter 10 – EXPERIMENT

Chapter 11 – FRANK and ALLEN

Chapter 12 – IMAGES and REFLECTIONS

Chapter 13 – VANESSA

Chapter 14 – NATALIE

Chapter 15 – KLUKKERS

Chapter 16 – DAY 4

Chapter 17 – MADNESS

Chapter 18 – DAY 3

Chapter 19 – CHANGING ATTITUDES

Chapter 20 – ATTACK

Chapter 21 – RALPH

Chapter 22 – DAY 2

Chapter 23 – APRON POCKETS

Chapter 24 – RESURRECTION

Chapter 25 – COUNTDOWN

Chapter 26 – GOODBYE

EPILOGUE

Members Of The Tale

Meet the Author

Other Books to Read

Prologue

Atlanta, Georgia, was captured in September of 1864 by Union forces. In a move that earned him the most notable split of military admiration and revilement since the English and French argued regarding Joan of Arc, William Tecumseh Sherman abandoned his regular lines of supply and prepared to embark on his "March to the Sea", setting his sights on Savannah. His army was made up of 60,000 infantry and 5,500 cavalry. General Sherman severed his connections to supply on November 12th, 1864. On the 14th and 15th, he set about the burning of Atlanta. On the second day, at Atlanta, he stated "I can make Georgia howl," and set off for the sea cutting a swath of destruction 60 miles wide, burning mostly what they didn't take for sustenance.

Orders were given by General Sherman to send out foragers who were to take what supplies the Army needed, but not to enter homes or damage private property. Some men were willing to disobey those orders. Some officers were willing to look the other way, often for a cut of what was stolen. These men were given the name: "bummers".

What follows is a tale of sins unforgiven, of hatred undying, and of a family that formed to face a demon

Chapter 1 – TAPS

The long-forgotten foraging party of the Third Division of XX Corps sat on their dead but faithful frozen mounts in the gathering darkness that belied the fact that it should still be daylight. Soon it would be so black that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. There would soon be no moon or stars to give light. So it had been every night for a century and a half. Private Elijah Cooper looked to the heaven of gathering pitch and prayed one more time for forgiveness for himself and his fifty-two comrades. Another in that party, separated from the others, seethed within his madness, swearing revenge would surely be his tomorrow.

That same evening, far to the north, were other players in the stages that would eventually follow. A minor player, for now, was Barbara Meissner; a student at RPI in Troy, New York. The hour was getting late for most people, but she had a long way to go before turning in. Keeping a grade average above 3.7 meant late hours, little sleep, and almost no social life. She leaned back and took in the smells and sounds of a student's dormitory nightlife. Coffee, pizza, perfume and beer were the traditional aromatic essences in a woman's dormitory, trading individual intensities and dominance according to the time of day, and which day of the week it was.

Since it was a Tuesday night, the smell of coffee led the pack and sounds were low key...except for Barbie Babe. Most female dorms had one, but this one really took the biscuit, as her great grandmother used to say. Melissa Banks was Barbie's real name, the one most people used to her face. She had an unfair share of looks and her parents were mega-wealthy. Added to that, she had her hooks into Allen Hawthorn. This one would play a larger role in a grander game, but she didn't know that, yet.

Barbara sighed. "You think a Barbie would be happy, but nooooo." The sounds from the room beyond her wall confirmed that thought.

Barbara Meissner took a study break and launched a gossip-information recon. RPI was a technical college, but she chose a decidedly low-tech glass, placing it against the wall and settling her ear to the other side of it. Barbie lore was always good at the breakfast table for laughs with her friends.

"This bites Allen, it really bites! This is mega-unfair of your mother! I had things all planned out. You'll just have to call her and tell her to delay the meeting till next week. That's not asking too much, is it? I'm going to look real foolish if you bail now!"

"Melissa, I'm really sorry. I feel bad enough about it already, so cut me some slack, will you? I'll make it up to you, I promise, as soon as I get back. This isn't going to take long, but I have to go. I gave my word and Mom is counting on me to keep it. Like I told you, this meeting is tied into the funds that keep me here in RPI. What good would attending my birthday party be if it meant I couldn't be here next semester because I'm out humping jobs to pay for the semester after that? And I've got to hang there if I accept some kind of offer my benefactor is proposing till Monday."

"Fine, FINE, leave already! Your mind is made up and there's nothing I can do about it. Just don't think I'm going to hang around the phone waiting for your call!"

"That was uncalled for, and kind of dumb," he thought. Melissa wouldn't be waiting by the phone because she had her SatCom with her 24 hours, either in her purse or hooked on a belt clip. Still, he got the hint. Maybe it was just as well, for Allen didn't feel much like talking to her for the time being. Things had been tense, lately. Melissa seemed so pre-occupied with things social, which meant little to him.

Sometimes, they were a perfect match. Other times, she was from Mars...or was that Venus? He might have been able to break it off (he'd thought of doing that once or twice a week), if she wasn't so damned attractive. Allen Hawthorn left Melissa's dormitory and stopped outside to look at the stars. His mother used to show them to him, when he was little, teaching him the constellations and how to tell a planet from a satellite from a star. His mother would live to see Allen's star rise in a constellation neither had even dreamed of.

Rachel Hawthorn Gladstone sat in the dark at her dining room table, looking through the bay window at the stars. The re-heated coffee warmed the memories stirred by the sight of Pleiades. It was her favorite constellation, also called the Seven Sisters. It was a small star grouping that actually consisted of many more than seven, but only seven were visible to those who had named the cluster so long ago. She thought, "Isn't that the way of things? Things are always more complex than they seem on the surface."

A letter sat on the antique cherry wood table. She wasn't extravagant, but what she had, she made sure was worth having. Her son had picked up on that quirk; what her husband, Frank, called the Hawthorn vanity gene. It was just as well that he was out with the kids at a charity baroque concert, for she really didn't want to deal with him right now. Who gave charity concerts with baroque music, anyway?

Her terry cloth house-robe was another familiar touchstone from the past, like the Super Mom cup Allen had given her for Christmas twelve years ago. She took her coffee and the letter, walked over to the living room to her favorite reading chair and read it, again.

"Dear Mrs. Gladstone: Your son, Allen Hawthorn, will reach his 21st birthday on Wednesday, September 26th of this year, 2047. According to our agreement, his benefactor will be afforded a private meeting with Allen for no less than two hours. You will be provided with a live video stream of the meeting (no sound) as a token of his good intentions.

"The identity of my employer will only be revealed to Allen at that time. You and Allen both have the right to halt the meeting, temporarily, if either of you feel the need. My employer and your son may continue their conversation after the two hours only with the full agreement from all parties. Regardless, Allen's college tuition assistance will continue until he will be graduated with no more than six years of full-time attendance. All of this is in your copy of the signed agreement reached after the unfortunate demise of your husband, Mr. Carl Hawthorn.

"The research on Allen's paternal family tree must be brought with you on standard mini-disc (MiDi) format. This must be complete and reach back four generations. Pictures of each ancestor are recommended but not required. You have already informed me that this has been achieved and we thank you for your efforts.

"Also, recall that your husband, Frank Gladstone, and the children from his previous marriage, are not to be in attendance.

"If Allen agrees to terms proposed by my employer, he must be prepared to make himself available for an excursion that will last until Sunday, September 30th of this year. All expenses and arrangements will be arranged and taken care of by me.

"Be assured my employer has Allen's best interests at heart and that this meeting will represent a marvelous opportunity for his personal advancement. I look forward to meeting the two of you personally. Gustav Mendelssohn, P.C. September 17th, 2047."

Tomorrow was the meeting she had agreed to fourteen years ago. She had no more of a clue to what it was all about now than she did back then. The proceeds from Carl's life insurance and shares of stock in the company he spent half his waking hours with had paid off the house and other debts, with a reasonable sum left over that she had invested most of. The rest, along with what she made part time, gave them comfort, but school tuition went up every year. Allen's two scholarships also helped, giving her son the opportunity to invest some of the funds Mr. Mendelssohn sent into things like a reliable vehicle and a PC that was the envy of all but the snootiest of classmates; she laughed to think that most of them didn't know what to do with their status symbols other than to download games and naughty pictures, probably.

Frank had his own children to plan college assistance for. He would have helped with Allen's, but it wasn't necessary. That likely saved a few squabbles on finances and responsibility. There were enough things to squabble about already. Yet, with all that, what really nagged her was that her consuming curiosity might never be satisfied as to the identity of their mysterious benefactor.

Not that she wasn't grateful. When Carl died in that awful accident, her world fell apart. Allen was only four then and hardly remembers his father now, but she could recall holding him for nights on end. She remembered Allen's unanswerable questions about when Daddy was going to come home, and that brought up the soft ache in her heart any thought of that time would bring. Frank had suggested she see a psychoanalyst to get her feelings out in the open. Maybe it would help her feel better, but she didn't all that much want to feel better. Why was it that men tried to help, when it wasn't help that a woman was looking for? Just a strong shoulder and some sympathy. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

Well, a two-hour chat for the person who anonymously stepped up and took care of everything from tuition to funeral arrangements is not too much to ask, either. She went to the ultrawave to heat up her coffee, again. "(Sigh) But who could it be?"

The following morning, far to the south, below the Mason-Dixon Line that now represented only a minor historical artifact promoted by roadside souvenir stands, Annie stood on the porch of her home. Annie was mad. She was also dead. That was a dangerous combination. Her children weren't up yet, but the birds were singing. Today, the soldiers will come again, as always. Maybe today her Archibald will return and they can be a family again.

Southern sunrise also saw those same dead but never resting soldiers open their eyes to another November 23rd. It was always November 23rd. They awakened in their saddles, and some would halfheartedly curse the sun for rising again. Their commanding officer, Major Benjamin Covington, looked at his men and felt his heart ache for them.

"Refuse it," he rallied, "REFUSE IT, BY GOD!" But his will was too weak to fight the unseen force that beckoned them on. Weariness beyond bone weighed upon the soldiers of Sherman, too fatigued to rage at their fate or to do anything but begin the Passion Play on yet another day. By 9AM, they had left Little River on the first leg of their journey of fourteen miles. There was no hurry. There was only one way, though each prayed for some other way, by habit. God wasn't listening to their prayers today, as usual.

Meet the most ancient (living) member of the coming dance of the fates. Ryan David Fitzgalen half woke to that semiconscious state where memories had surprisingly clear details. His wife was out somewhere. He'd find out where when she returned. Today was the day he'd meet Allen Hawthorn, up close and personal. It wouldn't be the first time, though. Ryan turned back the pages of time.

It was in the playground of Myer Elementary School in nearby Hurley. The yard was full of 1st through 5th grade students. Ryan watched, leaning against his 2030 Chevy Solar SUV in the shade of an old elm. The children were so full of energy and there was constant activity to catch the eye across a wide vista.

Kickball, swings, jump ropes and catch are all games that seem to stay the same no matter how many centuries pass. No one ever improved on the basic concept of the slide, with the minor exception of changing the surface to a type of plastic that no longer burned youthful thighs on sunny days (he smiled at that painful but sweet memory). Playgrounds were one of the few things he had seen stay relatively constant in a world fascinated with advance and gadgetry. There was one child his eyes kept coming back to. He saw the boy in the outfield in a game of kickball. He was a handsome young lad, healthy and full of piss & vinegar, as his mother used to say. There was a bruiser of a child stepping up to the plate and the backfield was moving further back in anticipation. Sure enough, "mini-moose", who was a hand and a half taller than any of his classmates, power-launched the ball with a "whump". The boy ran back as the ball stopped rolling ten feet away from Ryan's feet. The boy ran up, grabbed the ball and executed a fine drop kick to get it back into play. The boy then turned around and looked at him. Ryan said, "It's not time yet, Allen," and got back into his SUV. As he drove off, the rear view mirror showed the boy standing there, watching him, until the shouts of his teammates brought him back to the game.

Then, that sweet voice from nowhere and everywhere softly whispered to him, _"That one's going to break some hearts."_ That voice came from a soul named Vanessa. She was much older than Ryan. At least her spirit was.

"Give me a break; he's only in 4th grade.

" _They're starting earlier all the time. You're old enough to know that. I think he's ready for "the talk", if you know what I mean."_

Ryan recalled shaking his head, signaling a left hand turn, and driving off to his next appointment. They loved each other enough to give each other the last word half the time.

The same sun also warmed the windows of an office building in Kingston, NY, where a secretary rose from her desk to personally greet two arrivals. "Mrs. Rachel Gladstone and Mr. Allen Hawthorn. We have all been looking forward to your arrival. Please, come this way."

Mrs. Rachel Gladstone took a mental snapshot of the office, beginning with the secretary. She was attractive, but not stunning. Long, very dark brown hair and dark complexion. Mediterranean? Her voice was warm and her smile was genuine. The office reception area was cozy, but not cramped. There were enough diplomas on the wall to reassure, but not overwhelm. The furniture was pleasing to the eye, but not antique enough to fear placing a cup on a table. The whole picture, she thought, was a balance between comfort, hospitality and confidence. The secretary seated them in the lawyer's office in comfortable (not plush) chairs and asked them, politely, to wait. The secretary smiled once more and quietly closed the door.

Mr. Mendelssohn's office featured the familiar and traditional. Wood was mostly preferred over plastic. There was the typical desk, and the wall had the hallowed framed two-dimensional metal representation of what ancient mariners must have once thought the world looked like (a Navy man?). Then there were pleasant additions that reflected attention to detail and concern for clients: the quiet whisper of an air filter, oblique and full spectrum lighting. There was a tea and coffee service ready with porcelain cups.

"Good morning," said a man, entering the room. "Mr. Mendelssohn will be with you in just a minute. Don't mind me, I just work here."

Mother and son both took stock of a mildly graying but sturdy man in a light tan sports coat as he walked over to a computer port and pressed his thumb on the recognition panel. The screen immediately came to life, responding to his obviously experienced taps on the finger pad. Though too far away to see clearly what was on the screen, one could see a lively series of transitions before stopping at a bank of pictures of people. The door opened again.

"Please forgive me for keeping you waiting. I am Gustav Mendelssohn, at your service. Please, call me Gustav. I think familiarity will encourage our time here to be the most fruitful."

"Fair enough," said Allen. "Why don't you start the ball rolling and tell us about yourself? We're in the dark, so shine a little light, please." The man at the computer suppressed a smile. It was brief and subtle, but good mothers are observant creatures. Rachel Gladstone was a good mother. Allen missed the strange man's smirk entirely. Rachel saw that as well and thought, "One more reason that men will never be mothers."

"(Good man. Gets right to the point, excellent.) Very well, I was graduated from Cornell University in Ithaca, NY, in 1998 in the top ten percent of my class. I preferred general practice for the first part of my career. I sold off my practice to devote full time to serving one client about twenty years ago. Mind you, this was not out of laziness. I've had to subcontract paralegals and farm out some of the issues to other specialty firms whom I have come to trust."

Rachel thought, "He knows his limitations and appears happy with his station. Add that to the messages of the whole office and trust has taken seed, but mystery has planted it on rocky soil, as far as I'm concerned."

The lawyer continued. "I am Snow Shoe, PA, born and bred. I moved to New York to take over a practice from a retiring lawyer. I was married and divorced twice, and have no children. I like sailing, skiing and classical music. Will that do, for now?"

"Pass-times are solitary and introspective," Rachel mused, "...which fits his profession. I like this man. No mixed signals, everything is consistent with his personality. Will that mean that I will like his employer? Twenty years of serving one person (man?); the two of them would have to be compatible."

The lawyer's question had been aimed at Allen, who responded with, "Sure, sorry if I seemed abrupt. So, what happens now?" He refrained from mention that this meeting had created a lot of turmoil for him back in Troy. Though not as observant of his environment as his mother was, Allen had been brought up in an atmosphere of respect and good manners. This was not lost on the other two men in the office.

"Well then, Master Allen, it is time you met my employer. I present to you, and to you, Rachel, my employer." Gustav said no name, but extended his hand to indicate the man at the computer station.

That man stood up, gave a smile and a slight bow, and said, "Good morning. Please, call me Ryan."

Chapter 2 – MOTHERS

Unknowing of events going on in the hated North with Rachel and Allen, back in Georgia, the shade of Annie Edwards began her morning duties. There was always work to be done, always and forever, it seemed. The children awakened and once again her heart began to tighten and ache. Their eyes looked to her with a vestige of forlorn hope, but they could see that things had not changed. It had been going on too long for them to complain. They had given up on that a long, long time ago. And so, the children began another day of play, which was all they had to stave off the dread they endured.

Nodding, Annie turned to face her home. The house was kept wonderfully neat. The new help worked hard to keep it that way since the slaves had run off. _"Ingrates,"_ she thought. She and Archibald had always treated them nice, hadn't they? Better than any of her neighbors had treated their own slaves. By what rights did hers go and run off for, leaving her with all the work? And it was hard work for one lone woman with two little children. Well, they had good help now and she hardly lifted a finger to keep her home spotless.

Take a moment to turn back the clock. Fourteen years before Allen and Rachel met Ryan for the first time, Carl Hawthorn died. It was an accident; a moment of time that changed Allen's and Rachel's lives forever (Ryan's too, they would find out). Carl pulled to the side of Interstate 87 to render help to a middle-aged woman who had her car's hood up in the universal plea for help.

Over the police and fire scanner, which he always had on as a volunteer paramedic, he heard the call regarding a car stalled on the side of the highway two miles ahead. Carl turned on his dash and rear window mounted blue lights before stopping, then pulled off into the grass by the Interstate and stepped out. There was plenty of room for traffic to get by, so he didn't double-check behind.

A sleepy driver's eyes were drawn to Carl's flashing blue lights. The driver didn't realize that the attention shift also caused him to steer towards those lights, until it was too late. Carl's last thought after getting out of his Dodge Packrat 4x4 was to try and recall where the parked Volvo's bumper jack was supposed to fit. He felt no pain and left the world like a light that was simply turned off. The suddenly wakeful driver of the Ford Constellation II could only take in a confusing array of events: a loud thump, his windshield spider-webbing and reddening, a strike of metal on metal, his air bag deploying, and the rapid spinning of his car. Then, the very brief breath of silence after his car had come to a stop was shattered by the banshee screech of eighteen wheels that almost drowned out a diesel's horn.

The Ford driver had less than a second to look left and see the Peterbilt's grill that hit him broadside. From what was left of man and machine, only the VIN and NYS license identified to police and rescue workers the car's make and the man's identity. The lady standing by her Volvo was left without a scratch, but her subsequent years of nightmares required medication and long hours of therapy. Most of Carl's body was found seventy-five feet away from the point of impact.

Rachel was home at that time. She had picked up Allen from pre-K at Winterbear, had dinner cooking and a portable phone conversation going with Allen's future kindergarten teacher. She was a whiz at organization and was well known for being able to juggle half a dozen projects at once. The receiver gave a call-waiting beep. Her chat with Mrs. Eckert being mostly concluded, she excused herself from that conversation to move on to the next.

Allen had come in to show his mother his mastery of shoe tying and to ask when Daddy was coming home. Mom was at the oven, standing very still. He saw her reach forward and turn off the oven and two burners. "Mom? When's Daddy coming home?" She turned to face her son. "Mom, why are you crying?"

Back in present time, Rachel asked, once surprise had a moment to subside, "Is there a last name to go with that, or do I call you Mr. Ryan?"

"Just Ryan will do, Rachel, for now," he said while taking a closer chair. "You deserve a few words from me before Allen and I have our time together. Your first husband and I were close. I have met many good people in my life, but he was one of the best. Carl respected my need for privacy because he knew why it was necessary, as I hope his son will do."

If anything would have guaranteed Allen's complete cooperation and attention, that was it. His mother had striven to give life to his sketchy memories of his father and she did well, considering. Yet, here was a new source, a new perspective on the man who would have been Dad to him, had fate been kinder. Frank had been good to him, but there was a difference that could be seen with how Frank treated his own biological children. The scars of his real father's involuntary abandonment were there. The therapist had pointed them out and did what she could to ease them, but few can affect full healing of such a loss.

Rachel still wondered about the secrecy. It was just more rocky soil that could spoil the seed of trust. Carl had been always honest and open with her, but he never mentioned this Ryan. How could she not know of a friendship that could spark a man like Ryan to finance a college education and spend who knows how many hours and how much influence during a family crisis, for people who didn't even know him, and then continue to do so for seventeen years? Who WAS this man?

"By telling you this, I have stirred up old memories, and curiosity. Rachel, I met Carl when he was attending Rhinebeck Elementary School. He was quite the athlete, even back then. Just like his son."

Click. "Wait a minute, hold a second...you were the guy! I remember! Mom, I met, uh, Ryan, when I was a kid. Remember the guy you got all worried about when I was in, what, 4th grade? The guy at the playground! It was you. You said, "It's not time yet", or something like that. And you knew my name!"

Rachel remembered. Mothers have very long memories. She had feared some pervert was ogling her child and reported it to the police. Nothing came of it. Years later, Allen sees this man...and remembers him? A man who only said a few words to him at a one-time meeting? All these thoughts tumbled through her mind in a few seconds. Her presidency of her high school debate club had trained her mind to be logical and quick. Her next natural action was to look the (potential) opponent in the eyes to deliver her response with greater impact. His eyes. Rachel thought, "Mr. Bojangles". There was a line in that song about "the eyes of age". Like those eyes. Eyes are mirrors to the soul. Those mirrors looked deep. "What lies behind those eyes, Mr. Ryan? And how does my son figure into those plans that lay a few centimeters behind those hazel irises?" All her senses were on full alert, but none of them picked up danger signals. Just mysteries.

"Rachel, one could write a book on all that just passed in your mind. You might allow that my assistance in the past, with no request for return, says that I have nothing but Allen's best interests in mind. Please, trust me. From what Carl told me about yourself, I believe you will be able to balance your natural maternal protectiveness in favor of affording Allen an opportunity few ever even glimpse."

Mother and benefactor locked eyes again and this time for more than a fleeting instant. Her impression was, "He just buttered me up, or reassured me. Same thing, different agendas."

"I will trust you, Ryan, for now. Allen is a young man now and his path is his own choosing. I stand by my son, not in front of him."

Even the eyes of age can be surprised. The grace of this woman met his expectations, and a little more. Perhaps there were still things to learn on this ball of mud. Ryan continued to gaze into Rachel's eyes and smiled, not from winning, but from appreciation.

" _I bet she burns the toast and snores."_

Rachel saw Ryan's face change. She had, for a moment, felt a deeper connection that had brought some peace to her misgivings. His attention had just been pulled away from her to, somewhere else. The look on his face; amusement?

While Ryan Fitzgalen turned his eyes to someone the others could not see, Private Elijah Cooper gazed at the mane of his chestnut mare, Freedom. Sometimes he would smile at the irony of riding Freedom in bondage. He thought that there must be worse hells, for here were no demons, pitchforks, or unquenchable fires. There was the occasional gnashing of teeth, bonded as they were to the saddles.

It had been a while since the last push. The Major had planned to lull their captor to sleep, so to speak; she never actually slept. Maybe, just maybe, some could break past that demon's reach. Two had done it, but that was a while ago. Others had also made it a very long time ago, but she had gotten much harder to fool since then. How she raged at her losses and at their cheers. The men were hiding the excitement over today's attempt. It wouldn't do to have her sense their anticipation. She could do that, the witch.

"Why do you have a room like this?" Marianne Carbine set down a carafe of coffee next to the monitor while Rachel nested into the comfortable chair.

"Mrs. Gladstone, Mr. Mendelssohn is a lawyer. Recorded depositions are still used in court, sometimes. People are more comfortable being recorded if the equipment is not obvious. There are three hidden camera set-ups in Mr. Mendelssohn's office and a small parabolic dish-and-microphone set-up that can be aimed by remote control from here. That's the control there, the joystick thing next to the volume control. That's been disabled for the interview. I switched the cable for some music. You can use this earpiece if you like. That lets you hear with one ear what's going on, with the music, that is, and use the other for whatever else you like. A phone call perhaps? You can use that videophone to call anyone you like at no charge to you. The bathroom is through that door down the hall. I took the liberty of purchasing recent editions of magazines similar to those you have subscriptions to. ("They know that?") Will you require anything else?"

Rachel thanked Marianne and declined further assistance. "Fine, I've got a back-log to catch up on. This meeting took a lot of my paperwork time. I can do it now, bring it home, or just move in here. Just push this com-button if you need anything else." With that, Marianne finally left.

Rachel settled in with a cup of sweet and light coffee and watched the monitor. Ryan and Allen were on screen, looking like they were exchanging pleasantries. Each was speaking in equal turns, each in a relaxed posture. The big revelation(s) had probably not started yet.

Ryan was probably breaking deeper ice without Mamma around, man-to-man stuff. Sports? Cars? Girls? She set the spoon down on the napkin, rested both elbows on the table and cradled her chin in her palms.

"OK, Rachel, see what you can gather from non-verbal clues. You're good at this. Come on, use your mind." Rachel's eyes took in postures, facial features and hand motions. There were three feeds on the video screen (didn't Gustav say only one video stream?); a side view that took in both men, a second view focused on one speaker, a third on the other. The two individual shots were side by side on the top, the wider side view on the bottom. This was getting interesting.

Ryan displayed a posture of control and confidence. He showed no signs of being closed or devious. His eyes were not darting about in nervousness or burrowing in with zealousness. They were warm, with laugh lines bearing evidence of a man who finds amusement (there's that word again) in life. Allen was leaning slightly forward in an attitude of attention. Classic teacher-student postures and, likely, nothing had been taught yet. The rules and roles are set and the play hadn't even seriously begun. No jockeying for position here. "Ryan, you're good. Natural or learned?"

"Rachel, there's an earring next to you on the floor. One of yours?" Marianne had shaken Rachel from her concentration. She looked at the floor and saw the earring. She didn't wear earrings. Odd.

She noticed, "Wait. There, a few inches from the earring." In an office where everything is so tidy, a wire lead not connected to anything stood out like a zit on prom night. A look through the door showed Marianne at her desk, with her back to the interviewee's mother. Then how did she know about the ear ring? A look down showed a standard audio jack.

The mind is a committee. At this meeting of Rachel's mental parliament, pros and cons were being weighed in debate by Rachel's Angel and Cat personae. Angel took the podium in winged glory, dwelling long and hard of the immoralities of cheating and other sins that Cat probably had in mind. Angel had to give it her best shot when the opponent was that darned Cat. Cats are nature's embodiment of curiosity. Cats are deceptively soft and fluffy, hiding feral ferocity that lurks behind a front of calm wisdom. Angel finished, and then stepped down.

Cat stretched, padded to the podium, and spoke eloquently on maternal duties, then cloyingly of the wonders of wisdom to be gained. "How can we be a proper mother if ill informed? As for being able to keep secrets, hadn't we kept thoughts of Carl private even during those moments when our full attention should have been devoted to Frank? More than once we have avoided saying the wrong name at the wrong time." Angel blushed. Cat smirked.

Rachel put on the ear jack and turned on the music to a country and western station. Carl liked that. Frank preferred classical.

Angel tried for counterpoint. Rachel wondered what part of her mind was doing the 'call to the podium'. Was there a part of the brain entitled Speaker-of-the-House, or perhaps Referee?

Angel began with, "What good would our word be from now on if we cannot be true to it now? We taught Allen that one lie leads to many, which leads to entanglements from which there is no escape. Our honor is at stake. How can we betray a trust from someone, mysterious or not, who has been so good to us? (Cat waited patiently). God expects us to live our lives in sacrifice for greater good. Isn't that what this is all about? Aren't you putting your own selfish desires before the greatest good of our son?"

Cat smiled her respects to Angel. "My feathered colleague, you make some good points. Let us look at them from another angle and gain perspective. Have we ever given our word not to listen to this conversation?"

Angel said, "Well, not exactly, but..."

"And would hearing what is going on disable us or enable us to further the good of our only true son, keeping in mind that wise action must be guided by wisdom?"

"But what about your honor?"

"Bingo!" Cat smiled when she heard the word "your". It represented a surrendering of responsibility, as a parent does when he or she tells a spouse of what new atrocity their son or daughter had committed and what were they going to do about it?

Rachel tried the music jack plug. It came out smoothly. The music stopped, Cat did not. Cat suggested that Rachel take a quick peek at Marianne, which she did, cementing the result regardless of where the debate went. The secretary, true to her word (wince), worked diligently at forms, terminals, videophone connections and even with pencil and paper. "How can she do that?"

Cat went in for the kill. "Let us consider "honor". What honor is there greater than motherhood? Great honor confers great responsibilities. If we are to support Allen, then we must know how best to accomplish it. Do we know this man with no last name? Can we fully trust someone who would marginalize a man's mother, whose wisdom and guidance has shaped Allen's character and did it for years without the benefit of a father partner?"

Angel sighed. She had lost again. The other jack slid in as smoothly as the decision Rachel had made. One more look at the secretary and her hand sealed the deal by gently learning how to manipulate the parabolic dish microphone joystick.

While Rachel familiarized herself with sound technology, Annie's children were playing by the west gate. Her staff (she assumed) began to arrive and prepare to tell strangers all about her home. So many visitors every day, and Annie didn't know any of them. _"Don't they have any real work to do?"_

As two mothers watched over their young, Gustav Mendelssohn, J.D. sat at Dot's Jury Box Cafe in his usual booth. Unlike everyone else he had to deal with today, he drank tea, herb tea at that, with honey. Dot kept a supply of his favorite tea, apple cinnamon, and honey packets.

He mused. "So it happens again with Allen as it did with Carl. It will be good to have a fulltime hand at the wheel." The loss of Carl had put a strain on things for Ryan's small but dedicated group. He smiled. There was a movie, a long time ago, which still makes the rounds once in a while: "Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory". He had told Ryan about it, who knew of the work (of course). An aging candy maker sought out a youngster who would take over the duties of managing a major factory. Wonka chose a child who would do things Wonka's way, not an adult who would do things his own way.

There were parallels enough. The boy, Charlie, the one in the movie? He didn't have a father, either. Wonka and Ryan both valued their privacy highly for similar reasons. But there were differences.

Allen was not a starry-eyed child and, while both Ryan and Wonka were eccentric but good men, Wonka lived a far more normal life and only had to find a protégé once.

Just over a quarter century ago, he had begun doing some work for Carl Hawthorn. He didn't know the connection to Ryan then. It took time to realize that Carl had a silent partner that was never there, but was always there. He gathered early on that there was much under the obvious surface and it became gradually known to him, as he proved his reliability, that his duties included keeping what was under the surface from being generally known. The day Carl died was the day he had met Ryan David Fitzgalen. He had expected the call for an emergency board of directors meeting. He hadn't expected to arrive at the office to find only himself and a man he had never seen before.

"Gustav," the man had said after introducing himself, "I want you to work for me full time. Sell off your remaining interests. You start today. I need all of you." Ryan nicely pulled the rug out from his scramble for excuses by telling him how much his time would be valued. What he learned about Ryan's organization was just short of miraculous. What he learned about Ryan was not a jot or a tiddle less than a miracle. Well, time to get back to work. He asked for another tea in a to-go cup.

Chapter 3 – ALLIANCES

Private Jed Patterson's eyes were black coals of hate. When alive, he had been a true bummer; a name that he had helped to make a part of the language that his descendents, if he had lived long enough to HAVE descendents, would speak as common slang. The creak of the leather of fifty-three sets of reins and saddles echoed in the dryness of his soul. _"That devil-bitch died once at my hand and, if it takes five hundred years, she will die again."_ That a dead woman could not die again was not something he could realize in his madness.

"Allen, in the next two hours you will hear things difficult to accept. I ask you to keep an open mind. My proofs will come in proper order and you may choose to accept them or not. Ask questions and be critical, but not cynical. Think you can handle that?"

Ground rules, easy enough so far. "Cake," accompanied his best student-to-teacher smile. It worked on full professors, but not this time. Ryan's eyes narrowed.

"Save the fake fronts for the tassel hats. You don't know what's at stake. Now, get ready. Eyes, once opened, can never be shut again."

"What's up your butt?" Allen thought. Aloud, "OK sir. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"That's better. Let's climb your family tree now, shall we?" Allen took the mini-disc (MiDi) out of his pocket. Ryan dropped it into a MiDi entry port. Both sat behind Gustav's desk, which had what appeared to be a glass top. The top was really a liquid crystal thin-screen. It was a personal wide-screen, used for comparative views, similar to what Allen had seen in college, but pricier. With this one, the screen could remain flat on the desk and appear as a glass top, or be raised up for easier reading. On one side of the screen, Allen's disc booted up and showed the logo of the research firm that did the historical documentation. That it was a tree wasn't so clever. That it showed a progressive change in foliage from spring to winter was really eye catching.

"Interesting, Allen. I'm not familiar with that group."

"Oh? Well, watch this." Allen used the finger pad like a pro. The image magnified until you could see one twig of the tree fill the screen, while the progression of seasons continued. Allen tapped again, changing it to a different kind of leaf each cycle. There were leaves of ginkgo, maple, dogwood, oak, birch and so on. Another change and the tree returned to the original full view, but began slowly rotating.

"Nice, Allen, but we ought to get a move on."

"(Nice? What does it take to impress you?) In a second. Check this out, first."

Allen activated the 'Use' function, and the tree slowly backed further from the screen. It slowly became obvious that it was a hand that the tree had rooted into. Further and further back the perspective went until a new image took place. The tree's seasonal changes had stopped in full autumn colors. There was something that looked like Aladdin's genie holding a bonsai tree. The genie and tree were surrounded by a border of, logs?

"Ryan, the Albany Heraldry Corporation contracted RPI to do the programming on their product about twelve years ago. It became a joint senior and faculty project, attracting the best and brightest from several departments. AHC loved the results, including the Graphic Arts Department's work on the logo. Beefed up versions of this logo were distributed by AHC to schools all over the world to be used in their Earth Science classes. Now, when you get that many mental wizards together, funny things begin to happen. What does that logo suggest to you?"

Ryan really hadn't planned on being sidetracked, but it was early yet and this was helping him connect with the young man. "OK. The genie is a wish giver and he's holding the family tree people want to know about. The changes of seasons indicate time passing and the logs, I suppose, represent previous generations to that tree."

"On target!" said Allen. Ryan smiled. "That's just what the senior class project wanted AHC to believe." Ryan stopped smiling. "This was voted the best class prank on record. Part one; it's a genie, right?"

"Uh, right."

"It's surrounded by logs, right?"

"Ditto." Where was this leading?

"In heraldry, which is what this company majored in, 'O' in a name represents where you are from. Here you have: Genie O'Logs."

"Owwww!"

"That's just the beginning. Put the cursor on the tree and hit ALT-P."

Ryan did so and a little word balloon popped up saying, "Gee I'm A Tree".

"Oh no, not 'geometry'?"

"The math department insisted on that one. 'P' in alt-P stood for pun. Do the same thing on the genie's hand."

Ryan did as told and there was a pop up expansion window that showed a root system, but the roots were oddly shaped, they were, "Lord, no. Square roots?"

"Awful, isn't it? Now, put the cursor on the tree again and hit ALT-S-R."

Ryan did, fascinated with the scope and audacity of RPI students. The leaves dropped and the branches of the tree folded in to cover itself. The genie's cheeks turned red. "Let me guess. S.R. stands for Sally Rand?"

That took Allen by surprise. Ryan appeared to know a little about a lot of things. Ryan hid a smirk. He remembered Sally better than Allen might think. More important, Allen seemed to have almost as much of a variety of interests as he did.

"Very impressive. But we have to get going. Pull up your father's file please, Allen." The menu popped up on the screen, giving images and dates, information categories, time lines, and lineage links. "Do you have an image of him when he was your age?"

"Yeah, coming up in a sec. Hold on."

Rachel could see the screen also, and by now she had mastered the audio device. When Carl's young face popped up, she took in a breath. Though Ryan's words had forewarned her, Rachel's connection to Carl still ran deep after all these years.

"I met with your father in this same room when he was twenty- one. That meeting was recorded. Are you alright with seeing it?" Two people a room apart swallowed.

"I think so, sir."

"My son called him 'sir'? Twice?"

Ryan touched a screen pad and a prepared video with muted sound came on next to the still of Carl Hawthorn. Allen's eyes zeroed in on his father first, as did Rachel's. The wife and mother saw the 'larger picture' first. A few moments later, the son's eyes likewise opened wider. There was Ryan, looking little different than he did now. Plastic surgery? Hormone protocol?

"Please, don't say anything yet. Allow me?" A nod from Allen and then Ryan reached over to the screen pad Allen had used. Practiced fingers affected a change of picture.

Allen identified the screen's occupants. "That's Grandfather Maxwell and Grandmother Abigail Hawthorn." Ryan tapped in another change on the screen. "That's their wedding portrait. They married young, in their early 20's."

Another adjustment, this time on the other pad that held Ryan's collection of images and sounds. The other half of Gustav's desk screen showed a live outdoors scene on a porch. There were three people talking.

"Crap on a cupcake! It's a computer trick, isn't it? CGI? It can't be, it..." Allen's voice trailed off. In the next room, at his mother's feet, a puddle of coffee spread unnoticed on the floor. Grandfather Maxwell and Grandmother Abigail were there. Allen had never seen this footage (an old term no longer appropriate but still in use). It wasn't hard to recognize his grandparents. It was even easier to recognize Ryan, since he looked almost the same on the screen as he did sitting a few feet away.

Ryan loved to win. This success had to be capped with a clever bit of irony, not realizing that he would soon have to 'eat' those words. "More cake, Allen?"

Mrs. Annie Edwards, mother, housekeeper, farmer and wife to Col. Archibald Edwards walked her porch. She kept a close eye, from a distance, on how her help kept things. She watched like a hawk to make sure all the weeds were pulled, the flowers were watered and, if things weren't done just so, Annie would give them a heaping helping of her mind. Not that they ever listened. _"Hard to get good help nowadays."_

Annie looked down at her old dress, taking a moment to tuck in that part that was torn, again. She kept her best dresses tucked away for when Archibald returned. It wouldn't do to have him come home to an old ragamuffin, would it? Yep, she would be looking fine for her man when he came home. She looked to the north. _"Please come home, dearest husband."_

The house was two-storied. Archibald's father had it built strong with timber and stone. It had a fine barn for the best team of draft horses in the county. She thought that the buildings must be better built than most in the county, given how many people came to look at them.

" _He is a Colonel in the Georgia Regulars, you know,"_ she might tell some of her visitors. They didn't seem to listen much to her. The help knew a lot, though, and sometimes she would listen with the rest. She liked to hear her name spoken, respectful like.

Gustav walked up the steps to his door. Marianne heard his familiar step on the five wooden front steps and tapped a prepared command on her desk unit that sent a message to another screen; "Rachel, hit your F1 key. We mothers stick together."

Rachel was startled from the display's main feature by the scrolled message. It was her turn to hear the mental 'click', which dovetailed with the opening of the office door and Gustav's greeting to his secretary. A quick tap on the keypad and the screen dropped one single person and the side views (and the scrolling message) in favor of a full screen front view of Allen. Rachel didn't make a habit of fast friendships, but in this case, an exception might be called for.

"So, how's Mrs. Gladstone doing?"

"Fine, Mr. Mendelssohn. You will find all items needing your attention on your back desk or comp screen." Rachel did a quick coffee clean-up, poured half a cup, sat back down and started tapping her left foot in time with what seemed a good C and W beat.

"Birds of a feather are we," she thought, "...mother birds. Allen is my chick; Gustav and Ryan are hers. Interesting." Marianne's hand was fitting that friendship glove better all the time.

Marianne watched Gustav stroll off to the viewing room and murmured, "Gustav, old friend, kind employer and all-round professional good guy, In Your Face!"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Rachel said, putting down the magazine she had grabbed (randomly opened to 'theater arts'). She had been meaning to order that periodical. "Your secretary has taken very good care of me. Would you please tell her how grateful I am?"

"I'm sure she will be pleased to hear that. Marianne is invaluable to me. She runs this place like she was triple cloned. You know, you kind of remind me of her. I wouldn't be surprised if you two have a lot in common." He excused himself and went off to the back room desk to catch up on his own never-ending paperwork. Most of it wasn't done on paper anymore, but old terms die hard.

"Is it a sin," Angel thought, "...to get a snicker out of knowing a secret and playing innocent?"

"No, honored adversary," said Cat. "As long as it's not malicious, it's catnip." Angel didn't quite understand and Referee decided that there were more important things to attend to at the moment. Referee demanded Rachel herself had to take center stage now.

"If what he says is true, then did Ryan manipulate things after Carl died to arrange our dependency on him, just for this meeting? There had better be an incredibly good explanation for this, and I don't think he's going to come up with one." She was wrong.

Alan's stammering could be heard in Rachel's current cubby hole. "Are you telling me that you know, knew, my grandparents and, that when you knew them, when they were just married, you were the same age you are now, or at least looked like it?" Allen wondered if what he just said made sense. "Are you a time traveler or just skinny-dipping in the fountain of youth? Sir, what gives?"

The eyes of age sized up the heart of youth. He had watched Allen grow up since infancy, from a distance. You can get a skeleton sense about someone by observation, even from a distance, and Ryan had good senses. Face-to-facing was adding flesh to the skeleton and the resulting picture pleased Ryan.

"Do you have data on Grandmother Abigail and her parents?" Allen pulled up the next tier of relations and found Obediah and Carol Fitzgalen. He hadn't looked back this far before. "Now, please look up the parents of Obediah Fitzgalen." A couple of taps, then Allen stopped tapping, and breathing. This was too much. It was a trick, a game, a con. The screen showed...him. "Allen, my full name is Ryan David Fitzgalen. I am your great, great grandfather."

" _Luke, I am your great, great grandfather. Trust your feelings. Well, 0h Be One Anole, shall I call rent-a-shrink? You just blew his mind."_

Rachel heard Ryan's words and saw the look on her son's face. She didn't need to see the screen, though she wanted to. Her mind raced, "Ryan is Carl's great grandfather? How can this be? This is too unreal. Should I put a stop to this?"

Once again, scrolled words along the bottom of the screen caught her eye. "It's true. Don't interfere. All will be well. I'm on your side."

Major Covington went over everything he had tried in the past. The horses wouldn't stop; trying to dismount caused obscene pain due to their cursed 'bonding' to the saddles. They could direct their steeds for a little while, veering north or south, but eventually their mounts returned to her control. He had, more than once, confronted Private Patterson, but knew madness when he saw it. Even tried shooting the bastard once, only to find that his sidepiece was useless. His saber had slightly better results. It earned him a minor wince by the Private, then more of that obnoxious insane laughter. Might as well be armed with a toy pistol and an ostrich feather. He was a military commander with loyal soldiers denied ability to command or take needed action. Satan had a sense of the ironic.

Ryan spoke. "World War II was a global obscenity. As happens with such nation-state wickedness, the incentive to gain technological supremacy was tremendous. The advances in rockets, telemetry, communications and aviation were astounding, all bought with megatons of blood, terror, and waste. The age of the atom was a Phoenix born from the ashes of innocent families. Great advances, out of trial and error, were made in emergency medicine and surgery. All this, you know. You may also guess that some things were not made public, either because they posed too great a security risk if known, or because the failure was demoralizing or embarrassing.

"I was posted at a quiet project, studying how to utilize high intensity magnetic fields to create an infiltrating stealth craft. We found that radar waves, the detection system at the time, could be bent with a strong magnetic field. Kind of like the extreme gravity from a black hole will bend the light of a star behind it so that we see the optical illusion of a twin star. Our goal was to sufficiently bend the radar waves around a craft so that it created an invisible void. We had made progress using an unmanned vessel and it had come time to use a manned one. In peacetime, they would have done animal studies first. This wasn't peacetime and time was of the essence. I volunteered. How else could a Seaman, First Class, move up two grades with a day's worth of minor work?

"I motored an old tug out beyond the main islands. I had to be out of sight, but within radar range of the USS Shaw (DD373), a destroyer still under repair eight months after the original bombing on December 7th, 1941. On a signal from the Shaw, I fired up the magnets and kept track of everything from mental acuity to vitals to bladder control. The test was slated for one hour and the boat had to be steered in a non-predicted pattern. I was hooked up to an EKG so that, if there were any heart problems, the magnets would automatically stop and a chopper could drop in a medic.

"As far as I knew things were going fine. An earlier test showed the Shaw could receive a signal from the stealth craft, but no one realized that the stealth craft's magnetic protection from radar also protected it from receiving radio messages. It took them a little while to catch on to that, and the last thing I recall was wondering why I hadn't heard from them. They got nervous and started looking for me, but it was a big ocean and a radar-invisible craft. Search craft were limited because the war was in full swing and this was supposed to be a quiet operation. They found me, unconscious but alive, two days later. The boat had run out of diesel, which then turned off the stealth device. Luckily, the boat had been traveling in a big circle, since I wasn't able to change the course and the wheel was lashed. That kept me from winding up in Australia or Antarctica.

"I was sent to the Naval Hospital in Oahu, you know, where Pearl Harbor is? The ringing I had in my ears since I was a kid was gone. That was the first thing I noticed on wakening. Never gave it half a thought before that, but you notice when something you take for granted goes away. Noises and smells told me I was in a hospital bed even before I tried my eyes out. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was an IV bag. They had put it in to re-hydrate me at first, later to feed me. Looking to the right, I saw I was in a small room with three other bunks, all unoccupied. My eyes swept left and saw someone standing there, quietly. The window behind him told me that it was night, the quiet hinted at a late hour. He just stood there and I just looked, like either of us was waiting for the other to break the ice. His nametag, pinned to a full-length white lab coat, read "Dr. Joseph G. Morrison".

" _How do yon feel?"_

"Funny, Doc. Fine, but funny. Different. What happened?"

" _You were out for two days, brought back and have been unconscious for the last 24 hours. You've been re-hydrated and checked out from top to bottom. Outside that door are an orderly and a nurse talking. Pull that cord tied to the bed railing and a bell will ring. They will come right in. There are a lot of people who want to talk to you. You re fine and can call them in any time. Keep conversations short at first and pace yourself. Find out all about what's happened to you and how it has changed you. Use what you learn. There are many who need you and you are the only one who can help them. "_

"I couldn't make heads or tails of what he was talking about. Dr. Morrison mixed in the sensible with the non-sensible, which made the non-sensible sound even crazier. When I get confused or upset, I get hungry. I pulled the cord and, sure enough, the orderly and the nurse came right in. The nurse said nothing, but started taking my vital signs. While she worked, the orderly started right in asking questions. I held up my hand and told him, "I gotta take it slow. Doctor's orders."

"The nurse stopped what she was doing and asked, "What doctor?" I told her, and then turned to Dr. Morrison, but he was gone. I looked back at the nurse and she stared at me like I was mentally unbalanced. "Dr. Morrison who?"

"I said, "No, Dr. Joseph G. Morrison. Older guy, about fifty or so, full head of gray hair, small mustache, about five foot ten, black, ballpark hundred and sixty pounds. He was just here talking to me, told me to pull the chain. He told me that guards and a nurse would come in, and, well, here you are. I'm hungry. Got any food?" The orderly asked who the doctor was. Guess he was new to the place.

The nurse said in a flat voice, staring at me, "He was the chief ship doctor of the USS Arizona when the Japanese struck. He didn't survive the attack."

There didn't seem to be time to fix lunch for her children. No matter, she would get to it later. _"They seem happy enough playing for now. I'll do it soon."_ Annie tried to recall what they had for breakfast this morning... and couldn't.

Mother and son leaned back at the same time. It was a lot to take in. By itself, the story would be a recounting of hysterics, or delusion. His past experience with Carl had taught Ryan to take the process in measured increments. Two hours was enough to build the basics. Then, if Allen wanted to continue, he was Ryan's man. If he didn't, then it was back to hearing Gustav gripe. However, there was an old saying. The older Ryan got, the more he felt that old sayings got old by being valid.

"Allen, the mind will absorb what the butt will endure. We've been at it for fifty minutes. Let's take ten and stretch."

" _Stay tuned for the next episode of Hospital Soap Opera! Will handsome young Ryan get Nurse Megaboob's phone number? Join us next time..."_

"Enough!"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Leg fell asleep. Sorry. Come on, Marianne has something waiting to snack on and your mother probably wants to see you in person. Remember your agreement on confidentiality. After you."

" _Ryan."_

Ryan hung back. "Allen, you go on ahead. I'll be right there, have to tie my shoe."

" _In case you're interested, Rachel switched jacks. She heard everything. "_

"Shit, Vanessa, why didn't you tell me earlier! Damn! Uh oh... Is she listening now?" Ryan whispered that last sentence.

" _Calm down, Love. She's taken off the earpiece. You and Gustav had good intentions, but you were wrong to exclude her. She's Allen's mother, for Heaven's sake. Trust her. She's worthy of it."_

Ryan thought about it for a moment. "Should I confront her?"

" _Soon, but not yet. There's more going on than you know. I'll tell you about it later. Let her have her secret for now. It'll be all right, trust me."_

Ryan sighed. There was nothing left to do now but to play it out. He walked out the door to the table, as...

Annie looked at the family Bible and read a few passages from it. Her hands must be weak, she thought. It was so hard to turn the pages. She focused her strength and forced herself to do it anyway. Reading the same page was tiresome and, for some reason, it caused an amusing stir when others saw the page turn. _"Stupid strangers."_

It was time to inspect the home. _"A good wife keeps everything just so."_ The glass figurines from Paris had been dusted; the grandmother clock was wound proper (a gift from her father - couldn't get things like that for love or money after the blockade). Shoes in the closets were lined up the way she liked, though this was one area she really didn't like the strangers looking into. The lights still confused her though. Seemed to light themselves and the wicks never got trimmed. She recalled that Marigold used to do such a good job with that.

Rachel had switched the two jacks (still C&W, with one of her old favorites playing), then got up from the chair and stretched. Marianne was waiting for her at the door. The two conspirators went lockstep to the cleared desk where the snacks were. Allen was already there, but he was picking at the goodies with little enthusiasm. There was just too much on his mind. Ryan buttonholed Gustav and pulled him into the main office.

"She knows. Rachel has been listening in."

"WHAT!? That's not, I mean, how do you know? Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. 'You know who' told me. Said it would be all right, just go with it. Do you know what happened?"

Gustav thought for a few moments. "Had to be Marianne. But why?" Another few moments. "It's about Mike. That has to be it. She's getting revenge."

"I don't think revenge is the whole picture, but it probably plays a role. You know how she feels about being kept in the dark about someone she cares about."

"Ouch," thought Gustav. "You agreed on that one. So did Mike. The intentions were good, doesn't that count for anything?"

"They do, old friend, but what's paved with good intentions?" Those were difficult memories for Ryan, but there was the small compensation to have caught a lawyer speechless.

" _A silent lawyer! Isn't that an oxymoron?"_

Gustav saw the look on Ryan's face. "What did she say, Ryan?"

"You really want to know?"

"No, let's eat something and get on with it." They went over to the table first, then to Allen, who was now looking around in the viewing room his mother had just left.

Voices low, Rachel and Marianne were at the 'desk/table', each with a small plate of a variety of snacks and a drink. "Can it be true, is he really that old?" She looked over through the open door of the viewing room.

"Rachel, you are looking at the only man who can troll a nursing home and be found guilty of robbing the cradle." A whoop of laughter turned three male heads to the ladies.

"Uh oh," said Ryan.

"He's really a wonderful man," Marianne said. "Rich enough, fun to be with when he isn't preoccupied, which isn't often. Ryan respects people worth respecting and has no time for those who aren't."

"Quite a guy, but, oh! He'd outlive anyone who hooked him. They'd get old, and he wouldn't." Rachel stopped when the implications of that set in. Long life, like anything else in excess, could be a curse.

"It's worse than that. Can you imagine it if the public got wind of it? Ryan's life wouldn't be his own. Everyone afraid of dying would be hounding him for his 'secret'. Feds would have him tested and examined, almost literally forever. Not that they would find anything. We've done a lot of our own research already. This is a one-time deal. A lot of the animal studies that were done later in the same field only cut short the lives of a lot of Fluffies and Spots."

"Well, I guess it's true what they say about single men." Marianne looked at Rachel, not knowing what that meant but catching the edge of humor in it.

"I'll bite."

"They're all like parking spots at the mall. The best ones are taken and the rest are handicapped." It was an old joke, but even an old joke was funny to someone who hadn't heard it before. It was Marianne's turn to throw her head back and whoop.

Gustav moaned; "We're sunk, they're bonding."

Allen added, "If Marianne is anything like Mom, you are in deep doo-doo."

The three men looked at each other. Ryan chuckled, Allen began to snicker and finally Gustav let fly with a good German howl. The two women looked at the three cackling men, still snickering themselves.

"No matter what their age, they're just kids," said Marianne, "...and we stay mothers all our lives." A FedEx deliveryman came through the door just then and wondered what sort of madhouse he had walked into.

Once the delivery man left, "So what happened next? Did the Navy figure out how that exposure to magnetism changed you?" Allen wasn't able to wait till the next session to ask more questions.

Gustav took that one. "Ryan wisely decided not to say anything. Can you imagine what would have happened to him if he continued to insist on seeing ghost doctors? The one admission could be overlooked as a bad dream, or some mental after affect of the magnetic or element exposure. Besides, as far as he knew it was a dream. Why push it?

"He was bumped up his two grades, as promised, and settled in for post-action physical examinations. Tests turned up normal, perfect in fact. The Navy was looking for something wrong and, thankfully, they didn't clue in to the fact that everything was too right. Two days of exposure to the elements without water or food and no ill effects? Physical exercise tests showed him to have suffered no loss of stamina. In fact, there was a mild gain. Vision was 20/20 on both sides where it used to be 20/40 on the left. So, he was soon discharged from the hospital and continued working with the Navy R and D. A week after his hospital discharge, things began to happen again. Your ball, Ryan."

"I was finishing up some work at the lab on missile guidance packages when I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. It was after hours and there were only a few of us in the building. Nobody else was in my section, as far as I knew. This was a secured area, so you got into the institutional paranoia mindset. This was wartime and the brass kept you paranoid of Axis boogiemen. The person I saw was not in uniform. That she was a woman registered next, followed immediately by a damned good-looking woman at that. Hey, sailors have traditions. She had light brown hair, hazel eyes, about four inches shy of my height. She just stood there in a blue dress, looking at me like she was as surprised as I was. She asked if I could hear her.

"What kind of question was that," I thought?

"Ma'am, I can hear you just fine, now, who are you and what are you doing here?" was my reply. She flashed the biggest smile, ignored my question and went on with her own agenda. She asked my name, still smiling, which I told her. I asked for hers and she said 'Vanessa' and then her smile faded. Fair's fair. I gave her my whole moniker, so I asked her for her last name. She got this worried look on her face and said she didn't know it, or where she came from and she just kept getting more and more upset. Guess she reached her boiling point because she turned and ran. Training kicked in and I gave chase, then stopped and stood there with my mouth hanging open. She ran right through the door."

Allen asked, "What's so surprising about the fact that she would head for the door?"

"The door was closed. She went through the door like it wasn't there. I've no idea how long I stood there until one of the guards came up from behind me. I must have jumped halfway to the roof when he touched my shoulder. What was I supposed to tell him? "Follow that ghost who might be a foreign spy?" I told him that I'd had it for the night and had better close up shop, then locked up my paperwork in my desk, which wasn't easy given how my hand was shaking. Had to stop off at the head and relieve myself, because it wouldn't have taken much for me to open the floodgates at that point. I got to the jeep, started it up and thank God I hadn't put it in gear because there she was, sitting in the passenger seat. She said she was sorry she ran away, and could we start over again?"

Gustav's eyes had malicious merriment in them and he was having trouble keeping control, a lot of trouble. It was getting worse as the tale went on. "OK, Chuckles, you like it so much, you take it."

"Big macho sailor man (snort), give heap big scream like teenage girl whose brother sell her diary and, run out of car." Gustav crossed his arms tighter, looked at the monitor screen, trying not to make eye contact, then squinted his eyes shut. "Run far and fast, like deer (snicker), not look where going, run right into flagpole (bigger snort), knock self out cold, heap big goose egg on forehead!" He lost ground on self-control, having to lean on the monitor desk with one hand and hold his ribs with the other. Ryan turned around to say something to Allen, only to find him leaning against the wall with both hands busy holding his own ribs in.

Both women looked at the men. Marianne whispered, "I think I know which story that was. Remind me to tell you later."

Rachel said, "What ever it is, Ryan doesn't think it all that funny." She saw the merriment dancing in Marianne's eyes. "This one I have got to hear."

Gustav had been holding his voice down, but it was an effort. "And then, and then, when they found him and he woke up, they asked, asked him what he was running from."

Ryan looked at the doorway, at what only he could see, and raised one eyebrow.

" _Just let him continue. It's doing his tired heart good."_ The women began edging closer. Allen, still leaning against the wall, began slowly sliding down to the floor.

No longer able to manage volume control, Gustav barked, "A BAT! He said it was a bat, BIG bat! Hiding in his car or something. Tried to bite him, he said. HUGE, with BIG TEETH!" After that, Gustav's main concern was trying to sit down and get air to breathe. Allen's back pockets met the floor.

Rachel said, "A bat?"

"I was right. It was when he first met Vanessa."

Ryan took in the panorama, shrugged his shoulders and said, "What the hell. OK, folks, everyone grab a chair and let's gather at the snack table. You too, Rachel, since you've been listening in on everything in the office, anyway." That stopped both women in their tracks. They looked at each other, then back at Ryan.

Allen stopped laughing. "Geez, Mom. What are you, some kind of super-spy?"

Rachel flushed, "How did, I mean, well, it wasn't her fault. I found the other sound jack and plugged it in myself. How did you find out?"

Rachel's new best friend crossed her arms and sulked. "She ratted on us, didn't she? Vanessa? Women are supposed to stick together!"

" _Only if they don't shower often enough."_

It was Ryan's turn to crack up. Gustav, having just regained a modicum of decorum, fell back to the chair to resume his efforts to breathe normally. He had heard the standard retort to that one, before.

Marianne sighed, "Boss, first of all it's not polite to hear things no one else can hear. Second, I don't want to hear what she just said because I know what she just said." She had heard it before, too.

Allen now had gone from tears of laughter to incredulity at his mother's subterfuge. Now there was wonderment. "You mean that lady, the one you saw in the car I mean, she's...here? This is getting serious weird, people."

Chapter 4 – 1 PM

The line of reluctant soldiers had reached Cedar Creek, the halfway point. Private Cooper spurred Freedom on ahead to ride next to his Commander. They passed the time with commenting on the things they had seen change over the many years along the path. At least that gave some sanity to the insane sameness. When they had exhausted that avenue, " _Elijah, I know the names of my men, their wives and girlfriends, children, pets, horses, occupations, dreams, parents and relatives, and committed it to memory. This is more my family than my past family now. You and the others have become the sons I never had. I want you to know that there isn't a finer group of men 1 would want to ride with, dead or alive."_

Elijah had heard it before, in different words. It had come to be understood that one of their number, their Judas Iscariot, was not included in that platitude. Still, it gave the Private from Farmington, Massachusetts, strength of heart. His Commander was a good man back then, and he still was one now. _"Private, four hours before SHIELD-WALL."_

The flagpole story had to be retold for Rachel. They moved back to Gustav's office, and Allen pulled up the great, great grandfather picture from the MiDi data and enjoyed seeing her mouth drop as his had. He wished he'd brought a camera, or that his SatCom hadn't been temporarily locked away for this meeting. It would be a start on getting even with his Mom for showing Melissa his baby picture, featuring his first diaper rash. He could still hear Melissa's laughter. Between that, the sour note that they had left on and the rapidly broadening scope on his experience meter, Allen had little desire to get back to RPI.

Ryan held up his hand. "What you have heard so far may have you thinking that these are the craziest or most miraculous things you have ever heard. Well, you haven't heard the half of it." A look from Rachel to Marianne earned a confirming nod in return.

"Residual essence after death is not a new thing. Séances, ghost stories, research grants and more are all evidence of our credulity regarding the existence of spirits. There are several categories of entities. One group's tie to the world that keeps them here is some kind of unfinished business. They remain to attain a goal they missed in life.

"Others remain because they are unaware that they have died. Usually, they lost their lives too quickly to realize what was happening. Some argue for a third group, where extreme violence brings up a residual harmonic of a spirit OR event. That one is usually where someone might repeat an action daily, or on an anniversary date. Those can be the most difficult to deal with.

"Some people have dedicated their lives to study these phenomena. Far fewer in number are those who are trying to help them. The problem is that it is difficult to communicate with entities, which, for the lack of a better word, is how I refer to them. Communicating with them doesn't seem to be a problem for me, not since that Navy mishap."

Rachel asked, "You've seen others, besides Vanessa and Dr. Morrison?"

"Rachel, I've interacted with, to date, four hundred and ninety-one."

Allen was doing his level best to keep a balance of sanity and perspective. His mother held Ryan's sanity and perspective suspect. Yet, Marianne and Gustav seemed to fully accept Ryan and what he was saying, and both of them seemed like normal, reasonable, sane people... but this was pushing things too far! Rachel had to put her foot down.

"Mr. Fitzgalen, I can't take more of this on your say-so. I need iron clad proof, now, that what you are saying is true. I'm really doing my best to stay open, but can you show me something I can see, or feel?"

Marianne looked at Gustav and mouthed, "Oh, no."

Ryan sighed. "The hard way, then. Rachel, I had thought that seeing my picture in your family-tree records and knowing of your plug-switching would suffice. By the way, Marianne, I know why you did that. I'm not angry. In fact, Gustav and I earned it." Marianne smiled graciously at the concession.

Ryan continued. "Have you ever heard of a poltergeist?" Allen and Rachel had both read of those mischievous spirits that could wreck a room faster than toddler triplets on a sugar binge, and so both nodded. "Spirits are like people, each unique in abilities, strengths and awareness. Some can affect their environment, like poltergeists, and others can plant thoughts in your mind. Some are better at becoming visible to the clairvoyant or at being heard by the clairaudient; with a rare individual being able to alter the way they appear to the sighted. Vanessa, well, even among the unique, she is one in a trillion. Dear one, would you oblige? Something subtle this time, please?"

There was a glass of Gustav's ice water set on the coffee table (he refused to call it that, being a dyed-in-the-wool tea drinker). He had just set it there a moment before. Ryan's eyes went to it and everyone's gaze followed his. The glass moved a little and then began to rise by itself into the air. The two uninitiated were the most affected, with Allen repeating a mantra using words that might have gotten him a tongue lashing in any other circumstance. Rachel was experiencing that unique dream feeling where her mouth kept forming words, but nothing came out.

The glass rose above head level of the seated witnesses, and then floated over towards Rachel. The half full glass of water and ice cubes then tilted and spilled, right down the front of Rachel's dress. The cold was the only thing that kept Rachel from fainting on the spot. Allen didn't have that advantage.

Ryan said, "Marianne, be a dear and help Rachel into something dry. Bring her back when she is coherent, please."

Marianne whispered to herself, "Vanessa, you can be a real bitch when you want to."

" _Would you like me to christen Allen, too? It might wake him up."_

"No, let him rest. It's been a long two hours and he has a big decision to make when he wakes up."

" _Oh, really? What might that be?"_

"His two hours are up and they are both free to leave. Thanks to your melodrama, they probably WILL leave. I couldn't blame them."

Gustav was used to this. It must be what it was like to work at a mental health institution, where the clients often talked to the air. He let Ryan have his conversation with witchy-woman, while he took paper towels to the water not absorbed by Mrs. Gladstone.

Annie sat on the front porch chair and turned her eyes north. _"Damned Yankees! Why couldn't they just go home and leave the South in peace? What's the big to-do about maintaining the Union anyway? North and South are nothing alike, so let them be in peace, for Heaven's sakes! So many boys are gone now, so many fine boys. Poor Katherine Mearkle, losing both Matthew and Kevin at Shiloh, then her husband captured and imprisoned at that forsaken Camp Douglas."_ She looked at her own children playing, always playing. She still had her blessings with her, like always. Annie smiled.

"Now look what you did." Ryan continued, with Allen still on mental holiday and the only other conscious person present being Gustav.

" _I don't see what you have to complain about. Mrs. Happyrock should have all doubts removed now, not to mention her blouse. Thought that would please you."_

"It's a good thing Marianne keeps spares in back for fashion emergencies, and no, it did not please me at all. Knock it off with the jealousy thing, will you?"

" _Anyway, those women, who are far too young for you, will further bond by exchanging clothing. It's been a time hallowed ritual of adolescent females for centuries."_

"What about Allen? He's not bonding with much of anything at the moment."

" _Poor boy needed a breather to gather perspective. He'll be the better for the nap. You'll see. Trust me. Have I ever lied to you?"_

Standing at the doorway were Marianne and Rachel, the latter sporting a (dry) flowered shirt and gray skirt combination that was feminine, but professional. Marianne caught the half-conversation taking place. She touched Rachel's arm and whispered, "Listen..."

"Not on purpose, but your take on what the facts are is sometimes on a shaky foundation."

" _Are you calling me a ditz? You? A man who runs into flagpoles when a proper lady shows up in his Jeep?"_

"Of course not. All I'm asking is that you tone it down a bit. This isn't The Three Stooges."

" _Of course not, silly, I can count. There are four of you. "_

"Dammit Vanessa, when are you going to get it into your head that not everything is a joke?"

" _Life's a joke, Love, and the punch line is that everybody dies. So stop taking it so seriously. Loosen up a little."_

"THAT'S IT, Vanessa, you just gave me the clue I needed to find out what you were before!"

" _Really! You're serious? Please, TELL me!"_

"A pain in the ass."

"Marianne, what's going on? Why is Ryan squinting and holding his fingers in his ears?"

"Ooh, she didn't like that one. OK, let's see to Allen. Witchy woman will vent for a minute, then she'll calm down and be reasonably civilized for a while. Never lasts, though."

Gustav finished his mopping and joined the ladies, who were gathered around the limp figure, who was muttering soft, unintelligible sounds; a sure sign of consciousness returning. Gustav had emergency care training and had checked Allen over earlier. "He's fine, just needed down time to reset the circuit board."

Allen's eyes opened and he saw his mother's face. He smiled, reassuring Rachel's instinctive protectiveness. "Hi, Mommy." That didn't sound quite right. "Can we have oatmeal today?" That was definitely not right. Rachel gave Gustav the evil eye.

"Fine, huh? Where did you get your medical training? Quack U.?"

Gustav didn't answer the rhetorical question and just patted Allen on the side of the face a couple of times. "Wake up, Allen, you're not in Kansas anymore. Come on, we need you back up to speed."

"Huh, Gustav? Mom? What's going on? I - holy shiooot," he corrected, remembering his mother was present. "Did I really see that? Mom, are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It was just a minor chest cold." Marianne snickered. Allen blushed. Gustav pretended not to hear. Ryan was preoccupied.

Allen looked around, "Hey, what's with Ryan? How come he looks like that?"

Rachel smiled, "I got the cold, he got the heat. Seems he hit Vanessa's hot button while you were out."

"I FAINTED? Gaaa, what a woose! Mom, PLEASE don't tell anyone! No one else went out?"

"No, Dear. Marianne, Ryan, and Gustav are apparently used to this sort of thing. As for me, Vanessa's method of proving her existence kept me conscious."

Marianne looked over at Ryan again and giggled. "As our esteemed employer is often heard to say, there is rarely a blessing that doesn't have a curse on the flip side of the coin."

Allen followed her gaze. "What's the blessing?"

"Being the only one able to hear Vanessa."

"And the curse?"

"Being the only one able to hear Vanessa."

Ryan opened one eye and looked at Marianne. "Oh, what she said about you. Are you really Sicilian slum spawned?"

Allen opened his mouth, but stopped mid-breath, his mind shifting. "Vanessa? Wait a minute!" Mistaking his meaning, Vanessa stopped her unloading and looked at him. Could Allen hear her? "That's the name of my great, great grandmother. That's who Vanessa is, isn't it? But how can that be if, the first time you met her, she was...dead?"

Rachel's mouth dropped. Why hadn't she realized that? Too busy not trusting people to think. Back in her still-in-session mental parliament, Cat was looking chagrined. Angel was just beaming with 'Told you so' written all over her face. That made Cat all the more vexed. 'Gotcha' was her game, not Angel's!

Annie paused at the mantle and looked at the painting. What a fine husband. A good provider; a gentle man. _"The painter did your eyes justice, those blue pools under bushy dark brows."_ She remembered the first night she looked at those eyes at the cotillion. Who would have thought someone so strong looking could be so light on his feet? " _How jealous those other girls were when you strode up and asked me to dance."_

Annie closed her eyes and relived those moments. The band had played the favorites of the day; the Japanese lanterns provided the most romantic lighting to the way Archibald looked in his uniform. She hummed the tune they had first danced to. The notes were memorized and, even though she knew it was The San Bernardino Waltz, she just called it 'Our Song'. That was title enough for her.

"Allen, Rachel," Ryan began, "...a decision has to be made. Allen and I startd our meeting two hours ago, plus fifteen minutes. You have met your obligation to me and may now leave without any loss of college funding. I haven't done this purely out of love for Carl. I want Allen to take Carl's place." Both Rachel and Allen shut their mouths when Ryan raised his hand and said, "Hold your comments. I'll answer your questions, in my way and time, if you will just be patient with an old man. Carl wasn't just a figurehead to protect me from the public. He was a diligent and hard worker, one of the best. There are not many I can trust with this position. Allen, you were chosen out of eight potential relations, some you know, others are distant cousins that you have never met. Because you are Carl's son, I have a sentimental attachment to you, but that is NOT the reason you were chosen. You have maturity; you are able to keep your head and your tongue when things are going haywire. The fainting was justified, so not to worry on that one. Were I in your shoes, well, just remember who dances with flagpoles. Vanessa is your great, great grandmother, as you surmised. She thinks you're handsome by the way and says that you should 'ditch the bitch'. Someone you have a relationship with at RPI?"

"She knows Melissa? HOW?"

"Vanessa is an invaluable asset for information gathering. For example, her detection of your mother's eavesdropping."

Mother and son were close enough so that the way they processed information was similar. Allen learned how to organize thoughts and use them to best advantage the trial and error method all children used in getting what they wanted from their parents.

Rachel rarely let her son win an argument unless he really won. Tears didn't work. Big eyes and 'pleeeeze' were useless. Nothing was purchased or done just because everyone else had hitched his or her wagon to a given fad. In the process, Allen had not only won for himself a wonderfully logical mind that would have stood him in good stead in any debate society. He had also learned to take a good hard look at what he really deemed important. 'Things' were rarely supportable as essential. 'Experiences' were much easier to document as positive and worthy.

Three partners watched as a mother and son's eyes defocused, with passive faces belying rapid mental events underneath.

Rachel: "Allen heading a business; interfacing for Ryan? What does Ryan do that he has to hide from the public? Carl often worked late and was gone for days at a time to seminars and meetings. What were those meetings actually about and is there any danger to Allen? Does he get to finish school and what say do I have in this? When does this take place, what role will I play, if any? Vanessa - how in the world...?"

Allen: "This is more than running a business, this goes deeper. How deep, and am I more than a keyboard tapper here? How did Vanessa know Melissa? Did she visit me and, Good Lord, what did she witness? Can she see with the lights off? Ditch the bitch? Probably right on with that one. Do I need to make a decision between RPI and this? Can I do both? What about Mom? She has always been there for me. So many things to take in, too many for perspective. Go with my feelings then. The answer, only one I can make, I choose..."

"OK, Gramps cubed. If you believe I can do it, I'll go with that. I want to go on, but I don't know what I'm going on to. When I saw you back in 4th grade, your face stuck in my mind. I remember now seeing it from time to time in dreams. It never frightened me."

Ryan arched an eyebrow. _"So sue me. He's one of the few I can do that with. Seemed like a good idea at the time."_

"I've got some ground rules of my own. You OK with that?" Ryan nodded. "I'm no robot. You say I've got a good mind, well then let me use what I have to help in my own way. I'm willing to learn, but also I want to contribute. I don't know what it is that you do, but something tells me that it's important."

Ryan smiled. So did Vanessa _. "So much like his father. He's going to do us proud, Love."_

Gustav looked on with a passive professional 'listening face', but Marianne knew the signs. "They're both old paternal softies, God bless them."

"Next, my Mom. We've seen each other through some pretty tough times. I want her in on this." At this, Marianne, Gustav, and Ryan all shared looks of 'What the...'

"Hear me out, folks. Look, when Dad was working with you he was running himself ragged for years. Mom said he had precious little time for his family. That means that the workload was pretty meaty. Am I right?" Nods. "I'm guessing that things have gotten bigger and more complex since Dad died. If you want a structure to function, you need good people who are used to working with each other, who mesh. I'm used to working with Mom and she obviously meshes with Marianne." Ryan and Gustav's eyes were absolutely merry and Marianne had a smile that bridged happiness to mischievousness. "Mom, you do a lot for the community with your volunteer work. Let's look at this together. If it clicks, I could sure use your help."

The old music drifted through Annie's mind, mixed in with sounds from the strangers and the new help. "Mrs. Anita Edwards is shown here in a painting with her husband, Colonel Archibald Edwards, the plantation owner. He had this commissioned when they visited Paris on their honeymoon." Annie smiled. "Their children, Jason and Rebecca, died under the hooves of one of Sherman's foraging parties. One of the soldiers saw Mrs. Anita Edwards and took her into the house, apparently to take advantage of her." Annie's eyes began to glow with flame. "He took her life in the effort, but this fiery lady managed to place a kitchen knife into his abdomen, and that's how the soldiers found them. Major Covington had ordered Mrs. Edwards to be buried with her children. Private Jed Patterson was buried alone, near the barns."

" _I got him good, didn't I? Killed him like the pig he was. But...he didn't...didn't...die?"_ She looked down at her dress, still torn from her resistance to the beast. _"No sense changing now. They'll he here soon. Let it remind him of his shameful acts."_

Annie stepped back to the porch, confused. _"But, how can that be? I killed him sure. He's coming back and he'll bring the rest of the lot. Have to protect the home, stop them, make them pay for what they done, but..."_ For a moment, the madness left Annie's eyes. She walked back to the porch and looked to her children, who stopped their play and looked at her, hopefully.

" _Can we come in now, Mommy? We're tired of playing."_ She almost said yes, but such moments never lasted long.

" _You go on and play till your father gets home. I'll bring you your dinner later and we'll have a picnic."_ The hope in the children's eyes dimmed and they went back to play, as always, following a daily ritual that they wanted no part of. Neither did the mounted men who would come, soon.

Rachel was as proud as could be. Her son was taking a stand for his beliefs, contributing and aiming at serving a greater purpose while following in Carl's footsteps. Then she stopped. What about Frank and his two children? That thought opened the private floor for debate.

Cat stood up on all four paws: "Did you hear that? 'His' two children! They're not ours, are they? We haven't been their Mom for long and we will never be their real mother. She gets them a third of the time. They call us by our first name, like a nanny."

Angel stood up, angry enough that her wings were molting. "But we took vows with Frank! Doesn't that count for something? What kind of example would we set for Allen by abandoning Frank?"

Cat couldn't answer that one. It was a stalemate, threatening to degenerate into an 'on-the-other-hand' debate quagmire.

Referee had to take charge: "Table the discussion. It's possible we can participate with Allen and not be removed from Frank and 'his' children. Even if we are not called 'mother', we have accepted a duty to them." Angel looked at Cat, stuck out her tongue and issued a holy "Nyah."

"Allen, I would love to help. You have to keep in mind, though, that I have other duties to Frank, Janet and Jerry. Can you accept my participation with limitations?" She turned to Ryan, who was standing next to her son. "Can you?"

Allen smiled, nodded and then turned his gaze to Ryan, who was pleased at having tables turned on him. "You're right, Allen, things have gotten more difficult and I have been taken away from my real work too often. Rachel, you would be welcome here. It's the least I can do to make up for the shabby way I treated you. Please forgive my preoccupation with security." Ryan extended his hand and Rachel took it. Both were pleased to find a firm and warm grip on the other side.

"Gustav?" she said.

"I've been pushing the old skin-flint to hire more staff for the last decade and a half. Welcome, Frau Gladstone!"

Allen said, "Vanessa, if you can hear me, I would like your approval as well. Seems to me like you are a part of the team and one that I would like very much to get to know better." Allen's eyes widened, then he placed one hand on his cheek. "Ryan, did she just..."

"Never saw her do that to another man. For Vanessa to make a physical contact, she has to concentrate very hard. It's difficult for her. She kissed you, Allen." Eyes all around began to mist, but mischief was in Vanessa's mood. "Oh, and Allen?"

"Yes (sniff)."

"She says you need a new razor. Now, you pointed out two important things for us to address. First, how did Vanessa become your, grandma cubed? I like that. 'Great, great' grates. Second, what are your duties and how does that tie into what I have referred to as my 'real work'? Both of these are hereby declared overshadowed." Blank stares and questioning looks. "Dammit, I'm hungry! Change of venue. Everyone, please, up and out the door."

When Ryan commanded, it seemed natural to follow. Outside the door was..."The limo. I might have known. Boss, you might as well buy one for what you pay out on them," laughed Marianne.

"I had our room at Pavelli's reserved under Gustav's name. Roscoe is on tonight. It's business and I need deductions, so everyone make sure to order something expensive."

Rachel muttered, settling into the limo, "It's going to take me a year to sort out things. Oh...is Vanessa here with us, in the limo, I mean? Oh dear, do I talk to her? It feels so disrespectful to talk about her like she isn't here. Is she?"

Ryan understood...it was all part of the process. "Rachel, she's not in the limo, at least for the moment. I asked her to check on the progress of one of my projects. She'll drop in when she feels the desire, later. You'll get to know when she shows up. You can speak directly to her and I'll let you know what she says. Vanessa is very intelligent, once you get past her offbeat sense of humor. A warning, though. She is the first entity I've met where we haven't found out her previous life's story. She's still really sensitive about it, as you may have noticed. It's not out of spite that I bring it up and she usually realizes it once she calms down. I try to prod her, on occasion, hoping to spark a memory fragment, something we can work on."

Allen raised a hand. "Still in college, Allen m'lad?" thought Ryan.

"If she has no recalled history and has abilities to physically do things on our – plane, and she can hear what all of us are saying and carry on full conversations with you, Ryan, is she a spirit or something else, like an alien or an angel? But wait, you said she was mortal, human."

"Hold on boy." This time from Gustav, who had been taking a vacation from chatting for the past twenty minutes. "You are going to have to take this course by course. Boss, correct me if I'm wrong, but you have a few tales to tell before we get to what Allen's asking, right?" A nod and a smile. "Right. Here we are at Pavelli's. Let's let it go for a little while and get some victuals on board, yes?" There wasn't a single dissenting vote.

Chapter 5 – 2 PM

Major Covington took note of the westering sun, then went back to working on the plan of attack. _"Might work, at least for one or two. Worth a try."_ He called Corporal Marion Clemente up to review SHIELD-WALL again. The Corporal smiled, a little. There had been many plans and, in so many years, few had worked. This one, though, sounded like it had promise. Maybe he would be the next to escape? Maybe he could get help for his beloved blue brothers from the other side?

Elijah was on the Major's right. _"Sir, why did you call it SHIELD-WALL?"_

" _Private, before gunpowder, men still fought in groups. When the Romans advanced on the Goths, Visigoths and a hundred other nationalities, they kept a front rank of men with large shields. That protected those behind from arrows and rocks, but allowed niches from where spearmen could lance out. A shield wall is a wall of men that stands firm to protect those behind them. Understand?"_

Yes, Sir. Centurion Cooper will now go back to his duties, Sir. "

"One check, Roscoe m'lad," said Gustav. Ryan tended to remain quiet when the group dealt with the public, leaving speech to his 'mouthpiece'.

"Already in the works, Mr. M. Drinks and hot garlic bread are coming in five minutes, meals in twenty. Usual settings on the lights and music?"

"Roscoe, they don't pay you enough."

The waiter smiled, "That's why God made big tippers like you, Mr. M. I'll be back soon with the first course, then take your entree orders."

Rachel approved. It had been many years since she had been to Pavelli's. Carl liked the place and so did she. She and Carl had Carlos as their favorite waiter. He had retired a couple of years ago and moved to Florida. She still got Christmas cards from him. Roscoe was different, but just as entertaining and efficient. It would have taken a true Scrooge not to immediately like the fellow. Frank preferred pubs. Sometimes it was difficult trying not to compare Frank to Carl, and Carl kept earning top lauds. She knew this wasn't healthy for her marriage. Frank had done much for her and he really was a caring and honorable man, a friend who stood by you in need. Yet, in a fulfilling marriage, friendship is not the only ingredient. "I used to come here, a long time ago. Allen, your father liked this place a lot."

Gustav nodded. "We know. We had meetings here together and this is our traditional room."

Allen looked around. His father met with these people in this room? Who knows, maybe he was sitting in his father's favorite chair? But could he fill his father's shoes? Didn't someone tell him once that when you reach 21 you become a man? Well, he was 21 and felt like a kid out of his league. Feeling better that his mother was here only served to make him feel even less adult.

"You know, Allen," said Ryan, "...your father preferred the fettuccini. Isn't that what you ordered?" In Ryan's thoughts, "Another young man, so much like his father. Now with my great, grand daughter to assist and guide him. Carl's mother was unsuited to such a task, back then. She wanted her son to have nothing to do with the business. She felt that Carl should have gone on into bioscience research, or something like that. When Carl died, Abigail blamed me for it. It was irrational, but who could be less logical than a mother whose son was tragically taken away from her. Still, it hurts to remember her icy stare."

Marianne looked at Rachel and felt a sympathy stab. She could tell, reading between the lines, that Rachel still had feelings for Carl. Marianne nodded and smiled at appropriate small talk junctions, but her mind was not there. It was with Mike Cabrini. Mike had been diagnosed with small cell carcinoma and, although there had been real progress in the treatment of this particular brand of cancer, it was still a poor prognosis. She always felt hurt regarding Mike's going to see Ryan first. Ryan then called in Gustav, and the MEN shared, bonded, supported. She should feel happy that Mike had that kind of help, but, damn it! She was his WIFE. They shoved her away from her vowed duties to her husband of giving him all the help she could. Marianne was smart enough to know that it wouldn't have made any difference in the outcome, but it wasn't about that. It wasn't so much the journey's end as it was the journey! That is what was important. She was tossed in a yin/yang storm of appreciation and resentment. Ryan had spared no expense in procuring any treatment, mainstream or exotic, all and everything that was the best available. Mike had finally told her the whole story, when it was obvious to everyone that something was dreadfully wrong with him. He said that it had been his wish to conquer the beast without upsetting his bride, to save her the anguish, at least for a while. It was so noble of him, and so Goddam wrong! Gustav and Ryan were co-conspirators in denying her what she needed in order to be later afforded the healing and closure a spouse deserves. Today, she struck back. So why wasn't there any feeling of justice served? Why was there only a gnawing of guilt?

Gustav had known Marianne for two decades. He was happy, in a way, that she had gotten her licks in today. "My dear Roscoe, would you please freshen my tea cup? Good man." There was no doubt in his mind that his right-hand woman was considering her actions taken earlier today and the motives behind them. Gustav Mendelssohn was an unbendingly religious man, and betrayal of someone who trusts you implicitly could not meet with the codes of behavior found in God's rulebook. But his intentions (there was that word again) had been to follow Mike's wishes and Ryan's orders. Just following orders. He had in his family tree two relatives who just followed orders. One died in the Luftwaffe while flying over England, the other while in a tank in Africa under Rommel, the Desert Fox. Both died bravely and selflessly for their country and comrades, but they died under the leadership of one of history's greatest butchers and madmen. He wondered, "Are they singing in Heaven, or gnashing their teeth in Hell?" He had asked Ryan to ask Vanessa and any entity he might come across about this. Ryan had said that any entity that remained on earth had not been to Hell or Heaven, and so could not help on that matter. All Ryan could do is his utmost to make sure that as many of those left behind as possible were sent on to the next step in their journey, not to wonder about where that journey ended.

Among the shades of men for whom pleasant dining was only a very dim memory, plans had to be made carefully lest Mad Jed catch wind of it. Being mad didn't make him stupid.

In his silence, _"They're plotting again, Coaljack, as if anything they could do would defeat Satan's bitch. It's up to me, it's always been up to me."_ Private Jed Patterson threw back and let out a war whoop that would have given the Rebel Yell a run for its money. The horses started when he did that. The men didn't like it much either. It hurt them when their horses jinked. It was odd part of the curse, that such discomforts were the only time they felt anything by their senses, other than vision and hearing...and grief.

The meal was halfway consumed and a second round of drinks was being distributed. Gustav nodded to Roscoe, who gave his respects and left. There was a button at the head of the table that would summon Roscoe, if Gustav so desired. Otherwise, no interruptions would be allowed. Rachel had used Allen's SatCom to call home and let Frank know that there was a delay and not to wait up. She said that there was plenty of food in the kitchen, but knew Frank would take the kids out rather than cook something himself. Cat grumped, "Carl never had that problem."

All eyes turned to Ryan. "The flagpole and bat incident, coupled with the night-watch's description of my behavior in the lab and the thing about Dr. Morrison, conspired to have me removed from anything requiring a security clearance. Worse than that, more tests. It was finally decided that I be given a medical discharge, despite the lack of anything medical that could be found wrong, with a diagnosis of 'battle fatigue'. It was for the best. I had begun to doubt my own sanity and that sort of mindset by people who designed the tools of war got good kids killed. It was the last night of my second base hospital visit when Dr. Morrison AND Vanessa paid a call.

"The doctor told me that I was to be released on medical discharge with full benefits. I just lay there and listened. Both assured me I wasn't addled and that I would serve a greater purpose, if willing. They began to tell me of spirits that were stuck here, who couldn't move on.

"I had the ability to communicate with and help them to either realize their true nature so that they could move on by themselves naturally, or to help them complete their unfinished business, with the same result. Since it was Dr. Morrison who was doing the talking, I decided to have fun with my mental aberration. "OK, Doc. Let's start with you. What unfinished business do you have, since you already know that you're dead?" That was the first time his professional face dropped. He looked like a regular guy who was just given the decision of a lifetime and was unsure as to which way to turn.

"The doctor turned to Vanessa, who told him that his work with Ryan was done and that we'd take it from there. I was told to get a pencil and paper and write down something. He gave me a phone number and the name of his wife: Viola. Then he had me write down the name of the First Fidelity Savings and Trust of St. Paul, and a box number. Then he said that a key was taped behind the picture of their son, Brad, which they kept on the dresser."

" _The box holds the certificates she had been looking for which will support her comfortably for the rest of her life. I had neglected to tell her that I transferred them there before I left for Hawaii."_

"Oh, and one other thing. I was to tell her that Huggy will always love her.

"That cut it. I laughed my butt off and told the two of them that I was nuts, dreaming, or both. I told them both to go away and leave me the hell alone! It was in the wee hours and the night charge nurse came in. Of course, she didn't see my two tormentors and she chewed me out for disturbing the other patients. She didn't see Vanessa position herself by the door. Once the nurse had her say, she did a military about face and marched that tush, in a dress a size too small, away from me. I was wondering what my imaginary lady was doing because she got her face all set like she was about to give something her all. She did. When Nurse Thundermug walked by, Vanessa gave the hemline of that already overtaxed material a yank. The skirt ripped from north to south. The nurse turned, ready for mayhem, then realized I was too far away to have done the deed. Vanessa fired a second volley with a swat to the nurse's backside. She yipped, whipped around and looked into the hall, mooning me, then ran down the hall screaming. I remember the wicked look on Vanessa's face. She said, _"Young man, you have a most vivid imagination."_

"The doctor just crossed his arms and said, _"Primitive, but effective."_

"The nursing station had a phone, so while the commotion down the hall in the ladies room was in gear, I snuck an open line and dialed the number. Time zone changes got me to Minnesota around 8AM and a woman answered. I told her my name, where I was calling from and that got her interest. Guess anything from Pearl dealing with the Navy had meaning to her. I didn't have the nerve to tell her about my ghosts, but I did tell her about the key, the certificates and the picture of her son. She asked me to wait a minute and then came back affirming that the information was correct. She started in with questions, none of which I could answer very well. So I told her that Huggy loved her and that stopped the questions, cold. Then, for the lack of something better to say, I told her there was an emergency and that I had to go and wished her luck. I hung up. Both of my 'guests' were next to me. The doctor just shook his head, but smiled in understanding. Vanessa began to chant, _"Oh what a sinful web we weave."_

Roscoe came in to quietly clear the plates, noting the silence that betrayed his stealth. Two guests appeared overwhelmed; three regulars looked lost in thought. Gustav noticed him first and ordered coffee (and one tea) and a dessert tray. Both arrived two minutes later.

The plan was set. There wasn't time to rehearse, but there was no need. The soldiers knew each other as well as they knew themselves, acting like a military precision team, a 'dream team'. Five miles left to go. Major Covington looked to the skies. _"Please God, let this work."_

Annie looked to the west, reaching out with her senses. _"They're coming. I can feel it in my bones. Bastards, child killers, rapists, beasts of Satan, all! I'll stop them, every last one of them, and make them pay."_ Had anyone seen the grim look on Annie's face, it would fulfill the requirements for the finest nightmare.

Allen didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Rachel chose the latter and had to borrow Marianne's napkin for her eyes once her own was finished with her nose. The thought that Carl might wish to tell her something similar, and couldn't, hit her hard. Ryan guessed her thoughts.

"I have never heard from Carl. I searched the accident scene, his gravesite and even visited your home, once." Rachel looked at him with questioning eyes. "Termite inspection, remember? You were once thinking of selling the house and got it inspected before changing your mind. Got the key from your MLS salesperson at Morrison Realty. No, no relation to the good doctor. Never got a sniff. I figure he took one step to help someone in need and the next step on the other side of the Rubicon. There are far worse places to be and far harder paths to get there, as you will find out." Everyone settled in for the next installment.

"I went back to the room. Things were settling down over at the women's john. Got back onto the bed and just looked at them. Vanessa looked like she ate the canary, ('Huh' said Allen's expression, 'Later' replied Rachel's) while Doctor Morrison looked, different. His face showed relief, sadness and happiness. He took a couple of steps, and then began to show a soft glow. I can't explain what it looked like anymore than I could describe green to a blind person. He looked to his left, smiled, then turned back to me one more time and thanked me. He walked, faded and was gone. I just stared at where he used to be, and then looked at Vanessa, who said, _"That's one, champ, and a whole lot more where that came from."_

That was my first assist to the other side and that has been my purpose in life since. I felt like someone gave me the quest for the Holy Grail, but this time, allowed me the tools I needed in order to find it.

"Vanessa told me that they're not all going to be that easy, that there was one in particular that would take all both of us had and then some. It was wisest, she said, to start off with an easy one.

"I asked her how many spirits she had managed to assist in this transition. _"Including this one? One."_

"She had tried to help others, but was frustrated at each turn. There were a lot of reasons. Being able to communicate was not always easy, and lost spirits have a hard time taking another spirit's directives, for some reason. Being a woman in general had less convincing power with souls from older time periods, simply because men were more often associated with authority.

"It was going to take a couple of days for the ink to dry on the discharge papers and for me to score transport to the States. That is where Vanessa said we needed to go. Meanwhile, the second shot was a breeze and a wheeze. It was a local man who had had a heart attack while jogging along the coastal running path. I had to run along and convince the fellow he was dead. I learned to never, ever, try and out-jog a dead man. Luckily, he had begun to suspect it anyway. He just wasn't ready to stop. Runners are real rabid about their sport. Half an hour of running later, he took pity on me, smiled, waved and blinked out.

"I was scheduled for transport the next morning, when I was called to the Base Commander's office. An Ensign showed me in, but it wasn't the Commander waiting. It was a lady in her late 50's. She asked me if I was Ryan Fitzgalen. I nodded. "I am Viola Morrison. You and I are going to have a little talk, young man." She must have had real pull to arrange that meeting, short notice and all, plus make the war-time transit to a military base. She and her husband had done a lot for a lot of people, many in the Navy, many in the government.

"To make a long story short, I told her everything and, by some miracle, she believed me. Said it sounded like something Joseph would do and that she was happy he was at rest. Then she asked me about my own plans. I told her. Viola thought for a while, then nodded and smiled. "Good," she said to me. "Young man, you have before you a task to make Joseph and me proud. You need to eat and get around without being encumbered with distractions." She pulled out a checkbook, wrote on it and handed it to me. I looked at it and then asked her for assistance in finding my jaw, as it had rolled under the desk somewhere. Even today, a check for a hundred thousand would get your attention. Back then, it was Holy Hannah! I protested, lost and have been losing arguments with women ever since.

"HAH!" snorted Marianne.

Chapter 6 – 4:40 PM

Annie stood on the porch gazing north, west, and then north again. Archibald was with Hood, according to his last letter. Hood would stop that hellhound, Sherman, if anyone could. She looked at her children. Their play seemed to slow down as they, too, looked west. Her son kept his gaze there. Her daughter looked at her and silently mouthed, _"Please"._ There were times a mother just had to say no.

The time was approaching. Ryan had an agenda, and timing it to a daily tragedy would make the mission he sought all the more poignant to his descendents. "Vanessa and I traveled together everywhere except the men's room. I learned quickly to keep my replies to her disguised. If there was a seat open next to me on the train, taxi or any other public transport, she would be there chatting away. People looked at me funny if I replied.

"I tried to find out more about her and came up with zip. She couldn't bring back her own previous life and that really seemed to upset her. She felt that maybe she was still around to help her own loved one or ones, like Joe Morrison tried to help patients and his wife, yet she didn't know who they might be. We placed her demise in the early to mid-1900's, between looking back to her earliest memories and judging by her style of clothes. Her accent indicated a southern ancestry. During her wanderings before we hooked up, she had found quite a few stuck entities, many of whom we have since been able to help.

"We started in San Diego, where we landed after Hawaii, and began working our way east, zigzagging according to her directions. We had made about thirty contacts; all but one were reasonably easy. That harder one took some ingenuity." Ryan took a sip of his coffee and looked at his watch.

Men on horses began to shift their positions and groupings. Jed saw and bided his time. _"What are they going to try this time, Coaljack?"_

Annie looked only west, now. Archibald was not going to make it. She knew that now and stood like stone on the porch as strangers passed by and through her. The guests that passed through her space would look around and wonder why an air conditioning vent was directed outside the Homestead Main House. The staff had been told to answer that question by saying that there was a small cave outlet under the porch that periodically exhaled cold air. The truth was, no one had been able to explain the chilliness that would manifest at this same time, every day.

"That harder one was a crop duster pilot who was caught in a loop, ending with him crashing into a barn. Fortunately for us, if not the pilot, the cycle was daily. Only being able to take an annual shot at someone hard to get at makes it real interesting. Also, how do you chat with a ghost when you are on the ground while said entity was careening through the sky and into a barn? I couldn't pace him like I did the jogger. Finally worked that one out by painting messages on the side of the barn that he would be able to see, just before he crashed, to get the idea across that he was dead, that he needed to let go, to move on, etc. It took weeks before he got the message. The secret there was to repeat the message, but change the wording so it didn't become just part of the cycle. I even wrote once that Lara (his wife) was waiting for him. The barn owner thought I was certifiable, but that didn't stop him from accepting the money I paid him for my graffiti canvas. One day, the plane made its appearance as usual, but instead of crashing, he regained control and flew east. Just before he winked out, we saw him wave his wings."

Ryan went on for a while, detailing other things that happened along the way, and then looked at his watch, again. He swallowed, sighed and went on.

"We arrived at Milledgeville, Georgia, and went west to a historical sight from the Civil War. It was a plantation owned by an officer under General Hood: one Col. Archibald Edwards and his wife Anita, better known as Annie. I took the tour at Vanessa's request, which she insisted on before she would tell me what it was all about. She said I would understand why. Vanessa had timed things nicely. I saw a woman on the porch and knew she wasn't of this world. People would walk right through her. She stood like a statue, eyes fixed to the west. It was nearing closing time and people leaving were being thanked and told, "Ya'll come back now, heah?" I followed the entity's gaze and saw two children, a young boy and younger girl. Their clothes were old fashioned, like their mother's. Something caused my neck hairs to rise. I could hear...horses." Ryan's eyes defocused. It was that time. He continued to describe the event he had witnessed that day, while, even as he spoke...

5:07PM. Major Benjamin Covington drew his saber and called out, _"NOW FOR IT MEN!"_ and spurred his roan forward. An advance party of five bolted to the right and out of the woods towards the house, followed closely on the left by another group of five.

They reined in their horses hard and made right for each other just in front of the two children. Annie saw this and began to bend her will to the Union dogs when two groups of three thundered to either side of the house in a mad dash to get beyond her power.

This distracted Annie long enough for the ten to form a 'shield wall' around the children as the main body of thirty-seven broke through, reining to give as much a delay as possible for the escape attempt. It took five seconds for five separate groups to emerge. Annie hadn't expected that. The Major had lulled her guard down over the past few months with doing the same thing over and over again. The group of three that pealed to her right was the first target. Their bodies as well as their horses burst into bright flames, with screams rending the air that only spirits could hear. She turned quickly to the other three, but then realized that her attention was needed elsewhere. The shield of ten was a dam, splitting the main body to the right and left of her children; desperately keeping their horses in check long enough to split the main group. They were trying for redemption?

" _NO!! NOT NOW, NOT EVER YOU BASTARDS!!!"_ Her mind reached out to the one most connected to her. Private Jed Patterson found new strength to break free of being hemmed in by his 'comrades'. He spurred forward and crashed his own steed into the spirit wall of men and mounts. Those as well now felt Annie's iron will. The shield faltered, then broke. Through that confusion, one man spurred his horse directly at the porch. His eyes burned like fanned coals and his voice roared of rage and insanity. The Union man drew his saber and actually tore himself off his saddle, diving with both hands clasped upon the hilt and aiming the weapon at the woman, having chosen to forget the time when his Commander's own saber had no affect when used against him. Annie, for the second time, was surprised. Leaving the saddle would cause him pain beyond pain, for it was she who had created a fusion of horse and man, and parts would be left behind if one tried to leave his mount. Yet, for all her surprise and insanity, she retained command.

Her eyes opened wider and the mad Private stopped mid-air, the tip of his sword less than a foot from her breast. She raised her hand and the sword glowed fire red, but the man would not release it, though his hands began to smolder. Jed's eyes burst like bubbles, his uniform and skin ignited, pealing back to reveal muscle and bone. When Jed's ashes were all that were left of him, Annie turned at the body of horsemen she still had in thrall. Three had escaped.

" _Damn you all to HELL! They only left me to meet their master SATAN, do you HEAR ME!??"_

Major Covington was frozen to his saddle with Private Elijah Cooper at his side. Darkness was falling and he had time for only one exchange with his soldier.

" _We did it, Elijah, three made it. Our friend Ryan will be most pleased. May they find rest in God's hands."_

" _Sir, may they also tell God we need His help."_

" _Amen, Private."_ But Major Covington held little hope for that. The ten in his command that had escaped early from Annie, and the two in the recent past, had yet to return with any saving grace.

Chapter 7 – ANNIE

Ryan stopped for a few moments, but no one spoke. Even those who had heard it before were still moved deeply, for they knew...

"What I have spoken of was being repeated even as I said it. It happens every day, year, even century. After all had settled, a young woman came up to me and asked if I was all right. It was some time before I could speak, for I had witnessed Hades. For those poor souls in Hiroshima, their misery was for a moment, or for a shortened and miserable lifetime. For the children, soldiers, and Annie, it might as well be Hell, for it didn't end.

"I got a day job there, before it had been declared a historic landmark and was further developed. My hope was to be able to speak to Mrs. Edwards, but she was deep in her insanity. Each day, those men try to find either some way to avoid harming the children or to devise an escape. In the three years I worked there, Major Covington managed to sneak out six men, leaving fifty-five and their horses. One of the fifty-five, we found out, was Private Jed Patterson. Allen, I used a different company for the family histories of the members of the raiding party than you did for your family tree research. You would be surprised how many records of the Civil War survived. Jed didn't start off bad. He had it hard as a kid with a father who died, and sisters being sent to an orphanage. He quit school to support his family by working in the same fishing industry that killed his father in an accident. Maybe those tragedies, the war and the shock of trampling the children conspired to make him lose control. Then, being rejected by Annie, who robbed him of his life in the process, was the straw on the camel's back that fractured his own mind at the same time it did Annie's. That seems to have created a connection between the two of them that she still uses to her advantage."

Allen shuddered. "If that place holds them there, what if it didn't exist anymore? Blow the house up or something?"

"Tried. The house is half stone and staffed year round. I managed an incendiary device a year later. Took out the roof and a fair amount of floorboards. Didn't make a difference. The porch was ripped out and another was under construction. While it was gone, she stood in the air as if it was still there. I think she has the place so manufactured in what's left of her mind that you could haul the whole place away and it wouldn't make a bit of difference. I even took up horseback riding so that I could ride along with the troops. That was tricky as there were very few areas where real horses were allowed (I've since made some improvements there). The soldiers haven't been able to unite their wills to oppose her and I haven't a clue how you might be able to go about doing that. Annie has things pretty well locked down and for the Major to mount a resistance of any kind does him credit. He must have been quite a leader in his time. Frustrated, I got my position changed so that I could be on the night watch. The idea was to be able to talk to Annie when there weren't so many people around to wonder at my sanity. The first night was interesting. I sat on one of the front porch chairs and she showed up sitting on the chair next to me." Even the veteran listeners got the chills from that one. Ryan could recall that night very well...

" _Your name is Ryan, young man, is it not?"_

"Yes, Mrs. Edwards, Ryan David Fitzgalen."

" _You're a Yankee? There are lots of Irish and Scott in the Union ranks."_

"No, ma'am, I'm from Galveston, Texas. Lots of Irish and Scott there, too. Served in the Navy for a few years till I was released on medical discharge. Mrs. Edwards, I have learned a lot about you here and, if it's all right with you, I would like to learn more. Please, tell me about yourself?"

" _Maybe you're from the Lone Star and maybe you aren't. I don't trust strangers, but you talk nice enough and respectful. I haven't had many people talk to me lately. The help keeps the place nice, but they ignore me. It gets right lonely here, sometimes."_

Ryan took that as a chance to get closer to her. Vanessa was in the shadows, listening. "Your children. Their names were, are, Rebecca and Jason. Good biblical names. I hear you and your husband, Col. Archibald, are Christians. Baptists, I believe. You were married at the First Baptist down the road to town and went on your honeymoon to Paris, France." Annie's eyes had lost all their flame and her voice was softer, saner.

" _That was a wonderful time in my life. It was just after we returned that Jason was born and, a year and a half later, Rebecca. Archibald was a good father, but he was called away to lead the Regulars. He had some training and they needed every man to push the Yanks back north. He looked so fine in his uniform, leading our boys. I still remember him and the last time he kissed me. Told me he would be back soon. That's what he kept telling me in his letters, but the letters stopped one day. Another letter came, from Jeff Davis himself. You know, he was the reason we went to Paris for the honeymoon. Mr. Davis and Archibald knew and trusted each other and my husband was to meet with the French Minister of Defense to see what they could arrange to help the South."_

It was a warm night. The crickets chirped and the fireflies were out. A few moths hung around the porch light and you could hear the traffic in the distance. Nothing was said for a minute. Ryan took a breath and pushed on. "What did that letter say, ma'am? Was it about your husband?" No answer. "Col. Edwards was under the command of General Hood. Hood was tasked by Davis to distract General Sherman from his mission, but failed to do more than pull a token force from Sherman's main group. Col. Edwards took three hundred cavalry for a sprint to the north to create a diversion and cause confusion among Sherman's ranks as to where the enemy was. That would slow them down long enough to make leaving their supply lines behind a critical mistake. They ran into a division from XX Corps by accident and, though outnumbered, the Regulars gave it all they had. There were no prisoners, no survivors. Your husband is dead, ma'am, and so are you." Annie spoke no word and her face remained passive. Ryan kept on, not knowing when the land mine would go off.

"The men that come every day? They were a foraging party under Sherman. Their job was to gather food for the Union troops, not to harm private citizens. One of them was a bad egg. You killed him and he took your own life while trying to force his intentions on you. Somehow, you're the one that is keeping all those men from moving on to God's Judgment. Isn't that the truth ma'am?" Ryan held his breath.

" _You know a lot about things for a hired hand. Yes, you speak the truth, Ryan David Fitzgalen."_ Ryan let out the breath. She seemed so rational. If she was as crazy as he thought she was, Annie should have either denied, smoke-screened or flew off the handle. Nothing! There was no reaction. Why? It didn't make any sense from what he had learned from dealing with other entities. He went further, feeling the sweat from his hands make the chair handles slippery.

"When they came upon your property, your children were playing next to the low hedges. The soldiers never saw your children until it was too late. It was an accident and wars are full of accidents, horrible ones. It was bad, but it isn't reason for you to hold those men in daily damnation. Each day you put them through undeserved punishment and each day you cause your children to die again. They certainly don't deserve this. Why are you doing this?" Vanessa edged closer. Annie took notice of her.

" _I remember you, young lady. You have been here before. We spoke, but I hardly remember what was said. You were here when the sun was up and things are different then. I'm different, then. Please, come up to the porch. I won't bite."_

Vanessa tentatively approached. She had good reason to be nervous, remembering what Annie had done to the soldiers and THAT soldier in particular. Ryan's being alive may have been some protection against someone who could do that to entities, but Vanessa didn't have that protection. Yet, Annie didn't seem threatening. She seemed, nice.

" _I've seen you around the place. Are you his sweetheart, his wife maybe?"_ Vanessa turned her head away, embarrassed. Annie smiled knowingly. Ryan may be oblivious, but she could read Vanessa as only a woman can see through another woman. Annie was gracious enough to let it drop, but was delightfully amused. It had been a very long time since she had something to be happy about.

" _Never you mind, Vanessa, isn't it? Master Ryan, you wanted to know more about me and why I do what I do. You ever say to someone you have a mind to do something, but another mind not to? It's something like that. Your hands are sweating Master Ryan and you re getting paler the more you push things along. You can relax now. I'm not going to cook anyone's goose. You see, its nighttime and things are calm at night. When the sun goes up, another Anita Edwards takes over. I vaguely know what she's doing, but there's nothing I can do about it. All she thinks about is punishing the Yankees for Archibald, for Jason and Rebecca, for the one who took my honor like a common beast, for invading our sovereign state and changing our way of life to suit them, for taking so many of our boys to the grave."_

Ryan was shocked, never expecting this and not knowing quite what to do about it. Could Annie be cooperative?

"Mrs. Edwards, I'm no Yankee, but I have been trying to help those men get free and to save your children. I'd like to free you, too. Let's get you where you belong, where your kids and those men belong. We can do this together. Please, let your love as a Christian woman guide you. Your husband is waiting for you. Please."

" _Ryan Fitzgalen, do you see my children or those men? Have you ever seen them at night? No, and you never will. I've looked, looked for years beyond count. They're not here. I don't know where they are. Only the Anita Edwards who comes out in the day has the power to bring them back from the oblivion she sends them to. Tried running away from here a couple of times, but come sunrise, I'm back again. I read Dante's Inferno a long time ago (Ryan remembered seeing that book in the family library). Hell was a series of circles, rings sort of. You can run, but you come back to the same place eventually. There are worse circles than this one, but not by much. Those poor men can't escape the punishment they don't deserve, and my children die every day."_

Vanessa could only look on, feeling the spiritual equivalent to heartache for a kindred, well, spirit. _"Mrs. Edwards, is there any way you can discover where your 'daytime' self sends your children and the soldiers?"_

" _I have tried, Dear. There is a barrier that separates my other self from me. My other self is mad, it seems, but, mad or not, she is far stronger and larger than I. Maybe they are in Hell or purgatory. I won't leave here, even if I could go. That might condemn them all to be forever stuck wherever they are. At least here, I can pray at night for that officer you spoke of to be clever enough to get all his men by me. Once my other self no longer has a reason to stay, to punish those poor boys, maybe she'll let her hatred go and set me and my children free. I have no doubt where I'll be sent then, but my poor children will walk with Jesus, someday. If there is anything you can do to help that brave Major, please, do it, even if you have to destroy me in the process. You would be doing me a favor."_

The coffee cups were cold. There was a background murmuring of patrons behind the door, but that seemed so far away. "I've brainstormed with Gustav, Vanessa and Marianne, but we've about come up dry. That leaves fifty-five men, last we heard, with one of them mad. Any ideas from the newbies?" That had taken Allen and Rachel by surprise. Was this the final test to see if they fit into the, what would you call it, team? They'd been able to solve problems before together, some pretty hard ones. Allen spoke first.

"Can you find the spirit of her husband? She's waiting for his return, which hasn't happened yet. Could you make it happen, or even appear to happen? Maybe the surprise of finally seeing him would distract her long enough so that the others would have a shot at making it. Hire an actor that looks like him."

Rachel was next. "Maybe you've already tried it, but how about the religious angle? Baptists aren't Catholic, but how about an exorcist? Get a Cardinal in there, or hire someone to play the part. It probably doesn't matter, as long as Annie believes, and 'what you believe so shall you perceive'."

"Distraction seems to have been the key in the past," added Allen. "...but she's gotten pretty wise to it and the fewer men there are the harder it will likely be to distract by sheer numbers. How about getting some re-enactors to stage a mock battle at the right time. She might not know who was who."

Seamlessly, Rachel went another direction, "Annie at night seems willing to cooperate. Could she be a resource, or is she a liability? If she contributes, will 'mad' Annie know about it and be prepared?"

"Then again, Mom, that can be used to our advantage. If daytime Annie expects one thing and we come around with something entirely different, the surprise would be at least twice as effective."

"Hmmm, maybe, Allen. Hey, I recall reading somewhere that there are things that annoy the spirit world. Most of it is probably nothing, but maybe there's something to it."

Ryan followed the interchange like trying to keep his eye on a ping-pong ball at the world championship games. "Hold it, wait a bit. Like what, I mean, Rachel, explain what you mean!"

"Ryan, myth has basis in fact. Garlic is supposedly a bane to Dracula. That myth of sinister creatures that came out at night to do their dirty work was something used to explain the mystery of microbial nighttime deaths popular at the time. It was natural for people to reduce stress by putting even a mythic label on their fears."

Gustav, feeling slightly like a dinosaur, said, "Excuse me, Mrs. Gladstone? A reason for suffering is stress reducing? Suffering is suffering."

Rachel replied, "No. Walk into a dark bedroom that you are familiar with and at worst you might be a little careful to avoid a shoe you might have left on the floor. A walk into someone else's bedroom with no light at all can almost paralyze you with increasing disorientation and imaginings from tacks on the floor to a hidden Doberman. It is actually less stressful to know you have a documented and diagnosed cancer than to have symptoms compatible with cancer but not know if it is cancer or not. Once you know, then the side of your brain that is action-step oriented will kick in, and that is not the side that plays on your emotions and fears. Can we use the unknown, or even fear of the unknown as a weapon? Keeping Annie from action steps sounds like a useful notion. Back to the sound idea, I read once that the sound of breaking glass was an anathema to ghosts. Perhaps sound waves might be found that have an irritating effect on spirits. The Bible commands us to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. Maybe some noises aren't so joyful. Cats hate it when you turn on a vacuum, not because it's unknown, but because their more sensitive ears are bothered by the high pitched motor noise that is beyond our own hearing."

Allen sat back and enjoyed it all to the full. There was his mother, whom he had every right to be proud of, leaving wizened and experienced people speechless, or nearly so. The tables were turned.

"Hmmmm. Speaking of which," he thought. Allen held his hand to his mouth, but was unable to contain the laugh, which forced itself between his hand and his mouth like an old style raspberry. That stopped the conversation, then all eyes watched as Allen walked over to the dessert tray to pick up a plate. He brought it to Ryan and placed the plate in front of him. "More (snort), sir?"

Ryan could only look at Allen in confusion. Then he looked down at the plate. Everyone's eyes watched as Ryan's face was first muddled, and then the light of comprehension dawned upon it. Ryan howled. None of the others got the joke, but like yawns, laughter is infectious and soon all were having a needed release in humor. Ryan, through the tears, looked again at the plate to see a slice of (what else?) cake.

It took Ryan a few tries to get the punch line understood by the others, but the responses were worth it. Marianne leaned over to Rachel and asked if she could adopt Allen as a nephew. Gustav glowed. Ryan couldn't express in words his gratitude at these new and fresh points of view, ones that just might be the salvation for entities that he had come to know as friends, so he took a place mat and rolled it up into a cone, then wrote on it and placed it upon his head. It read 'DUNCE'. Allen asked what that meant and got another chuckle when the old term was explained to him. Rachel asked what Vanessa thought of the whole thing.

Ryan replied he would let her know when Vanessa stopped 'laughing her ass off'. "OK, time for a change of scenery. There's more I want to say before we call it a night. Gustav, have the limo meet us at the front and tell Roscoe we're history."

"More ways than one," thought Allen, smiling.

Catching the look, Ryan said to Allen, "I heard that."

"Who, me?"

Doors opened and farewells to Roscoe were followed with pit stops. The men were done first and, obedient to the ladies who had requested the men go on and they'll be right behind, stepped outside to wait by the limo. It didn't seem right to continue the conversation without all present, so, to pass the time, Allen checked his SatCom. He thumbed a switch and did a double take. There were six messages from the same ID. Melissa. With all that had happened tonight and, with the less than tender farewell yesterday, Allen had no guilty feelings when he deleted all the messages, without reading them, and thumbed the block button. "Ditch the bitch," he recalled with a smile.

Chapter 8 – MELISSA and MARY

Barbara Meissner was an RPI honor student and enjoyed college despite the homework load. Her dorm had its usual hum of activity with fifty-eight young women doing things that blended into a comfortable 'white noise'. This was no homogeneous lot, like the two-dimensional frats or sororities (why didn't sorority have a nick-name like 'frat', she thought, then she guessed that no woman wanted to belong to a 'sore'). Like high school, there were those here who studied to make something of their futures and make their parents proud of them. There were others at the other end of the wide spectrum for whom college was mostly a social thing. Socialites looked down their noses at bookworms and nerds, living more for the moment and relishing new freedoms, opportunities with the opposite sex and looking for status among themselves with the usual who is going with who? The 'worms', males didn't mind the term as much as the females, publicly criticized 'soshees' for shallowness, but secretly envied their romantic escapades, trendy clothing, bulimic physiques and artificial tans. That would change with time and maturity, but for now, it nagged. The soshee poster-child was Barbie Doll; the generally accepted nickname for Melissa Banks. So it was that night, that while tapping away on her keyboard for her Stochastic Processes thesis, she heard Melissa's voice rise from her adjoining room, shrill and angry.

"Blocked? Blocked! BLOCKED! That BASTARD! How DARE he? What the HELL? WHO do you think you are DEALING WITH, MISTER? We'll SEE about THAT!"

Barbara stopped and took it in for a moment, then returned to finish up page twenty-seven of her thesis (the third page of her bibliography of references) with a smile on her face that lasted until bed time: 1AM.

Melissa Banks was no honor student, but she was sharp, opportunistic and drop-dead gorgeous. Three days a week at the gym and close attention to styles, hair and make-up tricks made sure of that. Her teeth (whitened, straightened) when shown just right had raised (or saved) her grade cumulative more than once. Now, Allen Fitzgalen, the whiz kid who could star in his own series if he wanted to, had the gall and nerve to block her phone calls? Where was he? Who was he with? Did she have competition? What did he have to leave for when she had arranged a social coup d'grace that would have flattened the competing AXE sorority bash (she referred to its members as 'BATTLE AXE's'). She had dropped hints that she was going to use the event to ditch Allen in favor of the football team captain Bruce Wallace, that muscle-bound oaf. Every socialite on campus had caught that buzz and planned on attending to catch Allen when she dropped the ax. She would have had the biggest laugh on them when they found out all their plans were for naught. Melissa Banks wasn't going to ditch anyone until she was good and ready and she was NOT good and ready.

She logged on to her PC, plugged in her own SatCom, which was sitting in its charger and began to type. There were ways. That comp-geek she dated, briefly, on first arriving at RPI, had showed her how to find anything about anybody. She soon ditched him, but respectfully ('I'm sorry, but we have nothing in common to base a long term relationship on, and that is what I am looking for'), but not before she had learned a few useful skills.

Reviewing the algorithm, she pulled up the file downloaded from Allen's SatCom (while he was sleeping), then keyed in his password (also stolen) to her interlink circuit. Then she keyed in the link to the NAV-STAR circuit and the main screen showed coordinates according to triangulation from three different satellites registering Allen's SatCom-provided unique frequency responses. The resulting coordinates were fed into a search/find/address site and, "Pavelli's?" Allen had mentioned that place once or twice, promising to take her there. Now he was there with, who? Her SatCom was fully charged, but to keep the locator link while traveling she would have to plug it into her SAAB's lighter/adaptor. Which she did, because Melissa Banks was on the move. It would take an hour to reach the restaurant, the way she drove. Melissa hadn't gone a mile when the change location warning began to beep. She pulled over to look at the dashboard mini-screen, changing it to 'motion map mode'. The yellow dot (Allen) was stationary, while liquid crystal street lines and names paraded around it. She got back on the road and headed south to find the neighborhood, and then home in on the target. She had some ideas on what to do and say when she zeroed in on that yellow dot and an hour in which to refine her plans.

Melissa loved her battlewagon. It had so many top-of-the-line gadgets. Guys loved that sort of thing and Allen was no exception.

Back on the road and through the gears again, she thought of him. They both liked the best available, and would choose a few fine things rather than many substandard things. He felt her car was a little on the overdone side, and nicknamed it her 'SNAAB'. That didn't keep his nose out of the car's manual, though.

Everyone appreciated the changing scenery, and the limo seats were more comfortable than those at the restaurant. It also served to help close one main topic and get on to what Ryan was gearing up for. It must be pretty intense, if the story of Annie was just the warm-up. It was.

"We went back to the Homestead from time to time, but it got dangerous. Mad Annie had twigged onto that we were aligned with the enemy, sort of. I was only able to talk to her at night. Vanessa was afraid that Annie would do something to her that she couldn't do to me, but I doubted that it could happen. Still, better to be safe."

Rachel asked, "Well, why shouldn't Vanessa fear Annie? She's a spirit like those Army men, right?"

"Yes, and no. Remember, each entity is different in talents and vulnerabilities. Annie's connection to those men was wrought in the fires of multiple conflicts of war, death, rape, loss of a husband and children. That link was forged while Annie was alive and sealed with her own death. You don't get much more powerful incentive for revenge than that. Who here could have kept their sanity intact being subjected to that kind of strain?" No answer, none expected.

"Vanessa and I didn't just hang around moping. We kept to our mission and had managed another group of crossovers, trying to learn more with each successful case. We grew to truly care about each other. She came to me one day and told me to hike on over to a hospital in town. We lived in St. Louis then, about a decade before the Gateway Arch had begun construction. Barnes Hospital was where she wanted me to go and she wouldn't say any more than that she found an entity that needed help. Trouble was, she was still living." Allen and Rachel were learning that if they kept quiet, Ryan would eventually get around to answering their questions. All they had to do was wait and let him get to it on his own terms. If he didn't, then they would ask.

"I see you're getting used to my style. Well done. A young woman named Mary Safford was in 'surgical recovery' for a month. All parts were functioning fine, except she was brain dead from an anesthesia reaction. The charts said she was in for removal of a potentially dangerous blood vessel malformation in one breast, a malignant tumor in the other. I managed to slip into the recovery room with a set of scrubs, like they show on television dramas. Throw in a clipboard and I was someone who very few staff people would think to challenge. Mary, the entity, was sitting on the bed, with her left hand superimposed into her supine body's chest. Vanessa introduced me and I was ready to proceed, but there were hurdles.

"Mary was brain dead, not body dead. Her body wouldn't let her spirit go. You couldn't 'pull the plug' as there was no plug to pull. The body lived with a tube to the stomach for food, and an IV for hydration. It was deemed murder to pull those two inputs and starve or desiccate her to death. There had been no last will drafted to express her desires in case of this sort of circumstance. Missouri state law didn't allow euthanasia. Add to all that; Mary Safford was married and had two children. Vanessa had been doing some snooping in Mary's files when her physician and her surgeon opened them. I was stumped and that's when Vanessa hit me with the craziest notion I had ever heard from her. Vanessa may not have invented the hair-brained scheme, but she sure perfected it."

Ryan sighed and smiled while shaking his head. Even now, her audacity was to be reviled or admired, depending on how conservative a person's religious views were.

"Vanessa had spoken to Mary about this previously. She felt certain that she could release Mary from her body. All she had to do was...take her place."

Polite listening be damned! Rachel and Allen lunged in at once, rapid fire, with 'How could's' and 'What if's'. Ryan waited for the dust to settle and poured himself a small cognac. After the fourth sip, things calmed down enough to continue.

"Shook me up, too. It was just too 'Frankenstein'. Personally, I prefer my sci-fi in paperbacks, not in real life. This I could see, smell and touch. Then the questions began coming to mind, some of which you just asked.

"If the change could be arranged, would Vanessa then be brain dead? Might they both become stuck? There wasn't much I could do if either occurred. This was new to everyone, so what about pitfalls that no one even knew of, yet? Vanessa reassured me she could do it. Mary needed release and Vanessa said that she wanted to be more to me than an angel on my shoulder. She wanted to be my living partner. I asked if it might be possible to restore Mary's mind to her body. Both entities assured me they had tried. Too many connections were lost. Vanessa somehow knew she would have to reconfigure Mary's brain to something ready to take on her own spec's, for the lack of a better term. Mary would have had to do the same, for you apparently can only configure a wiped clean slate for your own use, but Mary didn't have the juice for it and Vanessa couldn't do it for someone else. Both entities then waited as I tried to work things out. Leave Mary alone long enough and eventually her body would die from age and her spirit would be released. That seemed to be such a waste, though. So what did we have to lose? If Vanessa did get stuck, we would have time to find some way to euthanize the body and get Vanessa back to me and Mary on to God. Would we need permission from the family for the change? How would you explain it to Mary's family? Would we have to?

"The more I thought, the harder the questions became and the more of them there were. It was Mary's body to do with as she deemed best, wasn't it? Legally, well, Gustav?"

"When a person is rendered incompetent to express his or her wishes on basic and fundamental rights, it falls upon the next of kin or appointed guardian to make those decisions. In this case, it would be the husband, John Safford. But there were complications. Like Ryan said, there was no plug to pull. Only feed lines.

"Mary's body was healthy, so she would go on living, brain dead, and continue to drain the resources of the parties responsible to finance her care which, in this case, includes the insurance company and the next of kin if a marriage relationship exists, which it did. Given time, Mary's care, even if relocated to her home, would exhaust her insurance coverage and go on to impoverish the Safford family until bankruptcy would be declared. Mary would then be remanded to the State of Missouri for continued care, at which point she would have to be removed to the most cost effective (cheapest) location to live out her days. The only way out is to have the spouse sue for divorce in order to protect his or her own assets, but in doing so, he or she will lose any say in what happens to the impaired partner. This is the tip of the iceberg, but I think that's enough to illustrate how complex this undertaking would be from a lawyer's viewpoint. From a psychologist's point of view, the incredible guilt of divorcing the spouse with whom you took vows, at a time he or she perceives that their help is needed the most, can be emotionally devastating, if not crippling. Ryan?"

"I'm no lawyer, but I did realize some of what Gustav said at the time. My gut said to talk to the husband, but how would you explain it to someone who wouldn't believe a word you said and was probably an emotional basket case to begin with? This was way over my head. I even thought of kidnapping Mary's body or faking her death, but dropped both of those ideas as immoral, impractical and with legal backlash potentials that could spell federal prison for yours truly. I decided to get outside advice and said so to Mary and Vanessa. It would be best to know even a little more of the ramifications of what we were proposing. I turned to leave the room when Mr. Safford came into the room like walking wounded. His clothes fit loose and there were circles under his eyes, but he was shaved and his hair neatly combed, like he was trying to put on his best appearance for Mary. He looked at me and said, "How is she, Doc?" I told him that his wife was resting comfortably, but that there was no change. That's when I looked into his eyes and, son of a bitch, there was hope there, hope for a miracle, that this whole thing would resolve and he would have his wife back."

Ryan's voice broke. It had been a long time since he dared this memory lane. Gustav placed his hand upon his friend's shoulder. Marianne reached across and took his hand. Rachel reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of tissues and rested them on Ryan's lap. Marianne looked at Rachel and her eyes said more than words.

"Thank you, I'll be OK. Thanks Rachel, friends. All right. I left the floor, stashed the scrubs where I could get at them later and left the building after checking the yellow pages for specialists in law. I chose a woman, one Del Fiero, whose office was down from the hospital a few blocks. There wasn't too much to tell from that meeting. I was careful to omit some details and concentrated on what relative and patient rights were. Bottom line was pretty much what Gustav told you. She suggested the husband go ahead and file for divorce to save as much of his funds for the children as possible.

"I went back to the hospital and decided that John Safford had to be confronted, but by who? Me? If not me, then who else? It had to be me. There was no one else.

"Got the scrubs back on, went back to the room and John was there with the hospital generic pastor, you know, one collar fits all? I waited, hearing my heart beating in my ears, until they were done. The pastor got up to leave and whispered to me that John was a good man and needed any support that I could give. Then he left, leaving John, 'them', and me alone. Luckily, Barnes is a huge hospital and medical teaching facility. It wasn't unusual for a doctor not to look familiar. Security has gotten much tighter since then, but at the time, I was pretty safe. I spoke to John..."

"Mr. Safford, you and I need to talk." John nodded. Many had initiated 'talks' with him, but few said much that he wanted to hear. He had become numb to the blows that were the result of even the kindest efforts to help him. They moved to a couch in the room.

"John, I am going to be fully honest with you (he had heard that before) and tell you things I have not told anyone else because you have to know (he hadn't heard that before)." John locked on to Ryan. "John, I am not a doctor, lawyer, or any other practicing professional." Now there was full interest. Ryan began with that day in the Navy and brought him, play by play, to the present. Nothing was left out. All that time he looked for evidence in John's eyes of distrust, belief, anything. All he could see was full attention and a hunger to learn. Ryan spoke of Mary's inability to be let go, of Vanessa's proposal, of his conversation with Del Fiero.

"John, Mary is here, listening to us. She trusts your decision, as always." Ryan then fell silent, and waited.

"Ryan, may I call you that? I can sense that you believe in what you say. That makes you either a saint or a nut. I can't decide which. Is there anything you can offer that can prove what you say is true?" That stumped Ryan. How could he prove himself? It was then that he heard Mary's sorrow laced voice.

" _Ryan David Fitzgalen, what I am about to say is for no one's ears but yours and John's. Will you promise me that?"_ A nod. John watched as before, absorbing every detail. _"The records of my surgery are wrong, falsified. I was here to make my self more attractive to John. There is a new procedure that would allow a woman's (hesitation), breasts, to look fuller and younger. My two children had brought me to a fullness that seemed to please John. Then as they drained me, I didn't feel attractive to him anymore. He began staying at work later and I suspected him of finding better company than me, prettier, younger. My suspicions were confirmed a coup/e of months ago. The woman's name he was involved with was Beverly. I don't know her last name. I didn't know what to do until a friend I had confided in handed me an article she had read on implants."_

Mary went on with a few more details, including why the record falsification. Breast augmentation was an elective surgery, and beyond their financial capacity without insurance coverage. Surgery for life-threatening tumor and blood vessel malformation were both covered procedures. Hospitals needed income from procedures to survive. There wasn't an issue there. Certain doctors could be found that supplemented their incomes with procedures and were creative with their billings. In cases where the procedure goes wrong, as with Mary, it becomes an issue and gets hushed up by an officially silent but privately embarrassed administration. Mary's surgeon got transferred out, rather than punished. Ditto the anesthesiologist. The medical community didn't do much to police their ranks, for medicine was risky business and no one knew who would be next to make a big mistake. Mary became silent, then hung her head in shame. Ryan felt such a mixture of anger and pity. Surely this man had created his own hell but, just as surely, he had paid for it with a punishment well beyond what any judge would have levied, for it had fallen not only upon him but on his children and the wife whom he obviously still loved. As gently as possible he began to relate what Mary had said, ending with the name of the partner in the suspected affair.

"John fell apart, completely, weeping like a baby. Vanessa told me to hold him, so I did. It must have taken twenty minutes for the purge. In that time, a nurse had come in, realized the grief being finally expressed, gave me a discrete thumb's up and left. I found out later that the nurse made sure there were no additional interruptions. John confessed that what was suspected was true. What Mary hadn't known was that John drifted when he had felt that Mary's attentions were diverted from him in favor of the children, that it was he who was no longer attractive to her. It's an old story of tragic mutual miscommunication. John asked me what I felt was the wisest course of action. Mary began to speak again. I translated. She said that she loved and forgave him, but also expressed her sorrow that she had given him cause to feel so isolated from her. She wanted to move on and to do one more good act before she stood before her Creator. Offering her useful, healthy body as a vessel to be filled once more with Vanessa's spirit seemed right to her and the only path open to her. John looked at Mary's body as I continued to interpret. Mary then said that what he was looking at was not she, just what had carried her. She could no longer, did no longer, live there. Mary then stopped talking, so I took up the torch and said that if this were the path he would choose, he would have to divorce Mary, immediately. He nodded and we went together to Del Fiero's office. The paperwork was ready, as I had instructed before I had left earlier. Amazing how fast a lawyer can move if you pay them enough."

It was an effort to lighten the mood at a friend's expense. Gustav, a true friend, let the jibe go by with no more a response than, "Amen."

"Fiero was well-connected, so the ink dried in two days. In that time I had gotten to know John better and even met his two children. They were about the same age as Annie's children, though both were girls. That was going to haunt John even more, for they both bore a strong resemblance to their mother. We couldn't tell them what was going on, because how could a child understand that someone else would inhabit their mother's body? Bit my lip a lot in those two days. Since I was a charitable and disinterested party, and had connections via Viola Morrison, I was able to help get Mary transferred to a small private facility in the Pocono's. Money spoke loudly there and bought a lot of privacy. Two weeks after John and I first met, we began the process."

Chapter 9 – RELEASE

Ryan continued narrating in the present time, while his mind saw the whole thing live and in person once more...

The room was about the same size as the one at Barnes, but there was only one bed and the accommodations were plush. A competent, well-paid private nurse left the room as instructed. John and Ryan felt like spectators. It was up to Mary and Vanessa now, both feeling a loved one's instinctual need to protect them. It was worse for John. This path would cost him even visual contact with his Mary. Even though he felt fully responsible for this cataclysm afflicting his whole (no longer) family, he still remained to support Mary. Vanessa and Mary both requested that neither man speak to them, as it could be distracting. They were going on instinct, or perhaps on guidance from somewhere else. Neither knew for sure.

Mary trusted Vanessa without question, both helping and frightening Vanessa at the same time. Fear of failing a friend when so much was at stake put pressure on her that nothing else could measure up to. Ryan quietly talked to John and told him what he could observe.

"Mary's spirit is lying down, returning to the body (don't call it 'her' body). Vanessa is walking to the other side of the bed and she's reaching out, positioning her hands about a foot above Mary's, I mean, Mary.

"Vanessa is getting up on the bed and laying herself into the body. I can still see the body, Mary's spirit and Vanessa, like a triple exposed picture. Nothing is changing now, they're just lying there."

Ryan glanced at his watch. There was no change that he could see, but he wasn't really sure as to what to look for. Feeling a need to unload a little of the pressure inside of him, John spoke in whispers about the times that he treasured with Mary: their first meeting, first date, where he proposed, and the births of their children. John then stopped, not daring to go any further. Twenty-three minutes elapsed before Ryan noticed something different, but couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"Wait a minute. I can't see any of Mary's or Vanessa's toes, er, spirit toes that is (Mary was covered with a half sheet over her mid section, and nothing else besides a hospital diaper. The room was kept warmer than usual to allow John and Ryan to watch for changes, which Mary and Vanessa agreed was alright to do). He looked at what was now a very thin blue-white anklet on both sides edging its way slowly headward.

"John, it's kind of a fusing or knitting process. Wherever the band passes I can't see any spiritual outline anymore."

John stared as well and was able to see something. "Ryan, I think I can see it. To me it's a small band of redness, ruddiness. Is what you see just at the ankles?"

"No, the blue-white band is further up. I can see differently than you can, so it must be another part of the process, but I can see the band you're talking about. It must have something to do with the vascular system, maybe an after-reaction to the fusion?"

There wasn't anything more to comment on until, "The fingers, John. She's started at the fingers. The band has started there, it's up to the wrist and you can see that reddening starting at the fingertips. It's the same process the legs went through."

It helped to keep their thoughts busy with the process and not the significance. The sheet that reflected the respect for privacy by the two men for each other's loved one also hid the progress in those areas to John. Ryan, however, could see the blue-white band progress along the upper thighs and torso, shining through the sheet. It was another half an hour before the band only Ryan could see began to make its way up the neck and across the face, followed by reddening reaction.

It was done, whatever 'it' was. Twelve more minutes crawled by. "John, I'm seeing something change. There's a glowing all over Mary. No, it's dying away. Now there's nothing as far as I can see." A consolidation? A changing of the guard?

Ryan looked again. Did he need glasses? It was like he was looking at one of those 3-D pictures without the glasses that made the picture take on depth. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. It was worse, or more pronounced, rather. John caught the look of confusion. "Ryan?"

"I'm not sure. It's like I can't focus on Mary, like I'm seeing double. John, I think Mary's coming out. Wait. What did Mary wear when she died?"

That was a rather personal question, but nothing was sensed as inappropriate in the asking. "A hospital gown, as far as I know. Why?" It was getting harder to keep the clinical tone of voice.

"When she went there, to her surgery appointment, was she wearing a pleated green skirt to her mid-calves with a lighter shade of green, short-sleeved shirt?"

John had to think for a moment. "Yes, I think so. She does have an outfit like that."

Ryan thought. Most of the entities he had come across presented themselves with apparel they wore when they died. If that were to be consistent, Mary should be in a hospital gown. In this case, though, there was a time when she was stuck with her body. That was out of the ordinary, so he supposed that ordinary rules (as if anything about this whole topic could be considered run of the mill) no longer applied. Mary must have chosen how she wished to present herself, or that's how she actually saw herself because the whole operation ordeal was unreal to her. Ryan had vaguely noticed the outfit when he first saw Mary's spirit, but it didn't seem that important, then.

"That's what Mary's spirit is wearing. She's almost, almost, THERE. My God, John! She's completely free of her body and floating just above it. She's changing position, going feet down to the ground. She's walking to the head of the bed, but her eyes are still closed. Mary's hands are on the body's head. She's just standing there."

Both men edged a little closer, but backed off when spirit-Mary's face showed concern. Six feet was as close as they could get and there they stayed. Nothing happened for twenty minutes and, when things did begin to happen, they were subtle and difficult to catch. It was John's turn to be the first to pick up on it.

"Did I just see a toe twitch? There! Look." There was movement in the toes. First one, then another, almost random twitching. When all ten had shown at least some movement they stopped. The fingers were next, with the same pattern. The men watched with rarely blinking eyes as different parts each took a turn at twitching.

"Voluntary commands. She's finding connections, and they're still intact!" The eyelids fluttered, the forehead wrinkled, a faint smile and then a frown. "The face she kept for last. I took a medic course in the Navy. The rest of the body is connected to the spinal cord. The face is wired directly from the brain. She seems to be working her way up the central nervous system."

A light sweat appeared, patchy at first, then all over. Then it stopped and 'gooseflesh' started appearing on her legs and arms. "That's the autonomic system. It piggybacks the central system of the brain and spinal cord, part of the flight or fight circuitry. It's like she is running down a list, making the connections in an order of some kind."

John took in each detail carefully. On the surface he was calm and observant. Inside, he was in storm. This was his wife, but not his wife. This was the woman he had made love to and who bore their children, spoke to him, argued with him and encouraged him. Now there is something else in that elegant urn of the soul, an invited invader he had agreed to. There was such a great unreality to it all. Mary was being repaired, but she wasn't Mary, was she? He divorced her. It seemed so cowardly now, it seemed wrong, against all he had learned growing up in church. He thought, "That's MARY, for God's sake!"

Ryan looked over at John, who for all appearances seemed calm. Ryan wished he had the strength to be able to be like that. He could only imagine what he himself would be doing and feeling at a moment like this. "John, are you alright?"

"I think so, Ryan, why do you ask?"

"I heard you moan, thought you might be getting faint or something."

"I thought it was you." Both men stopped talking and turned to face Mary (?). Her chest expanded beyond normal breathing and, as she exhaled, there was another faint sigh/moan that came out of slightly parted lips. Spirit Mary hadn't moved until now.

"John, Mary is dropping her hands away from the head. She's opening her eyes, turning to us. John, she's looking right at you and smiling. She's saying something...

" _Dearest John, I'm done. It's time to go. They're calling me. I can hear them. Don't be afraid. Our children will come to accept the changes that must be, if not understand them, and you will teach them all that is needed by them. Do not feel ashamed for divorcing me, for you only released a legal obligation to this body in order to protect our children's future. Death had already brought closure to our marriage vows. Thank you for being my husband. I release you fully from any obligation to me. You may choose another mate, or not. That is up to you. It doesn't matter to me, and not because I don't care about you. I do, as much as ever. I will know if you are thinking of me. Good-bye John and thank you, Ryan. Say goodbye from me to Vanessa when she wakes. I think she'll make it. You may approach her now."_ John looked at Ryan as he translated and saw moisture in his eyes.

Ryan told John that Mary had finished, walked, glowed, faded away and was gone. They approached the bed slowly and carefully, each taking one side as their post, each looking into the face of the woman before them, each thinking very different but similarly deep thoughts. Then, slowly, the woman's eyes began to open. She first looked to her left at Ryan. At first, she had difficulty focusing, but that cleared up and she smiled.

Carefully, with difficulty, she opened her mouth and whispered her first living words to Ryan, "Hold my hand." Ryan complied, and the look of wonder and happiness on her face melted his heart, and broke John's. A minute later, she turned her head and looked sadly at John and said, in the same whisper, "I'm so sorry."

The limo cruised smoothly and quietly, as the newer hybrid vehicles did (the older ones had an annoying hum). The driver's status board showed no requests from his passengers, so he continued his random route. Mr. Mendelssohn had instructed him to indulge himself, so he was taking a heading that offered pleasant scenery; views of the Hudson and Catskills and roads he had taken on his bicycle when he was younger. His fares were nice people, not like some of the snobs up from Jersey or the City, or 'non-mainstream', like some he had ferried around from Woodstock.

Melissa took Exit 19 off the NYS Thruway and pulled over to check her SatCom link. She upgraded the connect to include her own unit, then thumbed 'Birdy' (best intercept route directions, with poetic license on the anagram spelling). Noting the directions, she left it in that mode ($8 per minute) and drove off. Her target was in no hurry and her SAAB was not meant for little old ladies going to church.

Fifteen minutes later, Melissa stopped off in High Falls to pick up a cup of sweet and light at the Egg's Nest Restaurant, stretch her legs and hit the sandbox. Allen was close, according to her last reading. She got back into the car and pushed 'Birdy' again.

Whoever had programmed the thing had a sense of humor, for the read-out said 'Bogie On Your Tail'. She stared at the message for a moment, then at the rear-view. Behind the row of cars she was in, parked along the road, was a sleek looking white stretch limo. While she watched, the doors opened and five people got out. One of them was Allen! Melissa panicked. This wasn't a meeting place of her choosing. She wasn't ready with her battle plans. She had to know more before engaging the enemy. She had to stop listening to her brother, whose life-goal was ROTC.

Melissa slid down in the seat, hearing the voices as they went by, and turned to get a look at them from behind the headrest. The light sensitive windows had lost their day-tint, which allowed clearer night vision by the yellowish tinting that took its place, like the special glasses that hunters use. She hit the over-ride. The windows darkened almost instantly. She felt much more secure now. Reviewing the entourage, she saw an older man, a not so old man, Allen, his mother and, "Who's the Mediterranean Mamma?" She looked more to be Rachel's age than Allen's. Good! That shook her for a moment. Once they had entered the restaurant, she took in the limo parked behind her. "That must have cost some coin."

Thinking tactical, Melissa pulled her car away from the lights of the restaurant to where she could observe from a dark vantage point, behind darker windows, thinking her darkest thoughts.

Melissa saw them come out again after fifteen minutes. They had bags of carryout and all climbed into the limo, which headed onto the road again. Melissa waited fifteen seconds, then pulled out. She figured she could keep pretty good tabs on that starship, as it wasn't making any fast speed or quick direction changes, not unless the driver wanted to dump drinks and nachos onto his patron's laps. The thought brought a smile. She looked at her charge level and estimated only another hour on battery before she would be forced to switch over to the engine. She changed over to engine to charge the battery. Maybe she would need her SAAB to travel stealth mode in the near future. You never know.

Annie sat on her chair and wondered how her friends up north were getting along. It had been weeks since they had come to visit. She wanted to tell Ryan and Vanessa about the Major's last two success stories. Ryan had promised he would be working on her situation and, so far, had been a man of his word. Archibald would have liked this Navy man from Galveston. _"Ah Archibald. Every time I look up at the stars I can see that night at the cotillion and feel your strength. I will have need of it if our friends are successful. Be patient, husband, please."_

Limos will never be fitted with restrooms, Allen supposed. That story of Ryan's had kept his interest beyond the pain of a full bladder. But even the best tale had to yield to nature's demands, and the Egg's Nest had been handy.

The limo stopped at Gustav's office and the party filed out for a final restroom break and to close down shop. Marianne looked at her watch. It was getting on to ten. Was that all it was? It seemed a lot later. It had been a very long day and it was time for closure.

"Rachel, did you make arrangements for sleeping accommodations?"

"Oh my gosh, Marianne, that completely slipped my mind! I'd rather not go back to the house. Any suggestions?"

"There's a Holiday Inn, a Ramada and a few sleep-cheaps I wouldn't touch. You know what? Scratch that. You two are bunking at my house. I have a fold out couch for Allen, and you can sack out with me. I have a king-sized bed and extra pajamas, if that's alright with you.

Rachel yawned as they filed into the reception area, "Sounds, sounds fine. You're a real sweetie. Gustav doesn't pay you enough, whatever he's paying you."

"True, but the fringe benefits are good and you get to meet nice people."

Ryan told Gustav, "We'll get to work on Allen's and Rachel's suggestions tomorrow. Allen, we'll get you and Rachel running up to speed on the nuts and bolts of running the business. Most of it is pretty well self-maintaining. Still, any business needs someone at the wheel or it will always run aground; someone I can trust. Rachel, having you nearby in Hurley is a big help. I can find something for Frank, if you think he should be part of this."

The doorbell sounded, which stopped all conversation. Who could it be at this hour? Marianne returned to the front door with Gustav (the protective daddy of the group) close behind. The rest heard muffled conversation, then footsteps. Marianne came into view and looked at Allen with a most wicked expression of amusement. "It's for you."

Allen didn't even have the time to say 'huh?' when Melissa came bouncing in with arms extended, wearing her best Barbie smile. She gave him a full press hug and said, "Allen, Baby, it's GREAT to see you. Hi Rachel! Hello everybody! I'm Allen's girlfriend. Aren't I, Love?" The look on her face didn't brook any argument. The open-faced wide-eyed look on Allen evoked pity and sympathy from Allen's seniors. Poor kid. Well, all part of growing up, thought Ryan. Then, he got an idea.

" _Ryan, you look like the Grinch planning his raid on Whoville. Whatever you're thinking, I love it already."_

"Well, this must be the fair damsel you have spoken so highly of, Master Allen."

Gustav snorted, then grabbed a quick tissue and blew his nose, feigning allergies. Melissa missed it.

" _In one ear and out the other, with nothing to stop it in between. I'll bet she majors in accessorizing."_

"I can see that you two have some catching up to do. But wait, I'm not being a good host. Please allow me to introduce our little group to your sweet lady."

" _Kermit the Frog never saw such ham!"_

"I am Lord Clayton Leland Fluffernutter, Allen's uncle, once removed, on his parietal side."

" _Screeech!!"_

"I have called Master Allen down to discuss his inheritance of the family castle in Dorkeshire, Scotland." Melissa's eyes went wide. So did everyone else's. Allen's mouth still had yet to close, but the reason switched over to amazement and respect rather than being caught flat-footed. "This is my legal council and long-time family friend, Gustav Mendelssohn. His office manager and third cousin twice removed from the French border territory of Applesauce Lorraine, Lady Marianne Cabrini (leaning over and whispering "...of the original Cabrini family from Southern Sicily, IF you know what that means.")" That sounded impressive to Melissa and kind of romantic. Allen, getting a castle? Related to royalty? When did this happen? How does one address royalty?

"Your lordship," said Melissa as she curtsied and did what she considered a subtle knowledgeable wink. Rachel bit her finger while adjusting a contact lens, which she didn't wear any more than she did earrings. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mendelssohn, and you, too, Lady Cabrini."

Ryan realized that he had to do something or his entourage would break down into a giggle puddle. Very well. Time for an action step and this one would out-do the most diabolical web of intrigue that Vanessa had ever spun.

"I do believe that it would be prudent and proper of us..."

" _Oh, this is too good!"_

"...to allow these two fine youths some privacy. My good friend Gustav, would you condescend to offering your private chambers to the children?"

Gustav got it, immediately. It took all of his years of schooled expression-control to reply, "But of course, Lord Fluffernutter. Please, Mademoiselle Melissa and Master Allen, won't you be my guests? Lady Marianne, please set up the other room just like this morning." ZING! Gustav momentarily regretted mixing in French with his intended German...oh, well.

Marianne couldn't even get out a reply without giving away the farm; she was that close to bursting. Rachel caught it, too, and guessed correctly that it took this kind of insanity to keep a group like this from fraying at the ends. Even Allen had recovered enough of his sea legs to realize that the game was afoot and friends were there to back him up.

Gustav escorted Allen and Melissa to his office. He pulled up a chair next to his desk with a butler's flourish, a comfortable chair, befitting an honored guest. Allen was directed to Gustav's own chair and, as he leaned over to pick up a few pens, slickly pushed a button next to a polarized glass inset on his desktop. It was a simple device that allowed only the person who was sitting at the desk to see what was on the display under the glass. Anyone else (Melissa) would only see a dark glass table- top. Gustav clicked his German heels (there was a distant howl from a closed room), bid the couple a pleasant chat, softly closed the door and spent the next minute with his face buried in his hands. He could see that the other conspirators were in the viewing room (the door was shut), already enjoying the views and conversation coming from his office. This was going to be good. He didn't realize how good. Rachel and Marianne had forged a most formidable subterfuge team in a short period of time. They had downloaded a variety of 'visual aids'. Rachel was intent on assisting her son at a difficult juncture in his life, but by Heaven, she was going to have fun doing it.

Melissa explained how she had decided to drive about Allen's haunts; feeling guilty about how shamefully and selfishly she had behaved the day before. She wanted nothing more than to patch things up and move on with their relationship in a positive direction. Allen was half listening, recognizing shtick when he heard it. What was more interesting was what had started showing up on the screen in front of him.

"[Allen, only you can see this. We're all here listening in and rooting for you. Vanessa has some 'ditz dope', quoting Ryan. She has been watching you two for quite a while. Melissa took your SatCom and pulled some information from it while you snoozed. That's probably how she located us.]"

"I was just pulling up to the Eggs Nest when I saw the group of you get into that limousine and take off. I couldn't believe my good luck, but wasn't sure if it was right for me to interrupt just then. Please forgive me, Darling, for following you."

" _Oh, gag."_

On screen came an animated crocodile in a polka-dotted bikini, squirting out a flood of tears. Allen wondered how he was going to keep a straight face while his comedy team was trying out material on him. He thought, "Then again, why worry about it? Who am I trying to impress?"

"Melissa, the truth is that you downloaded private information from my SatCom some time ago while I was asleep and used it to locate me." Another couple of words whizzed by the screen. "You probably scored the technique to do that from that comp-sci major you dated when you first came to RPI." Melissa's smile didn't budge. There was a brief round of appreciative applause from the conspirators at Melissa's level of expression control.

"HOW the HELL did he know all THAT?" she thought. Aloud, "Allen, you have to understand that I only wanted to find you and tell you how sorry I was. It's me, Allen. I'm the one who planned your 21st birthday party instead of accepting that invitation to the sorority bash, remember?" More words flashed by. Allen smiled and his eyes narrowed. Melissa didn't like that look one bit. Vanessa had been nosey, very nosey.

"Wrong, again. What really happened was that you dropped hints that you were going to drop me in order to get your social-conscious competitors, you don't really have any friends, do you, to come to your little party. You even told them you were going after that team captain, Bruce Wallace, to make it sound feasible. I spoiled your whole show designed to have maximum envy aimed at you by the people you want to show off to and show up."

Vanessa: _"Check."_

Rachel: "Oh YES!" as she high-fived Marianne.

Ryan: "That's my boy!"

Gustav: "What a lawyer he would have made."

Melissa: Smile dropped, eyes wide, mouth open.

Vanessa: _"If you're looking for fun, you don't need a reason, all you need is a gun, it's wabbit season."_

Ryan passed that one on. Bugs Bunny lived on through the decades, so everyone got the reference.

Melissa went for damage control. The original battle plans were completely scrapped. Time for plan B: direct frontal attack at he who dared to preach to her. She wasn't raised in any church and wasn't about to be lectured morals by someone whose bed she had graced, more than once. "Allen Hawthorn, let's get some things straight. Wipe that smile off your face because I'm dead serious." A line of Barbie dolls can- canned across the screen and Allen howled.

" _Check, again."_

"Nice one, Marianne," giggled Rachel. "Knocked out her second line of defense. Now, my money is on 'poor, poor pitiful me.'"

Gustav knew from many years experience that women saw through other women with amazing accuracy. It made him feel gullible, which was a particularly unpleasant thought for a legal professional.

"Allen (sniff), you, you just don't understand. No one does. I really need you, your support, and your love. If you leave me I'll fall apart. You are my rock. You don't know how much I admire and depend on you. There's no one on campus I'd rather spend my time with than you. Please, let's leave all this misunderstanding behind us. I just can't take much more of this." Tears began to peak out from her well-trained tear ducts and Allen was showing signs of weakening. But, just in time, a silent clip of crowds giving standing ovations came into Allen's view- screen. It was time to put this puppy to bed.

"Miss Banks..."

" _Ooooh, I like the way he began that."_

"...I have outgrown you and your childishness. My eyes have been opened today to heights you do not have the capacity to appreciate. May I see your SatCom?"

"What's he up to?" thought everyone listening. Gustav had an idea, but didn't think Allen knew enough yet to pull it off.

"FCC regulations have strict laws that are on Federal books."

Gustav beamed. "He DOES know!"

"You have stolen protected codes purchased for private use and were my private property. That is FEDERAL illegal. I am keeping your SatCom to be analyzed for the theft. It's not hard to document. I will then press charges against you and have you removed from RPI. I have the juice to do this and the law is on my side. You can avoid all this if you do EXACTLY what I say. Do you understand me?"

" _He reaches for the rook."_

Melissa was too much in shock to do anything else except hoarsely whisper, "Wha - what do I have to do?"

"You will get your SatCom back this week (he had no clue whether someone could document an illegal download or not, but felt sure that Melissa didn't know that he didn't know — anyway — something was going across the desk screen. "[Vanessa wants to have your baby.]").

"You will drive back to RPI, now, and return anything of mine in your room by tomorrow night. Officially, we have broken our relationship by mutual agreement and you will let it go at that. You have already found out that what you say can and will get back to me. Let things go, do what I have said and no charges will be pressed, though I have seven years before your statute of limitations is up. Clear?"

" _Checkmate."_

Melissa could only nod mutely. No one had ever before stood up to her like this. While she felt frustrated in defeat, she also felt grudging admiration, even attraction. Her next thought, though brief, was to wonder what all the cheering was about in the other room.

Allen rose and escorted Melissa out of the room. No one else was in evidence as they walked through the reception room. The door to the 'viewing room' was closed and the office was silent.

It was just as silent on her trip up to Troy, with her usual lead-foot pace exchanged for the posted limit. There was something about being in a car that allowed one to think with greater perspective and insight, as long as you weren't one of those brain-deaders who putted along with their windows rattling from high-amp sound systems. Melissa turned off, for the first time since she drove her SAAB, the 'laser speed analysis detector do-hickey' installed to look like a dedicated auto phone unit. As if she had ever needed a car phone with her SatCom. The only calls this 'car phone' picked up were warnings of Trooper traps.

Some enterprising young prodigy had figured out that the lasers used by Troopers excited a harmonic in the surrounding air that was detectable from a great distance with a relatively simple device. It was immediately banned. The young man got an offer from Singapore and moved there. Last she had read about him was that he was living the good life on the other side of the world, his invention in common usage in the States. The only thing the high-ideal legislation did was to keep US business from getting the profits they might have made.

Melissa remembered the argument this had caused between her and Allen. She felt it was stupid to outlaw the device, since it was available now to those who could afford it. He said that his father had been a paramedic and so had seen the wrecks caused by people who traveled too fast but could afford radar detectors (the counterpart of past technology to current laser techniques). They never did see eye to eye on that, but the thought got her onto another track.

Allen did his best to live up to his father's expectations, though his father was long since dead. She didn't really care what her father thought of her. Her father was alive. That felt, wrong.

His mother still held reins on Allen, but used them rarely and because she cared. His mother stuck by Allen and protected him when she felt it was needed. Her mother gave up on reins long ago and just sent her money when she asked for it. Even that interaction had been lost when she was just given credit cards with generous limits to do with as she pleased. That felt more wrong.

Allen's line about her not having any real friends came back to haunt her. She couldn't deny it. There were many that she interacted with, but her crowd was notorious for dropping members at the drop of a hat. She was always in a contest. So far she had always come out on top and rode the wave. Tonight was a complete wipeout. That felt...bad.

A car, with two young men in it, slowed down to pace hers. They smiled and waved at her. Melissa saw it in her peripheral vision and, without looking, punched the day-tint override once more. Message sent. The other car picked up speed and drove off. Message received. That felt better.

Allen got high grades not because he worked to get them, but because he worked to understand the material...his high grades were just a side effect, and his mother was proud of him.

She got so-so grades, not because she couldn't do better, but because she didn't feel they were important. Her father once said that they have a name for the doctor that graduated with the lowest passing grade point average. That name was 'Doctor'. While it was intended as a lesson for her to be careful in choosing professionals, it mainly told her that it was OK to be mediocre, as long as you got to where you wanted to go. What used to make so much sense to her, now felt stupid.

Melissa Banks was no airhead. She was a formidable personality that had just discovered major flaws in her guidance-system programming. Grieving over losses was not on the agenda, for she did not accept those losses. It was time for her to get the Good Ship Melissa aimed at the right star, and she knew exactly where that star was.

The walk from the office to the limo was fun. Allen was carried on the shoulders of Ryan and Gustav, while Rachel and Marianne sang 'Hail to the Chief'. They didn't know any words that weren't in the tide and so substituted 'dah's' for the rest. The driver got a chuckle out of that. Lively crew this one, he thought. Old friends, no doubt. They settled in for the 20-minute drive to 'Marianne's Boondocks'. The story needed closure.

"That poor man," said Rachel. "He really loved her, didn't he? To lose her, realize he shared the blame, and then see her wake up again but with someone else inside? How did he keep his sanity?"

"By pulling the same stunt Allen did. He fainted. I had to drag John to the couch. I went back to Vanessa, for that was whom she was now, still laying on the bed. Before that time, she could only touch me with her voice. Now I could feel her hand in mine. There aren't words to describe what I felt. 'Love' doesn't have enough letters in it, but that's part of its power; so much represented by so little because nothing spoken can fully describe it.

She asked me to help her up, which I did, managing to keep the sheet covering her dignity. It wasn't so much that she was weak as untried, so to speak. The simple act of sitting is more complex than standing. Our skeleton has joints that lock into place when standing, minimizing postural muscle use. Sitting unlocks many of those joints and we have to rely more on the muscles. Hers were new to her mind. Once she managed to sit without my help, which took a while, learning to stand was easier. I stood in front of her, holding her hands for her first steps as if she were a big toddler in a toga, diaper and all. No father was more amazed or proud as I was at that moment. Vanessa caught on fast, not that she was especially gifted (though she is), but muscles have memories of their own. If the central nervous system had to do everything, it would pop fuses."

Allen cocked his head. "Fuses?"

"Sorry, old term. That she would activate circuit protection-couplings would be more present-time. Anyway, she was walking in no time. Neither of us knew how long it had been since she had kissed a man, but she made up for lost time. It would have been cruel to have John see his wife's body in her accustomed clothes, so I had previously sent them along with one of the staff, who seemed to have good fashion sense, to have them used as a template for replacements. We took pity and agreed to put a temporary hold on overt shows of affection between us as soon as John regained awareness. She and I wanted him to wake to seeing Vanessa in different clothes to help John cut the cords."

Allen asked, "So what's the big deal about clothes? People who mean a lot to me, well, I don't really care what they wear. It's what's inside that is important. That's what Mom has always said."

Ryan nodded agreement. "True, but clothes are what we use to define ourselves and they can be powerful statements. Take a stranger and put him in a business suit, then put him in a prisoner's outfit and see if you judge what's underneath differently. Clothes say who you are, what you are about and what you believe in. I left instructions to purchase outfits that had made a personal fashion statement that was different from the ones that had belonged to Mary."

One of Marianne's tasks was to keep Ryan from being too pedantic when the hour was late. "Hey professor; you're getting windier."

"Vanessa insisted on dressing herself. She said that it was our first date and she was shy. Like hell."

" _Excuse me?"_

"The bed curtain reopened and there she stood in a skirt, shirt, and jacket combination that was professional but feminine. Not that it mattered that much, for I'd have been impressed with her in a potato sack."

" _It's amazing what I can do for a potato sack, Lover."_

"The change may have helped some, but when John came to, his eyes barely left Vanessa no matter who he was talking to. Vanessa, ever the 'fools rush in where the wise fear to tread' type, walked up to John and took his hand. She said, "I am Vanessa now, John. Mary is gone. You must accept that. Give it time and you will do all right. It's time you moved on. Staying here is only going to make it harder."

"Mary may have forgiven John, but I suspect that Vanessa still held a grudge. She also felt sorry for him, but wanted him gone so that she could start her new life. That's when the shit really hit the fan."

Rachel and Allen looked at each other. What could possibly have stirred up more upheaval than the legion of events that had occurred so far?

"The nurse came in, and the look on her face hinted that her news would be unwelcome. It surprised me that she went straight to John instead of me. She took him to the corner of the room and told him something Vanessa and I couldn't hear. If the look on the nurse's face was troubled, the one on John's was absolute horror. The door to the room opened again, and there stood a middle-aged woman with two young girls in tow. I felt my stomach hit the floor when their eyes locked onto Vanessa and, with excited voices, called out 'Mommy!'"

Ryan backtracked. "Mary Safford's mother, Rowena, had died of cancer. Her father's heart had never been that good to begin with, so Rowena's passing hurried along what would have been an eventuality.

"Greta D'Rosa was the eldest of Rowena and her two sisters. She had never married, so, as a substitute, she took her duties as Maiden Auntie seriously. That included stepping in and taking charge when Mary was ill. John tolerated Aunt Greta. His daughters loved their grand aunt and abbreviated her tide to 'Grant Greta'. John thought it appropriate, 'Grant' being a belligerent general who was fond of drinking, cigars, and cursing. Then he would say to himself that the comparison wasn't fair, as Greta didn't smoke or drink.

"He had to admit that, during difficult times, Greta had been a big help to his family. She did have value, but her values were as unbending as were her feelings about those who did not share those values.

"Greta suspected John's infidelity before Mary did, so when Mary came to her with her misgivings, Greta wasted no time. It was she that sent out the feelers and came up with the evidence on her errant nephew-in-law through one of Mary's friends. How Mary had kept Greta's hands from John's neck, or even any hint of her awareness a secret, was testimony to Mary's inner strength. Greta gave grudging admiration to her niece on this account and agreed to hold off the hit squad until they could work out things themselves.

"Mary's operation took Greta by surprise. She knew her sister had died of cancer, so it wasn't unlikely that there were genetic predispositions. Mary's brain death as a result of the anesthesia and the tearing apart of John's heart proved that John had nothing to do with the catastrophe. That didn't stop Greta from placing the blame squarely on John's shoulders. The excuse for his divorcing Mary seemed plausible, but once you lose Greta's trust, you never ever got it back.

"Then Mary was spirited away with the help of undisclosed funds, putting her into a pricey clinic with pricey private nurses. It just didn't make sense to her. She was going to get to the bottom of things and God help the man or woman who stood in her way.

"Greta had not intended to use the children as tools or weapons. She was taking care of them and trusted no one else with that responsibility. The children had visited their mother in a hospital before, so it didn't raise any red flags to bring them along to the new location (how the hell could he afford this place when he divorced Mary to save funds, who was bankrolling this, why, and...). The RN that tried to keep her down in the lobby was, to Grant Greta, a speed bump. So it was that Greta D'Rosa, tower of strength that many had leaned on but who never had to lean on others, was undone to see her niece before her, standing in a business suit. She was together enough to see that the look on John's face was one of absolute terror, followed closely behind by the look on Mary's face and of mine. The children had run to their mother, hugging her and jumping and calling her 'Mommy'. All Vanessa could do was stand there, wishing so soon after her new life had begun, for death."

Always prepared, Marianne had seated Rachel next to herself and was even now applying hugs and tissues (using some herself). Gustav's arm was on Allen's shoulders. Allen had been elevated to master of his fate just fifteen minutes ago and now was blubbering like a child might do, seeing his beloved pet under the tires of someone's car. Gustav recalled something he had read about Ulysses. The exact quote escaped him, but he remembered it had something to do with greatness. "...to be otherwise would not allow you to sup the full measure of your joy, or to cry all of your tears." There was greatness in this young man and he had the honor of being a future mentor to him.

Ryan had lived with these memories and was used to them. However, community sharing includes emotions. He sensed them strong in his comrades and managed his own sobriety with difficulty. Vanessa had left. Ryan couldn't blame her. It was a most wrenching time of her life and reliving it with sobbing mortals in a limo was probably too much for her. She likely went 'away down south in the land of cotton', sitting on a porch with an understanding friend.

When enough time had passed, Ryan continued. "Did you ever fall and have your mind kick into high gear to examine your options? That was what happened to me, but with greater intensity than ever.

"The kids had seen what they believed to be their mother, now up and conscious. The damage was done. That lady must be the aunt that John had talked about. Stiff, very stiff. Stiff people don't bend. This scene must have floored her, giving me a temporary respite from questions from that quarter. I had to hurry. Vanessa had deer-in-the-car-lights syndrome, so no help from her. John was the only help I had. No way could I convince Greta like I convinced him. Mary's gone; Vanessa's in her place and could no longer prove her existence like she could as a spirit. But what could John do? The aunt didn't trust him for beans. No matter how fast my mind went, it was a major no-win. So I did what I hadn't done in a long time, 'thank God'."

Rachel peeked above her tissue, looking like a bleary harem dancer, "What could you have possibly done?"

"I just told you," he said, and watched to see if they would understand.

Allen caught it first and nodded to at his mystified mother. "Thank God," and dawn broke on Rachel's face. Still, the realization didn't reveal the resolution.

Ryan smiled to think, "That's how it is, is it? Rachel's sharp, protective and decisive. Allen is more intuitive, better able to see through a puzzle. That's good to know."

"I prayed with everything I had. My newborn Love was in a tail-spin, the two children were headed for a major mental strike, their father wasn't far from being a basket case, and Grant Greta was seconds from a rubber room. What happened then was the biggest miracle since the Grinch's heart grew three sizes.

"There is a bond between child and mother, seeded before birth, strengthened with milk and deepened with lullabies. The eyes are paths to the soul and no one sees those pathways more clearly than a child. Vanessa's eyes were now physically the same as Mary's, but these two young girls had looked beyond those eyes for years, intensely, trustingly, and knowingly.

"There are other things as well that complement that communication, words only being a small part of that equation: posture, unique personal quirks and how one might move a hand while speaking. A famous mime, Marcel Marceau, said that there were a hundred eyebrow positions, and that each position communicated something different. While the mature adults stood agog, it was the ones who make up the Kingdom of Heaven who found the truth with their hearts. Both girls knew it at the same instant. You see, they were identical twins. That may have helped their realization along all the faster, though I suspect that even fraternals or simple siblings would have caught on eventually. I could never begin to tell them apart and only knew their names to be Penny and Patricia.

"One of them said, "You aren't Mommy, are you?"

"The other, "Where is she?"

"Greta started to speak, but John rallied and ordered her to stifle with just a look on his face. I actually heard Greta's mouth snap shut." Allen was at that numb state where he couldn't cry but could still think, after a fashion. Rachel needed a new package of tissues. Ryan thought, "They don't duplicate, they complement. Good."

"Vanessa took each child by the hand and walked them over to the couch. She sat them down and knelt in front of them. John knew the story that was about to unfold, for what else can you tell a child but the truth? John went up to Greta and, for what had to be the first time, took her hands in his. Greta's eyes hadn't blinked since she walked into the room, but now they blinked, hard.

"He said, "Listen to her, Grant Greta. It's the truth. I hope she will skip the breast reconstruction (Greta was too blown away to react to that revelation) and Beverly for their sake, but I want you to know the whole truth. It's important because I need your help, now, more than ever. You are the closest thing I have to giving them a mother, now. Please listen, believe and, if you can, learn to trust me again, and forgive me." Greta gave the barest nod, all she was capable of. A strong tree in a hurricane tends to snap easily. Greta needed John's help, too, though she didn't know it. True to John's wish, Vanessa omitted the surgery and infidelity. Vanessa wasn't their mother. The kids could tell the difference, but could also tell that the person who looked and sounded like their mother was being honest with them. When Vanessa had finished, the room was completely silent. The nurse, whom I never saw again after that day, stood by Greta, holding her hand. Greta was misty eyed, but started to rebuild her strength reserves. John was being strong for Greta during that process. I guess he felt he had to make up for the past by becoming more of a man than he had been before.

"Vanessa finished speaking and looked to the children for judgment. They were quiet for a minute, and then one asked if she would come and visit them sometime. The other said they would like that. "We'll tell you stories about Mommy if you will tell us more of what you know about her." Vanessa gratefully agreed to the arrangement."

Ryan looked down at his folded hands, then continued with, "We kept in touch with that family. Vanessa was true to her word and visited the twins. The three of them made an unlikely group of friends, but friends they were until Vanessa passed away. By that time, Penny and Patricia were both married and had children of their own. With all that had happened, keeping that family together with any kind of private life (they had their share of nosy neighbors, relatives, teachers) required that they all move far away from Missouri. I set John up with Mrs. Viola Morrison, of all people, as her personal accountant and social secretary in St. Paul. Greta and Viola became fast friends and were quite the gadabouts. Viola became another aunt to the kids, and who better to keep secrets than one that has already proven her reliability?"

The limo stopped. Marianne looked out of the window and said to her house, "Honey, I'm home."

Ryan added, "Allen and Rachel, sleep in and that's an order. We'll be by at eight AM sharp to take you all to breakfast."
Allen protested. "Eight? I thought you said sleep IN!"

Marianne yawned. "Around here that IS sleeping in. Get used to it, Allen. You're in the Fitzgalen Army now. Wait till you find out what getting up early means."

"But, we still haven't hit the longevity thing. Wasn't that one of the main topics to cover?"

Ryan smiled and as the limo pulled away, got in the last word, "Maybe we'll cover that tomorrow on the plane."

Allen and Rachel started to walk towards the house, then stopped dead, and looked at each other. "Plane?"

Marianne smiled and shook her head as she fumbled for her house keys. "They'll get used to it, like I did." She had a feel for people and these two she had strong feelings about. There were some wonderful things on the horizon for them, and some hard times, too. Rachel was heading for the latter. She was sure of that.

The limo began its last run for the night to the office of Gustav Mendelssohn (who lived in the apartment above), then to Ryan's condo. The old friends were silent for most of the trip, as was their custom. Both were going over all the events of the day. "Ryan, could it have been possible to squeeze another thing in?"

"Not with a shoe horn as big as Vanessa's ego, my friend." Gustav noted the lack of what would have been a sizable tongue-lashing, had Vanessa been present.

"Still not here?"

"No. Must be still down south. Which reminds me, there is some planning we have to do. How much effort would it take to get Allen to take a leave of absence from RPI for a semester? Item two: Can we pry momma-san away from Frank and company to go with us? Allen will go, by our contract, but that doesn't hold Rachel to it. Item three: Make reservations for two more on the next plane south, after breakfast, that is. Might as well think positive about Rachel going. Item four: Finalize our DBA change from 'Custom Properties' to 'Hawthorn Enterprises', with you-know-who as CEO."

"Yes, Boss," was the reply. Nothing unexpected on the list and he had already made these things happen. Extra plane reservations were made a week ago, and he had overbooked the hotel reservations many months ago. The DBA/CEO changes were already finalized after he was sure Allen was on board. Gustav didn't make it a habit to tell Ryan about all the details he looked after. Ryan had enough on his mind.

Just about then, Melissa had rolled into RPI, parked and was walking into the dorm. Barbara Meissner had taken a study break and was walking her way, en route to the restroom. "Hey Barb, I could use some help on my trig class project. If I supply pizza and soda, could you take a minute and point me in the right direction? I'd really appreciate it."

Barbara looked at Melissa, wondering where the clone hid the real body. "I could spare a few minutes. Don't you have a social something to go to?"

"Not tonight. I've got some time to make up. Don't you know? Men don't go for brainless Barbies anymore. I'll call Domino's. Hawaiian OK?"

Chapter 10 – EXPERIMENT

Annie listened to the night. She had made the usual small talk to quiet her friend's nerves, and then went on to larger subjects. _"Ryan shared the same stories with them as he shared with Carl?"_

" _Yeah, it still gets to me a little, but not as much as Ryan thinks it does. Gives me a good excuse to visit you and he feels good about being protective of me when I come back. The old softie."_

" _Archibald was like that; tough on the outside, plum pudding on the inside, soft and sweet."_

" _Any luck with Covington?"_

" _You tell that man of yours that the Major made a double whammy and got five more through, the old fox, since you were here last. That leaves fifty. Pulled two wild ones, he did. Last week, the whole troop of them raced in close, reined in and gave the loudest rendition of Dixie I'd ever heard. I can sense things during the day, if they're loud enough. There was clapping and yahooing to beat the band, enough to miss the two he was sneaking by. I think that the two avoided my attention that running for it would have caused by blending in with a group of live riders. There's a new horse path that runs just behind the house that gives riding tours, from what I hear talk of from the night staff. Makes folks feel more like they're back in time. They even dress them proper to my time period and some of them always choose army clothes. That's probably why she didn't notice them until it was too late._

" _Pulled a bigger stunt today, with smaller groups of them racing every which way, then distracting me with two groups of them trying to form a wall in front of the children."_ Annie made a sighing motion. _"The fewer they are, the harder it's going to be for the good Major. So, what's Ryan up to? Vanessa, can he help?"_

Vanessa knew by now she could talk to Annie without tipping the cards to Mad Annie. _"Take heart, Annie, there's new blood on the team. From what I've seen, your alter ego is in for some nasty surprises."_

Annie thought, _"New surprises?"_ That could mean success, but might also call for her destruction. _"That suits me just fine, Dear. Now, let's talk about getting yourself back into someone that rascal of yours can sink his teeth into."_ Two ancient women giggled.

8AM sharp. Different driver, same limo. Marianne had come to use that phrase in place of a more traditional one. This time it was off to Rhinebeck and to the Beekman Arms for breakfast, where a section was reserved for them downstairs. Ryan ordered his favorite: Eggs Benedict. Allen wondered how Ryan could live so long with a cholesterol intake like that. The rest followed with their orders, all house specialties.

"The sign outside said this is the oldest inn in the country," Allen commented.

"Sort of," replied Gustav. "Actually there are older inns, but this one is the oldest continually running one. It's a pretty well-known town, too. There's lots of history in it. Like me, you know?" That got a few laughs.

Rachel liked the 'oldness' feeling of the inn. Downstairs always had a real wood fire going, the beamed ceiling had dozens of Revolutionary War artifacts iron nailed to them; muskets, flint-locks, farming tools and other reminders of the past. "Maybe that's why you like this place, Ryan. Must be nice to be where there are things older than you are."

"Coffee's good, anyway," said Allen. He'd never liked the stuff growing up, but the rigors of all-nighters at RPI encouraged legal amphetamine use: caffeine. Mom liked it light and sweet; he liked it straight out of the machine and called it 'naked coffee', when his mother wasn't within earshot.

It was getting routine. Small talk, relax, and then big Boss begins. It was a comfortable group to be in. Ideas here came in their own time, fast or slow. "That kept stress down," thought Marianne, who had been employed before in places with 'sweat shop' mentalities. She loved her current bosses all the more because they valued her so highly and let her know it. Marianne Cabrini had and used the right to give Ryan or Gustav the boot from her office area, should they get in her way or on her nerves. Neither of them would have it any other way. She had already begun to consider office changes, which was her domain. Would they have to move, or add on to the current office (maybe take over Gustav's apartment upstairs)? Would Allen and/or Rachel be there temporarily or permanently, and would it be now, soon, or later? There were changes to the stationary, hard and software refinements. How did they like their coffee? Her memory for detail, Gustav would tell visitors, would qualify her for a nightclub headline act. To gather those details, she sometimes compromised propriety for efficiency, and her decisions might not have always met with her bosses' approval. It was simpler to just not tell them about it.

Her newfound friends might have been upset to know that she had peaked into wallet and purse last night. Not to steal, but to get an idea of the stores, brand of tissues, methods of payment and dozens of other preferred items that, having knowledge of, would help her make them more at ease. She noted that, in one of the Allen's wallet picture casings, a picture was missing. There was one of his biological father, his mother, his adopted family and the outline of a missing picture. Sure enough, checking his trash, she found the discarded picture of Madam Melissa. She took it, of course. You never know where something like that might come in handy, and her filing system for potentially useful information could teach the FBI a few things.

"The honest answer to my longevity is; I don't know." That wasn't expected, and surprise showed on two faces. "I suspect it has to do with a re-alignment of molecular polarity due to my prolonged magnetic field exposure. I'll throw some thoughts your way, though to me, the 'whys' aren't as important as the 'what do I do to make use of this'.

Magnetism is a whole field, excuse the pun, by itself. There is so much that we just don't know about it. Jupiter rotates twice as fast as earth, causing it to have a magnetic field larger than the sun. If you read back in the Old Testament, there were people living for long periods of time. Check with paleontologists and you find that the magnetic flux over the earth was, at that time, many times what it is now. Magnetic healing is something that's been around for a thousand years. There are natural lodestone caves in Germany reputed to have amazing healing powers. At one time the largest company in Japan made specialized magnets for healing purposes. Nike bought them out. Magnets are now standard issue in many of their sports shoes.

"Our bodies have nerve networks that conduct electricity in order to tie in four trillion cells into a central processing unit called the central nervous system. String every nerve you have end to end, Rachel, and you would form a line that would wrap around the world (her eyes widened), twice (her jaw fell). Any electric current has a magnetic field around the conducting substance, and our whole nervous system is essentially countless conduits of electrical impulses. Add to all that circuitry the eastern philosophy that we have twelve sets of energy circuits called meridians, the efficiency of which determines our level of health and longevity. It's a marvelous multi-part system of intricate, interlocked circuitries that self-analyzes, corrects, heals and, for some reason, runs down. Why we age and die has never been explained to my satisfaction. Might it be that magnetism holds the key? I am long-living proof that it may be so. So, why not research this as an eternal life project? I'll leave it to you: overpopulation with inevitable wars, economics, God syndromes, dynasties, just to name a few flash points.

"Some did try magnet experiments on animals in the 50's and 60's. The results were mostly unhealthy for the test subjects. I appear to be a million-to-one fluke. So, the question that was burning holes in your pockets was the one that I am least able to answer." Allen felt he was back in college. At least, he wouldn't have to study for midterms here.

"A little disappointing, but I can live with that," said Rachel. "Can you tell us more about Vanessa?"

Ryan looked at his watch, nodded and said, "Very well. We were married, as your own research proves. We soon found that she aged normally and I didn't. I didn't completely stop, just slowed down immensely. By appearances, I now seem to be in my early 40's. We moved to Chesterfield, just on the western outskirts of St. Louis, and settled down for a bit, thanks to the appearance of my son, Obediah. He was the third child for Mary's body, the first two being the twins. He was a big baby, so they had to deliver Obediah by surgery and botched it. She wasn't able to carry to term after that. We didn't mind too much as Obediah was a handful all by his lonesome. Early on he picked up a habit of jumping. Put him on your lap, he jumped. Stand him up and put his hands on something to hold him steady, he jumped. Vanessa told me that kind folk often took pity on her and offered to spell her when she rode the bus, but handed him back shortly afterwards (some of them were men, now speaking in higher-pitched voices).

Those were good years. We did a lot of traveling and helped quite a few entities move on. Having Vanessa alive did have a few disadvantages. You'd be surprised how handy a friendly ghost can be at times. I was still the happiest man in the world with a healthy son, a beautiful and loving wife and doing something I felt to be one of the most important jobs in the world. Add to that the financial freedom we enjoyed, and you get as close to Heaven as any mortal has a right to be. The one thing that stuck in both of our craws was Annie. We kept going back, talking with her, talking with the soldiers. All we could do, well all I could do since Vanessa was no longer able to communicate with entities, was be of moral support and a brain storm resource. Who knows? Maybe some of that cheerleading kept Major Covington trying. We hoped so. I haven't been down there in a couple of weeks...wonder if he's had any success since we were there last."

Rachel was taking it all in, as before. She remembered Carl, her pain that day she found in an instant that her whole life had changed. She wondered how it must have been for Vanessa to find out that her husband would long outlive her. But, it could be worse than that, couldn't it? "Ryan, sorry for interrupting, but I was thinking about Vanessa. She kept getting on in years physically and you didn't. People grow old together and that is part of why a marriage is so important. We share aging and dying, supporting each other. When Vanessa saw herself getting wrinkles and arthritis, I can't imagine the problems that must have caused for her. You are an attractive man and she must have felt like an old crone compared to you long before she actually was one. How did she handle that?"

"Badly, at first. Vanessa loved to be with people. We enjoyed good friends and good times. I remember when we finally had to admit the obvious." He closed his eyes and pictured that day, so clear in his memory, as he continued...

"It was that Navy thing, it has to be. It's not that you age well, you stopped aging. I'm going to wither and die and you are going to be just as you are now. You're going to get sick of wheeling around a wrinkled, crippled woman and you're going to move on to someone new."

"Stop that, right NOW. I don't know what's going on for sure and neither do you. Fine, maybe my outside looks like it isn't aging, but maybe my inside is and we'll still get old like normal people."

He opened his eyes again, still seeing the look on Vanessa's face that combined fear with anger so eloquently. "Vanessa once had felt it was a mistake to become human when Penny and Patricia reached to the mother that was no longer there. Those feelings returned in spades. She felt doomed to see her husband abandon her. "What choice did he have?" she must have thought. We couldn't go out in public much longer without somebody finally noticing.

"Make-up and hair dye only postponed the inevitable. I could be made to look older, and she younger, but it was just a stopgap. She went on and on about me visiting her at the rest home on Tuesdays and don't forget the Geritol. That's a vitamin/bowel regulator that they used to give elderly dinosaurs.

"She kept on at it and I had to let her get it out of her system. "I should never have done it. It was a stupid mistake, a sin against God and He is delivering purgatory right to my doorstep. Why don't you just leave me, damn you! Go on and leave me now! I'll find someone normal to fall apart with, and you can just jump from bed to bed for eternity and be happy."

"I was aghast at how what someone else might look at as a blessing, had become a curse. It was beyond what any man should be confronted with or had ever been called upon to endure. Finally, I walked over to Vanessa, grasped the front of her shirt with both hands and hauled her up so that our noses were touching. I had never mistreated her, making this action so alien to Vanessa that it wrenched her from her downward spiral." Ryan didn't repeat what he had told his bride, but it was still etched in his heart, word for word.

"Vanessa Fitzgalen, you are going to listen to me. I have never fully loved a woman until I loved you. Love does not die from wrinkled skin or capped teeth. You are the woman I am bonded to, who I loved before you were reborn into this body and who I will love after you leave that body. If you are lucky, you will move on when this body dies and I will walk this earth the luckiest man alive because I had the honor of receiving your love. If, for some reason, you remain with me, I will continue to love you as I did before and you will continue to be my companion and soul mate. LOOK AT ME! Was I a mistake? Was Obediah a mistake? Love is NOT a mistake! I love you, now and forever, more than mortal man can because everyone else just loves until death does them part. Now, there's the door. You can walk out and turn your back on your husband, if that is all I am worth to you. I will then live a forsaken man in constant sorrow. Or you can continue to be my wife for the rest of our earthly existence. Now, what is it going to be?"

Aloud, "Guess my own fires forced open Vanessa's heart. She never forgot a single word I had said, she tells me. Some time after Vanessa died her second death, Annie had asked her if she wanted to go back to human again, to hold me again.

"Vanessa considered this, and said yes, but not yet. It's not time. Instead, it was a time to understand the lessons her reliving had taught her. That's what we're supposed to do, isn't it? She said, "What ever it was I didn't learn in my first life that caused God to keep me here, I must not have learned in my second life, because here I am, still here. I have to know why. And should I waste time like a vulture looking for another body to borrow, checking out the emergency rooms for a nice looking young thing who wouldn't mind renting out her old place? That's just too gruesome. No. When it is time, if ever, I believe that the opportunity will be pointed out to me."

Chapter 11 – FRANK and ALLEN

Gustav felt it was time to change venues and so, after a pregnant pause, cleared his throat. "Sorry to jump in like this, but it is time dependent that I do so. Allen, I have taken the liberty of contacting the Dean of your college (doing so at 7:00AM took clout and connections; fortunately Gustav had both and some to spare) and arranging a leave of absence for a semester. That is, of course, your decision, but it is there if you choose. All you have to do is call the registrar and give her the word, or let me know and I'll take care of it as your legal representative. Rachel, I regret that I cannot be of similar service to you. It is our intention to travel to Georgia today and possibly implement some of the ideas you two have been good enough to offer. We want you both to accompany us. We need your help and so do the others you have heard about. Rachel, it would mean time away from Frank and your stepchildren until Sunday. Sorry to hit you with this on the fly. We plan on leaving within the hour. You may be able to join us later, but personally, I hope you will find your way clear to keeping the company whole."

Rachel simply said that it was all arranged, but said no more regarding the previous night when she borrowed her son's SatCom and had called Frank.

"Hello, Frank?"

"Rachael, it's about time you called! Didn't you think that we would be worried? Why didn't you call earlier? You know I wouldn't have done that to you. Well, what are you waiting for? Why aren't you saying anything?"

Not a word of interest in what it was she had been through, just a long dump on how he was inconvenienced, worried, how he 'wouldn't have done such a thing'. She might have been laid up from an accident or kidnapped or something for all he knew, but it didn't sound like her welfare topped Frank's priority list. She thought, "Why didn't he ask how I was feeling, or if I was all right? He had the number of the office and he has Allen's SatCom number. He could have called if it was all that important."

In the space of five-seconds-worth-of-pause after Frank's demand for an apology, Rachel had gone from undecided to firmly decided. "Gee, Frank, I am really touched by your concern over what I've been through in the past 24 hours."

"Now just a..."

"SHUT UP, Frank. You've had your chance to demonstrate loving concern and you blew it. All you could think about was how this all has affected you and not an ounce about me, about what has happened to me. Now hear this you classic-music loving, self-absorbed, Guinness Stout drinking, unsympathetic husband of mine. I'm not coming home for a week, possibly two (Angel didn't like that deviation from the true time frame, but Cat didn't mind). There are important things to resolve here and that's what I am going to do. That will give you time to pull your cranium out from where the sun don't shine, and I'll have some time to do something more important than I have ever done before. I am your wife, NOT your property, child, or puppy dog. I am someone with a life of her own who chose to share it with someone who SAID he would support and encourage me. Mr. Gladstone, you are a good man who needs some time to get his act together if we are going to continue to be a viable team. I will check in with you and let you know how I am doing and I really hope by then you will actually find it of interest to you. Got it, buster?" Allen isn't the only one, she thought, who could find a backbone. Felt pretty good. Patriarchy sucks.

"OK, Honey, feel better now?" Strike one.

"All I was saying was that I was upset when you didn't call for so long. Maybe I didn't come across right, but I was concerned." Ball one, even count.

"I didn't call you because there was just too much going on here with the kids' school work and extracurricular activities, and Jack and Benny were over for bridge night. You knew it was bridge night, right?" Tried for it but bad hit. Foul ball, the count is one and two.

"You said that we are a team, and you were right in saying that I promised to encourage you. OK, whatever it is that you are involved with has to be pretty important to you. When you're ready to tell me about it, then you will, and I want to listen to the whole experience." Not bad, ball two, even count again.

Rachel cooled down. "OK, Frank, sorry I got a little testy. If you only knew what Allen and I went through today, you'd understand. Some of it I can tell you, but some of it is, privileged business information that deals only with Allen, er, even I'm not privy to it. So, anything happening with the kids?"

"No, got them tucked in and snoozing. School tomorrow, so I'll just go back to single daddying it until you get back. Look, don't worry. I did it for a couple of years before you came along. I married you because I love you, not because I needed a nanny."

Her inner Referee was watching game carefully. Silently, "You're getting better, Hubby. Full count, three and two. Let's see if you can walk me to first base, Baby."

"Now, you just get yourself some beauty rest, and whatever has your attention for now is OK with me." Iffy. You may want to call in a pinch hitter.

"Tomorrow's a big day for both of us. Let me know how you and Allen are doing." There's the wind up. "Your home is here waiting for you when you return." There's the pitch. "Besides, we would love a home-cooked meal." And that retires the batter and the side, Yankees go down in flames.

"Good night, Frank," Rachel said in a flat voice.

"Did I say something wrong?" Rachel didn't hear the last question, as she had already closed the connection. Frank didn't call back. He knew that, when Rachel got into one of her snits, it was best to let her get it out of her system on her own. Women were so hard to understand. His first wife was, too. "Aliens, every one of them."

Rachel sat there with mixed emotions. She had finally unleashed a lot of stored up tension at the object of her irritation. That felt good. She had sandblasted a good man whom she had taken vows with, and that felt bad. Rachel closed her eyes to check. Yes, there they were in full swing. Angel and Cat were going at it claw and feather. Referee had given up and gone to bed.

There was an image that returned to haunt her; 'Yankees go down in flames.' It brought her back to their mission. Wasn't that what they were working for, or rather against? This situation with Annie and the Yankees was unique, according to Ryan. He had never seen anything like it. Was this an aberration or might this be an actual closet of Hell where punishment was being meted out according to biblical weights and measures? Could they, just possibly, be going against Satan himself, or possibly the Judgment of God? Her mental parliament suddenly became very quiet. Cat's tail was bottle-brushed from a case of the willies. Angel had turned sheet white.

Gustav and Ryan were impressed with Rachel's committing to the program. Marianne had expected it. She always felt justified with doing less than scrupulous things when they resulted in her having foreknowledge. She had 'accidentally' overheard last night's phone conversation by having her door cracked open and kneeling next to the opening with her hand cupped behind her ear. She wasn't nosey; she just liked getting information from the horse's mouth. 'Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought her back,' was a fond saying.

"Not much time to pack, people," said Allen.

Gustav reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He handed one card to Allen, then one to Rachel. "The rest of us have our own. When we get there, you'll have an opportunity to shop for what you need." He looked at his watch. "Time to move, everyone. Limo's waiting (what else is new, the rest thought). We'll be flying out of Stewart, so it'll be a short drive and we don't have anything to check in. Plenty of time as long as we don't dilly-dally around here."

" _He's such a mother hen. Ryan, Love, I've been watching Allen. He's got something up his sleeve. I'm able to read him a little."_

Ryan had suspected something, also. There was smugness in Allen's face. Ryan was getting to like his protégé, a lot, and it wouldn't do to have him feel over-scrutinized. Let him have his little game. It's a friendly field.

The ride down to Stewart Airport was uneventful. Details of Hawthorn Enterprises were gone over: holdings, stocks, inventory, receivables and the rest. Rachel had known that her first husband's work had involved quite a spectrum of interests, including a couple of retirement villages. She found out that things had grown since then. There were eight specialty condo-villages, each one catering to a specific demographic: single parents, cat owners, dog owners, musicians, high IQ'ers, athletes, fat people and sports nuts. Ryan had to have had a hand in naming them, cornball that the titles were. Still they were successful ventures and other firms were following his example. They were, respectively: "Split Levels" (there was an agreement with a neighboring condo system to receive pairs of Split Levelers that got themselves joined together), "Kitty Kondo's" (with road names like Sylvester Street, Angora Ave. and Catnip Circle), Dog Town (motto: "A Woof Over Your Head"), Note Worthy Residences (each main building specialized in a type of music, including C and W, classic rock, progressive rock, R and B, and misc.), ThinkTanks (built on a sizable mountain in the Cascades which had been dubbed the 'Mind over Matterhorn'), Olympus (each quad had an up-to-date mini-gym, the main building had everything from health foods to a resident Olympic medalist that managed the building and was available for advice and inspiration), Maine Course (in Bangor, naturally, with on-site dining and reinforced furniture, stairs, industrial grade quality for both elevators and toilets), and Armchair Acres (big screen TVs in each condo, megascreen with surround-sound in the community rooms, and a sports research library that listed full recordings of just about any game played any time by anybody).

Rachel had noticed Allen's odd, quirky behavior today, too. She didn't just suspect - she knew he was up to something. After all, she was the mother whom her son could never fool with illness excuses when there was a test at school. They boarded the plane, first class. Allen had been at the mercy of his elders yesterday. It was 'boy wonder's' payback time and he was loaded for bear, as the saying goes. He smirked. "Mr. Fitzgalen, you are dog-meat."

First class was sparsely peopled today. Gustav had been able to isolate his group into the right rear corner of the section. The nine other first class passengers were in other sections, allowing at least some privacy. Their section had the seats in a semi-circle. It was a popular thing the airlines were doing to encourage business patronage. It worked, too. They called them 'executive islands' on the birds recently outfitted with them. Older birds were re-fitted, quickly. It was Marianne who finally spoke up on what the rest had been wondering about.

"OK, Hotshot, spill it. You've been sitting on something and have kept us waiting long enough. Fess up, Allen."

"All right. I didn't have time or connection to finish up, but I should be able to do more once we get to Milledgeville. Where will we be staying?"

Marianne answered, "A five room suite at a Marriott."

"Fine, I should be able to work there. Most of the bigger hotels have the kind of feed lines I need."

" _Honey, that proves he's related to you. He likes to hear himself lecture. How does your own medicine taste?"_

Ryan smiled with paternal pride. "Hey perfesser, think you'll get to the point before we land?"

"OK, Boss. How's this for starters? I think I can help identify who Vanessa was in her first life." Everyone got very quiet and stayed that way. Allen hoped to Heaven he could pull this off. "Look, I can't guarantee it, but there's an excellent chance."

Ryan began talking to the 'empty' space next to him. "Yes, he said, no...now hold on a minute - I'll ask - YES, DAMMIT, now calm down a minute - I can't ask when you won't - WILL YOU BE QUIET FOR ONE DAMNED MINUTE?"

Two other first class islands were occupied (one, Korean businessmen, the other, American weight-lifting hopefuls) and all eyes in those areas were now on Ryan.

Allen was reveling in what his mother used to call a 'Kodak Moment'. He turned to the other first class passengers, smiled and said, "Outpatient. It's time for his medications."

While devoted friends and co-workers 'raspberried', Ryan eyed Allen under knitted brows. As decorum began to re-establish itself he said, "One gotcha does not a trophy win, grasshopper. Now, if my mature and considerate colleagues can gather their wits, I want to hear more on this. Keep in mind that we have already done extensive research. Now, oh wise-but-all-too-young-one, what ace do you have up your sleeve? I insist you keep your response as succinct as possible." There was expectant silence, though rippled with random sighs and eye dabbing. The first-class spectators didn't find anything more of interest and so returned to their own agendas (ironically, both island groups were arguing over 'the rise and fall of pounds').

Allen fulfilled Ryan's request for minimum words, smiling from ear to ear. "Mormons."

Everyone waited until Ryan felt forced to respond. "Allen, m'lad, I am an old man with little patience. You have followed the word of my law but not the spirit. So now, if you would be so kind, please illuminate your thoughts on this matter, balancing verbosity and clarity, so that this old dinosaur with his feeble faculties can understand."

" _Dearest one, kindly shut your yap and let Allen continue, won't you?"_

"OK, you've all heard about Mormons, right? Some call them a cult, others just another branch under the general umbrella of Christianity. Mormons feel that Joseph Smith was the follow-up act to Jesus, the Christ. Besides some early interesting views on polygamy that earned them no small degree of notoriety in their earlier years, they also made some interpretations of the Bible worth thinking about. What is important to us is that they have had a mania for genealogy. In the mid-twentieth century they began to convert their information paper-pool over to computer, welcoming anyone, Mormon or not, to use their growing database for personal research. Each guest user would add their own genealogy information to the ever-growing main database. The system's capacity has increased with technology. Three-dimensional computer visuals have been around since the late twentieth century and that, too, has made immense advances that have been incorporated into the Mormon database. Now, you scan in a picture or enter in a description of a person and the system will scan for matches. With all the unlabeled pictures people have in their attics, this encouraged hundreds of thousands of inquiries. Eventually the Mormons had to require some nominal charges for the use of their system. Even with such small fees, the sheer numbers of users financially enabled the Mormons to expand the system to the point where the primary facility in Salt Lake City, Utah, occupies two city blocks. It is one of the biggest research facilities in the world. I downloaded from the main Mormon genealogy center last night. Couldn't sleep for a while, so I passed the time getting some ideas into motion."

All ears listened carefully. Ryan had given up on succinctness as he was finding Allen's presentation immensely interesting. He had known about Mormon interest in genealogy, but not how extensive, how incredibly vast, their resources were. When Allen had paused to wet his whistle, Ryan talked aside to Gustav about setting up some brainstorming and work schedules once they arrived in the Peach State. While they were talking, a brief exchange occurred that only one of the other team members ever found out about. "No need," thought Allen.

Allen hit 'send' on his PC, which sent one 'idea in motion' to the SatCom in Marianne's handbag. Rachel wondered if her son had heard the things she had said to Frank, then tried to remember what it was that she HAD said (it had been late and she was fried).

Marianne had to see what the message on her SatCom had been. It was set on her unlisted frequency, so she shouldn't be getting any interrupt messages. Looking at her indicator base, she saw that the message was a 'line of sight' beamed transmission, which bypassed normal channels of entry. "But, how? Oh, Allen's PC unit." There was a beam port aimed right at her. She opened the SatCom cover carefully so as not to attract attention and read: "If you are going to eavesdrop on a private conversation, you might want to take off your shoes. Also, you are welcome to the picture of Melissa. Your perfume smell was on my wallet."

Marianne felt her cheeks burn as she slowly closed her SatCom cover. With her head still faced down she looked up with just her eyes. Allen had waited for his target to face him. Marianne gave the barest nod and turned her eyes back down by way of apology. "This one is a lot sharper than his father was, or I've lost my touch. Damn."

But Marianne was hard to keep down. She went back to her purse and 'rummaged'. Rachel noticed and thought Marianne was checking tissue supply, and suspected another tearjerker was in the works. In reality, Marianne was using the shorthand finger-pad on her SatCom. Allen saw the receiver light blink and punched up 'polarized' mode that only allowed the person directly in front of the PC screen to see what was on it. "Sorry, won't happen again. Trying to make an honest woman out of me? Are we still a team?" Allen's smile forgave her, his wink reassured her. The other men were ending their short interchange, never realizing that dynamics of their little group had just permanently changed.

Vanessa had eavesdropped on the messages, but decided to just keep things to herself.

"Ryan, may I continue?" Ryan gave the 'go ahead' with his right hand. "Last night, I used 'Vanessa/Mary's' picture for a search in the Mormon files. Here's what I got back." Removing a readout on Mormon letterhead from his shirt pocket, he handed it to Ryan. There were two responses of high probability matches from Allen's inquiry. One listed Vanessa Fitzgalen, and the other...

"Of course, Mary Safford." said Gustav. "They would be identical twins as far as the data base would be concerned. Wait a minute! Wouldn't that set off some kind of red flag in their system? Two people can't be identical and not related. Why wouldn't they have investigated? Did they investigate? What happened here?" Gustav was getting a little tired of that Cheshire Cat grin on Allen's face. Ryan was slowly getting used to it. It helped that this smiling cat had been pulling up one prize mouse after another.

"No, because with the Mormon base, there has to be identical information across the board for a red flag to initiate a findings review. That mainly occurs with accidental duplicate entries, say like two distant relatives who didn't know they were both accessing the system regarding the same person but are entering a slightly different name spelling. Also, some things can and do change, so forgiveness is programmed in for eye color, hairstyle, and weight variation. There was one significant difference between the Mary of record before she became brain dead and the Vanessa who took over after the transference. By the way, that difference became less critical a defining item within a decade after said transference.

Everyone else sat there with a perplexed look. Ryan was the first to smile. He might have gotten it eventually, for he had the closest experience with Mary and Vanessa. He didn't admit to the others that he had gotten by with a little help from his friend.

" _Hey, Lover, have you forgotten our first night together alone?"_

The look on Ryan's face let Marianne be the second to comprehend. She knew Ryan well, she was a woman, and she was a master of details. "Oooohhh". Rachel caught the tone and snickered.

Gustav was unhappily perplexed at everyone else who had a knowing look, thinking, "While I sit here, a lawyer for Christ's sake, in the goddam dark!" Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. "I am giving you fair warning of a 'cruel and unusual punishment' suit against the present company unless you immediately remand to me the answer you all seem to share, while I sit here stewing in my ignorant juices!"

Ryan, smiling, said, "Allen, this is your show. Won't you do 'the honors'? Gustav, ten dollars says you're going to kick yourself."

"Councilor, for two points..."

" _Ooof!"_

"...what procedure did Mary Safford go to Barnes Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri, to have performed?"

" _Ooooh, he's going to milk this one nicely. Isn't it fun when a lawyer gets his own medicine?"_

Comprehension dawned, laced with embarrassment. Gustav's eyebrows furrowed, then raised as his mouth silently opened, followed by a satisfying (to Allen) scrunching of facial features at how simple the answer was. He then pulled out his wallet and handed a ten-dollar bill over to Ryan, who gleefully pocketed his ill-gotten gain. Later that night, in the hotel, Ryan returned the money in a fit of conscience, confessing to his best friend that Vanessa had cheated and told him the answer. Gustav laughed at that and could only shake his head. "It doesn't seem possible, Ryan, that two old boobs couldn't remember two young ones."

But Allen wasn't finished with his revenge, not by a long shot. "There's more, folks. I'm booting up a program now that will allow Ryan to recreate Vanessa's true image. It's used by the police for identifying suspects or victims. I didn't have the info needed to research Vanessa and, even if Ryan can provide it, there's the possibility that her previous identity is not in the database. Depends on how long ago she lived and on whether her description or pictures were entered into mass media

"We'll get to that in a minute. For grins, I did some more research on the men in the Yankee squad before turning in. There weren't any direct descendents from Col. Archibald Edwards that survived. I only had two of the Yanks' names to work with, so it didn't take long. Major Covington was childless, but private Benjamin Cooper, well...".

Allen disabled the privacy polarization mode, then punched up the image of Private Elijah Cooper. The image quality showed that the photograph had been taken with equipment typical of the time. There was a young soldier sitting with a young woman behind him. "The woman is Catherine Cooper, formerly Catherine Periwinkle Haskins. I looked up their descendents and found a great grandchild that could be of immense importance to us." Allen pushed the advance and the schematic of squares and circles had the highlighting bar drop one level. He did it again, and then one more time. He highlighted then a particular square, and then punched 'enter'. Allen's revenge on Ryan was complete. There, on the screen, was the same picture of Ryan that had been on another screen the night before. Even Vanessa was shocked into silence...a rarity. Ryan leaned back in his chair with a stunned look on his face, which didn't change a lick when he reached into his jacket pocket, took his white handkerchief, attached it to his Cross pen and waved it in the air.

You couldn't keep Vanessa agog for long, though. She leaned over to Ryan's ear, though it was unnecessary as only he could hear her. Still, it was an action that communicated affection and privacy and so seemed right to do. She whispered lovingly to Ryan in a slightly husky voice, _"The circle is now complete. Once you were the master and he but the learner. Your powers are weak, old man...(giggle)."_

Ryan may be going down in defeat, but he was going to take the whelp with him. "Gustav, avenge me." Gustav recovered his own wits enough to hand Allen an envelope. Rachel scooted over next to her son as he opened it, and both gaped at the document.

"I'm a CEO? 'Hawthorn Enterprises'?"

Chapter 12 – IMAGES and REFLECTIONS

"Private Elijah Cooper. All this time...son of a bitch! I've been riding next to Great Granddad Elijah. Eight generations represented, only three accounted for." His family had never been interested in roots, though he did recall his father telling him something about Great Granddad Elijah having fought in the Civil War. There wasn't more said about it than that and Ryan had never pursued it. There were too many other more interesting (to him) pursuits; scholastics, girls and the Navy were more than enough to occupy anyone's mind to the fullest. He didn't even recall the name 'Cooper' ever being used. No wonder he hadn't caught on earlier. As Ryan reflected on old memories, smiling, sometimes gently shaking his head, his friends watched respectfully, correctly assuming that the man was taking a needed break down memory lane. Ryan came back to present-time consciousness and said, "Thank you, Allen. Now, would you show me how this ID program works?"

Everyone scooted over. The executive island had something like encircled couch sections. Each section had a seat belt, a head rest and the standard hatch where an oxygen mask would pop out to keep someone alive long enough to enjoy a crash landing. The picture of Vanessa/ Mary that had been scanned in before came up on the screen. The program had produced a three-dimensional character that was slowly rotating. When a function was used, the figure temporarily stopped rotating and assumed either a side or frontal pose (or both on a split screen), depending on the wishes of the user.

"We'll start with this. It'll take less time than starting from scratch. Ryan, you said somewhere along the line that there was some resemblance between Mary and Vanessa. You take the cursor and click the area you want to change."

Ryan tapped on 'Hair'. A menu popped up and gave 'Options': 'Color', 'Style', 'Course/Fine'. He tapped the first and a spectrum bar showed up above the figure of Mary/Vanessa. Ryan took the cursor and placed it on the bar. He could move it right and left and, as he did so, the color of the hair changed. When he had come to 'Light Brunette', he tapped again, assuming this would lock in the choice. It did. Next was 'Style'. Vanessa's spiritual presentation was hopefully what it was when she was first alive. Ryan hoped that Vanessa hadn't unconsciously made changes somehow to better please herself, or him. The next item was 'Length', followed with variations on 'Presentation'. Those were locked onto a mid-shoulder length with 'Light Wave'.

'Thickness' caused Rachel to comment; "Must have been hard to get the soap out." Satisfied with the hair, Ryan clicked on 'Eyes'. A box appeared superimposed over the face that amplified the eye and nose bridge to three times the size. He changed 'Color' from 'Sky Blue' to 'Hazel' with a core of green near the center. Vanessa assisted by staying right in front of Ryan to the side of the table and screen. The shape of the eyes and their distance from the bridge of the nose were altered next. 'Brows' were changed to be a little longer and thicker.

"I probably hated plucking. It was bad enough with Mary's body."

The nose was made narrower, the lips fuller. Each change was minor, but you could see that the person on the screen wasn't Mary, anymore. In a brief fit of evil, Ryan changed 'Bust' to 'Double D', followed immediately by an "ouch" and a hand held over a reddening ear. "All right, all right, just a little wishful thinking. OUCH!" The other ear was now red.

Marianne said, "Men!"

Rachel responded seamlessly, "They're all alike."

Correcting to 'C' with no additional ear-raids, he went on. Variations on 'Breasts' offered by the program would keep a male adolescent agog for months. That feature had been originally designed for professional use when breasts were removed surgically for cancer treatment. It also assisted with tailoring bra padding and, later, was utilized in surgical reconstruction planning. Ryan had to go 'best guess', as Vanessa's front was always covered (do ghosts wear bras?). She tried to help, but Vanessa had no recall of ever seeing that aspect of herself other than by looking down. It was slightly embarrassing for Ryan to focus that aspect of the love of his life before a group of people, friends or not.

Next step was to shorten 'Height' by three centimeters and widening 'Hips' a full size level.

" _Sigh, a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. Chocolate is the tool of the Devil."_

Ryan made a few more adjustments and stopped. The figure was still dressed as Vanessa/Mary, though Allen assured him that clothing style didn't matter for the ID part of the project. But Ryan wanted to jog Vanessa's memory. Clothes, he had said yesterday, were powerful statements of self. The woman on the screen was dressed as Vanessa was in her second life. He hit 'Apparel' and, with the ladies help on style types, made a pretty good approximation as to how the first Vanessa was dressed. There was an additional benefit in that the style could be researched on a side-program, which said that hers was popular in the early 1930's.

Gustav looked at Ryan. "Well?"

"She's looking and, seems puzzled. She's not seen herself since before she first died. No reflecting in mirrors, you know." Ryan's ears were still smarting, so no comparison to vampires was ventured. Besides, this was not a time for levity, given how much this meant to his beloved soul mate. It was quiet for a long time. She looked at Ryan and began speaking. Ryan whispered to the others during her pauses what he had heard.

" _I'm getting impressions of things, sounds that are just beyond making out. There are voices in the distance, adult and children, I think. I see, windows? Tall walls, with windows. Shadows quickly moving about, small ones and big ones. There's a flickering of light."_ Then she stopped. Ryan could tell she was doing her best to concentrate, but like a dream, the harder she tried the more she pushed memory into the mists.

Finally the others heard Ryan say, "Give it a break, Sweetheart. There are clues there that Allen can use. He'll get it. You just have to be patient. Now calm down, it's all right. You will know. I swear to you, you will find out who you are. We'll do this together, with everyone's help. Please, don't cry, Baby, don't cry." Ryan's own eyes were misting up. The others could see the frustration in his face that he couldn't hold his Vanessa and comfort her as he desired to with all his heart. He could only speak to her, look at her and be there for her. That would have to be enough.

The announcement came over the speaker that they would be landing in Savannah in ten minutes.

Rachel thought Ryan must have an obsession/compulsion for limos and spending money. The business must be doing well in order for him to afford primo-transport everywhere and (from what Marianne says) eating out almost every meal. Mr. Fitzgalen may be a man of many talents, but cooking must not be one of them.

What a roller coaster! She hadn't cried so much since Carl had died. She hadn't laughed so much since he was alive. Thinking back to those times was becoming too frequent, and it wasn't helping her temper with Frank. There was a nagging in her mind that she was doing something wrong; probably Angel again. Luckily, (she didn't like being morally lectured to) Cat was dominating the main stage, lately. Cat liked variety and, with curiosity natural for her, loved mysteries. Speaking of which, she wondered what it was that had made Marianne blush earlier on the plane. She had asked her about it on arrival at the airport restroom, but found her evasive. She thought, "What was on her mind? She's too old to be attracted to Allen, isn't she? She'd be more interested in someone Frank's age. "I wonder if she would be interested in Frank?"

Cat had gone too far. Angel forced herself into the main stage spotlight to give a good stern lecture on sacredness of wedding vows, staying out of the matchmaking business and yadda, yadda, yadda. Cat lay down and flattened her ears for the duration. She was only kidding, wasn't she?

Gustav was mentally wandering, looking at the countryside as they left Savannah and headed west. Red clay country. That stuff gets in your clothes and you might as well throw them away. Clay was a bear to get out.

They were going to confront Mad Annie again. That spirit was truly mad. Well, her daytime part was. He had done research into treatment of insanity but most of the protocols just wouldn't fit this situation. Exorcism might be a better bet, but Annie wasn't evil, just mad and only half the time at that. He had discussed things with Ryan, who passed the ideas onto Annie via Vanessa both during the day, or night, depending on whether he wanted to help or to mislead.

Ryan had once tried, personally, to present Gustav's logic to Mad Annie, laying it out like a legal brief. Her husband died honorably and bravely, as did many on both sides of the Mason-Dixon. No one was evil for having pulled the trigger of the rifle that killed Col. Archibald I Edwards. Knowing the accuracy of the non-rifled barrels in those days, the person who shot Archibald was probably aiming at someone else and hit the Major by accident. It could have just as easily been a Reb's bullet as a Yank's. There was no cause for revenge there, just sadness. The Union Cavalry that trampled Annie's two children were not evil and did not deserve punishment. It was an accident. The children were playing behind shrubs and could not be seen by the riders. Sad, but not malevolent. Those men had been punished many times over for something that didn't deserve punishment. Her anger over General Sherman's swath of destruction was understandable, but this was war. Shortly after the 'March to the Sea', Sherman turned his forces north to do more damage, but the war was soon there after ended. Sherman may be vilified or praised for doing a difficult deed that seemed wicked in the short run but heroic in the long run. Kind of like the bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. That ugly and obscene destruction avoided an Allied beachhead invasion that would have been likely the bloodiest event of that particular war. The men she daily tortured didn't decide to start the Civil War, nor did they decide on the course of southern scorched earth. They just followed orders - like the Nazi's.

Where did that come from? Down deep in his brain rested his counterpart to Rachel's 'Cat'. This one he called Rommel, famous for appearing quickly, getting his digs in, and then disappearing. Rommel was hard to catch, but he always left a mark. Kind of like graffiti artists.

Anyway, cutting to the chase, Mad Annie heard the words he had given to Ryan but none of them made much of a difference. She had responded that the North had no business being down there in the first place. It was their invasion, not the South's. After all, her home was in the South. If the Yanks had stayed where they belonged then none of this tragedy would have happened. On top of that, what made Ryan think that her husband or children were dead, anyway?

Madness did not necessarily follow logic, but it always had a clear goal. How it was accomplished was often not accessible to moralization or discussion. The connection to the decision maker in a mad person's brain didn't allow much throughput from the logic centers, or the ears and eyes.

What was Annie's goal? 'Revenge' would sum it up. How do you get revenge? Punish the perpetrators. Were those men perpetrators? Yes, to a degree. That was the difficult part of it. Annie's mania for revenge on those responsible for her misery had a seed of truth in it. That is all someone needs to start a snowball downhill and it never takes that long for it to become an unstoppable avalanche. Unlike the literal analogy, though, the one who started the figurative snowball almost always got caught up in their own avalanche. Hitler had found that out.

"Damn you, Rommel!"

Marianne remembered school. She got bored a lot, being a very bright child. Homework assignments were beneath someone of her talents. Often she would just skip them. It usually didn't make much of a difference as she could ace the tests, leaving her with a lot of high C's and low B's. Her parents were at their wits end trying to find out why she kept missing assignments. There were teacher's meetings, councilor meetings, and promises to do better. Promises she made that were seldom kept. She winced when she remembered how much extra effort and heartbreak her self-centeredness had caused those she cared for.

Deja vu. She had been eavesdropping and snooping, throwing a moral (this time respect for personal privacy of guests in her own house) to the wind in the interest of her own expediency.

There was that day Dad told her that her favorite band was playing at Ulster Performing Arts Theater. It's funny, but she could not now recall which band. She was all dressed up and ready to go, coming downstairs for the promised ride and ticket. Her father was sitting at the kitchen table. She was fifteen then. She said she was ready to go. He just kept reading. She had gotten more and more impatient, not wanting to be late. She had even made a sign to hold up. Her father didn't move and her mother was in the kitchen doing dishes, silent. Finally she asked if he was going to take her or not and she could see the extreme sadness in his eyes, those eyes that hated to see his only daughter hurt. He just said, "No."

She blew up, big time. She raged at how he had given his word, that she had planned on this for a week, how badly he had hurt her and how could he do that to someone he loved, and on, and on. Dad just sat there looking three seconds from crying, which is saying a lot for a Sicilian. It took a while for her to regain some rationality and when she had fallen silent her father quietly said: "Never forget, Marianne, how badly lies hurt ones who love you." She quietly turned around, went to her room and proceeded to soak her pillow out of anger and shame. Marianne recalled her history teacher once saying that if there was one thing we can learn from history, is that we don't learn from history. "So true, Mrs. Perkins, so true."

Allen looked again at the picture Ryan had formed on his PC. Vanessa, her real self, was beautiful. She wasn't stunning or breath taking, but she could certainly be called beautiful. Who was she? Looked to be in her early twenties, he supposed, but didn't know if women aged differently in the early 1900's. He wondered at how wearing one dress for all those decades must have chafed Vanessa, what with female inclinations to style changes. Nothing Allen or Ryan could give her would stay on. He smiled at what that thought might do for Ryan. "Better not. He's got two red ears already," he thought.

Ryan liked the smell of Georgia. It had become a second home state, thanks to Annie. Strange how coincidences occurred. What was the word? Serendipity? Synchronicity? Was it fate that Private Elijah Cooper was his great grandfather? Was Vanessa sent to him somehow, by forces unseen, to draw him to rescue his kith and kin? It was always a slightly frightening thought to realize that you may NOT be the master of your fate, but were guided like a puppet with unseen strings. This was getting into predestination, of powers maneuvering people-pawns for unseen ends beyond mortal comprehension. How can you prove or disprove the supernatural?

Ryan held the personal belief that free will did exist. God was not a being of preplanned manipulation of all events, for Ryan couldn't conceive of any Heavenly purpose to tragedies he had witnessed. Rather, he thought, God was a being of conciliation, support, wisdom and grace. There wasn't a purpose engineered into a tragedy, but it was a person's obligation to his or her maker to rise above tragedy.

He remembered Phillip. Gustav was in the hospital with a gall bladder attack five years ago. While there, Ryan had come across a child with treatment-resistant leukemia. Medicine had made advances against the disease, but this form was stubborn and remorseless. He spent time with the boy, one evening, while Gustav slept. Like many others in that sad state, Phillip was more concerned about his family than himself. Here was a child whom fate had decreed would never have his first date, marry, see his first-born walk, or conquer his adult personal mountains. It wasn't fair, but fairness was not in life's contract. You are born, you live, and you die. That's the only guarantee. Phillip had talked for hours with Ryan. The parents had welcomed the break in the routine that was tearing them apart. Phillip seemed to connect with Ryan, for he was someone who had perspective of what happened after death. That subject wasn't broached specifically, but it gave Phillip an ease of heart when they talked. The child could sense the forced conversation and false cheer from parents, schoolmates and family members. Since the boy's time on earth was short, Ryan had chosen to take Phillip into his confidence. If Phillip could not live a full 'four score and ten', then Ryan could at least share his life where his time cup had 'runneth over'.

Phillip marveled at the wonders of Ryan's life. No attention deficit with this boy, perhaps because he instinctively knew that he hadn't much time to waste. Phillip passed away two days later. Even more sadly and all too typical, the strain of the loss eventually destroyed Phillip's parents' marriage.

That boy had given back to Ryan far more than he had received. Phillip was a shooting star, burning brightly for a short period of time and blessing many with a glimpse of a grace and beauty that far exceeded what long-lived mortals offer in the Passion Play. Of all his encounters, the few hours spent with Phillip had made that boy one of the most precious friends and experiences he ever had.

Phillip had made Ryan feel old, slow and pale by comparison. Then, he smiled to think that, as before with Allen, Phillip was the perfect master and Ryan but the apprentice. It had taken a great many years to teach Ryan that age has nothing to do with being a teacher.

Vanessa could be where ever she chose to be, instantly, as long as she had been there before at least once. Travel was cheap and quick for spirits. Maybe that was where they got the term 'the quick and the dead'.

The experience of seeing herself on the PC screen had picked open a scab and let out fragments of clotted memory. "Yuchh." Why would she pick such thoughts to describe her recent memory glimpse? What could have been so bad that it would cause her to erase those memories? Would they be best left buried? If they were buried, was that why she had never crossed over? She looked at Ryan and knew that she didn't want to cross over, not vet. Then she looked again at the image of her self that Allen had left as a screen saver. Not knowing who she was had torn her apart for so long. She had to know.

Chapter 13 – VANESSA

The limo pulled up at the Milledgeville Marriott Hotel, where they had a five-room suite on the top floor. Allen felt gratitude to those equatorially-challenged men and women of the Maine Course, whose hard earned dollars were being used to make his life like that of a billionaire's. He didn't view his family as poor by any standard, but this was a quantum leap beyond what he was used to. Before leaving Savannah, they had made a quick detour to a couple of upscale clothing stores and picked out a few outfits each to match the upscale thermometer readings (compared to the Empire State).

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have an hour to tidy up and change. Remember to pull off the tags, lest the locals mistake us for descendents of Minnie Pearl. We will meet down in the bar adjacent to the hotel restaurant. All bills will be charged to the suite. See you soon!" Gustav repeated his heel click, then made an about-face and went into his room. The others followed suit. The clothes had been brought by the porters and hung up in the correct rooms.

Rachel and Marianne had both chosen comfortable but professional-looking skirt, blouse and lightweight jacket combinations. Ryan arrived at the bar with khaki pants and sports shirt. Allen went for a more collegiate look wearing Chinos and a conservative dress shirt. Gustav showed up as he always did.

Ryan said, "Gustav was born in a professional suit and will die in same. Some day, Gustav, we are going to leave you stranded with no money and just Bermuda shorts, sandals and a paisley shirt." The image got the girls to laughing and Allen couldn't suppress a snicker. The ladies stage-whispered to each other that Gustav's legs had probably never seen the sun.

"Indeed, Master Ryan? I am putting you on notice that I might just surprise you, someday. Now, if you are through being the world's oldest child, I want to go over some ideas for our mature and considered approaches to the Annie question."

They began. With the input and fresh ideas of the two new members, a new excitement was being generated. "Allen," said Ryan, "...we can do this! Forget one or three soldiers redeemed. This could mean half of them, or more! Maybe ALL of them!" It was a grand scheme, elements of it had been tried before, but not all of them and none of them on a scale like this. Everyone had a part to play and Vanessa had one of the most important. Ryan told the others that Vanessa was there, listening, and liked the idea. Then Ryan's expression showed him looking into space and seeming concerned. He saw Vanessa's face changing from eager to puzzled, to troubled, to, fear? Then, she seemed to shake it off.

It was getting late. Dinner was excellent, and plans were coming along. Ryan and Gustav had retired to the latter's room and had begun calling contacts with several re-enactment societies Ryan had made over the years. Working at the Edwards Homestead had introduced him to several groups. His contributions to the historical societies had also gotten him an 'in' with influential people in the right places. Political influence had been part of his agenda over the decades, not for power, but for expediency. The possibilities had galvanized them into feverish action. There was so much to do in order to pull this off.

The women had gone into Marianne's room and were busy with plans of their own. They were 'mother hens', as the men now called them. Sexist, but correct. They managed, nurtured and looked ahead to see what bumps might exist down the pike in order to be prepared for them. They spoke of the office and the needs there, of Allen's education and specific steps that had to be taken to get his degree and still keep Hawthorn a business name. There was time to speak of widowhood and apply mutual balm to old heart-sore areas. Marianne had to remind Rachel of her promise to call home. When she did call, Frank seemed supportive but, for the lack of a better word, formal. Afterwards, "Marianne, why didn't you re-marry? I mean, you are a great catch in anyone's book. You're successful, competent, very attractive, super intelligent...

"ENOUGH already. Leave my hat size where it is. After Mike died, I knew I couldn't feel that way about another man, at least not for a long while. I threw myself into my job with Gustav, Ryan and yes, with Carl for a short time. Those three people gave me more affection, respect and appreciation than all my previous bosses combined. The work was so fulfilling that I looked forward to Mondays despite having often worked the weekend as well. I am well paid, but would do this pay or no pay. The work is so important and I help make it possible."

"I can see that. It's incredible how you can handle by yourself what other places would need a staff of three to barely keep up with. It makes me wonder what good I'm going to be."

"Sister Mary Rachel, Mother Superior Marianne will not tolerate that. You have gifts to bring to the table that I can only envy. Those will manifest themselves in time; just do what you have been doing and it will turn out wonderfully." Rachel hoped Marianne was right.

Vanessa had gone to see Annie. She had told her about her 'progress'. Annie seemed happy for her friend and encouraged her as best she could. _"Not to worry child, not to worry. You will know your family, someday. Let me show you some pictures of my own. They get new ones, so to speak, from museums that find pictures or articles about my home in attics, basements, and old steamer trunks from time to time."_ They walked through, literally, the door and over to the gallery of photographs located along the main hallway. There were pictures of Southern soldiers on the front steps, of Annie and Archibald, of horses, crops, cows, slaves. Slaves? Vanessa stopped and looked at one picture in particular of slaves and their children. _"Something catch your eye, Dear?"_

" _Annie, tell me about this picture, please."_

Annie looked at the eight by ten frame, closed her eyes and remembered. _"We had five families of slaves on the farm, totaling thirty two people in all. Archibald never separated a family at the slave auctions. He said it was because they would work harder by encouraging each other and would be less likely to run off. That kind of talk was just for our neighbors, who weren't so kind as Archibald was. Truth was he was a family man, a Christian man, and that was that. The Old Testament tells us to be good to our slaves. No, really, it's in there. Have your new smart kid look it up for you. There were thirteen adult men and twelve adult women, five of which were grandparents who mainly cooked and mended. There were seven children. There 's Josiah, Alarybeth, Annah and Sarah. Over there are Esther and Matthew. Hiding behind her mother's dress there, see her just peeking around, is Marigold."_

Vanessa could only look at them, adults and children. This meant something. Her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as she leaned forward.

Milledgeville had a current population of 21,493. up from 1998 when it was 17,917. At the time the men of Sherman's foraging party came through, it was close to 2000. It is located in Baldwin County and has the privilege of being the county seat, giving it more than its share of lawyers. Indeed, one of the historical attractions was the Old Governor's Mansion; an 1839 Greek-revival mansion that was home to the Peach State's governors from 1839 to 1868. Milledgeville is northeast of Macon and is accessible via highway 441 between Eatonton and Hardwick. It's a scenic city, resting on the shores of the Oconee River. All this, Rachel had read in a small brochure, put out by the Chamber of Commerce, that the front desk had offered to new visitors.

It was big enough to offer most of the cultural amenities the South was famous for, from cuisine to Dixieland jazz. It was small enough to keep the flavor of the South, which meant southern hospitality. The others had been there, many times, but Rachel and Allen were new to this way of life. At first, all the smiles, drawls, and 'chewing the fat' with complete strangers was cultural shock, but that wore off as they acclimated to the Southern pace. Ryan told them that he thought the difference in openness and helpfulness was that the South had its roots in agriculture. It was a much more cooperative and community-oriented lifestyle as compared to the depersonalizing industrial North, where competition was king. Also, the heat slowed things down. People weren't in such a hurry because it was so bloody hot much of the time.

They were taking a mental break the day following their arrival, strolling about the Lockerly Arboretum; forty-five acres of gardens, trails, and forest. Allen had opted out in favor of some alone time to do some more research. Two hundred years ago uniformed men were in these woods seeking to end each other's lives. It was a sobering thought.

Rachel asked, "So if you dislike the cold so much, why do you live and work there? Why not move down here?"

Gustav chimed in with, "Atta girl! We've been pushing for just that for years. My bones don't like New York winters, I'll tell you that! How about it, Boss? Time to seek a new office anyway, what with the new recruits coming in." Rachel stopped for a moment. She had begun to feel so much a part of this reformed team and now realized her suggestion would serve to break it up before it started. Her home was up north, with her husband and his children. Rachel's mind was busy enough not to notice the word 'his'. Cat, however, never missed goodies like that.

Ryan eased her fears for the moment. "All in good time, people, all in good time."

" _All in good time, my pretty, all in good time. Dorothy here is afraid to leave Kansas. if you didn't notice."_

Ryan's face wrinkled in that pattern that Rachel had come to know as a jibe response. "Let me guess, Wizard of Oz?" Ryan looked in mild surprise. Rachel was getting very astute of his mannerisms. That was both a little frightening to a man who valued privacy and warming to that same man who felt alone in his uniqueness and responsibilities. Men seldom lose the boy. The boy seldom loses a desire to be mothered.

"You're getting to know me too well. Men must have their mystery or lose their mastery, you know. Vanessa has always been fascinated with the entertainment industry and is a walking reference chip on movie quotes."

It seemed awkward to Rachel to speak of Vanessa, as if she wasn't there, with someone for whom she was almost always there. Marianne sensed Rachel's awkwardness and decided for a tactical change of topic. "That Allen of yours is one bright kid with a lot of other qualities to boot. No wonder 'prom queen' had her hooks into him. You know, I'll bet no one ever had the nerve to rain on her picnic before. Sometimes you can be too pretty. I've read that the more beautiful you are according to local MALE standards (the men couldn't miss the emphasis, and wisely chose to let it pass), the more likely you are to go through multiple divorces, drink, take drugs and seek professional psychological help. Ever hear Hollywood marriage/divorce stats? Beauty opens doors, too often the wrong ones. You know, I think Allen just might have shocked that lady into some sense. What do you bet she's hooked on Allen all the more now that he's the only male whom she can't get with primping, wheedling, or alligator tears?"

Rachel smiled and echoed with, "What you want the most is often what is denied you if you're adolescent enough. Maybe Melissa will grow up some. We'll see. She's not a bad kid, really" Taking on her best drawl, she added; "Jes needs a hick'ry switch to her backsides."

Gustav looked in admiration. "Not bad, Mrs. Gladstone. You have a knack for idioms."

The team (minus one) walked out of the Arboretum entrance and continued their stroll along the streets of Milledgeville. Down a side street from Clark Avenue, there was a 'to-do' going on. The Faith Baptist Church was having a penny-social this afternoon. It was a black church, which was both a sad and happy thing.

Marianne said, "All these years and still we see places of worship being defined by skin color. Most churches welcome anyone of any color, but still gravitate to 'us and them'. But you know, I like going to black churches, sometimes. Their enthusiasm and liveliness is so refreshing and makes my own Pastor seem sleepy. And the way they sing, I could just listen to it all day long."

On the lawn were tables with craftsy items the parishioners had sewn, carved or otherwise created. There were quilts, doilies, trivets, needlepoint masterpieces, donated handmade furniture, picture frames, and a thousand other things.

Ryan liked nautical trivia, nostalgic for his Navy roots, and picked up an antimacassar. "You know the history behind this thing?"

Gustav looked up. "Historical doilies? Humbug." The ladies were interested though, getting into shopping mode.

Ryan pontificated, lecturing, "During the days of wooden ships, sailors would climb the rigging; a dangerous affair and you wouldn't take chances you didn't have to take. Loose hair whipping about in the breeze could blind you or get caught on something. The men would tie their hair back and use a heavy oil called 'macasser' to keep the ponytail from flapping. When they came to port, the Madams of local houses of ill repute welcomed sailor money, but were disgruntled over the stains sailor hair left on their fine furniture. One enterprising Madam took a doily off a vase stand and placed it on a chair. Thus was born the 'anti-macasser'. Both women wrote that particular item off the shopping list. Gustav, however, took the one Ryan was holding and purchased it. He smiled at the look the ladies gave him and said, "Hey, you never know." Two responding furrowed brows gave him a most satisfying reason to chuckle. Their comment on the scarcity of his hair supply to put any oil into didn't seem as funny.

There was a sign indicating more for sale inside the church (including baked goods), plus a children's choir. The four walked into the church, drawn to the sweet voices, the sweet smells and the shade. Ryan looked around and stopped cold. The suddenness of his reaction reined in the other three. Ryan was staring at the church entryway, where people were coming and going, but his eyes remained on a fixed location. They heard him whisper, "Vanessa?"

Vanessa had been strolling about, looking longingly at items made by mortal hands. It was times like this when her desire to go back to heartbeat and breath was strongest. Maybe it was that frame of mind that began to bring back some of the misty visions and sounds from that morning on the plane. Yet, beyond those troubled voices from the void were happier sounds of music and of children. It seemed so tantalizingly familiar to hear cherubic voices gathered in song. Vanessa stiffened. Those musical voices were not just from memory. They were real. She turned slowly and saw the others walking into the church.

" _No."_ Her mind wanted to follow her Love, but her feet wanted to flee. Something inside began to knot up. Step by step, she forced herself to approach the church stairs.

" _NO."_ Up the steps she went, feeling none of them but walking because it was a habit learned long ago. She stood in the doorway and stopped, staring at the children's choir, their smiling dark faces and big dark eyes sparkling, dressed in their Sunday best and raising their cherub (?!) voices to God. Was it hot in there?

" _NO! NO!"_ A great turmoil and fear flamed up inside her. She had to get out, get away. Why? There wasn't time to find out. She had to leave NOW!

Marianne took Ryan's hand. Rachel took his other arm and got him to sit down. He looked more than upset. Marianne spoke in a calming, gentle, mothering tone, "Ryan, what happened? You look awful."

He was sitting sideways on a pew, eyes still fixed on the doorway. Ryan looked at Marianne with a very worried face. "I don't know. Vanessa had stopped at the doorway and looked frightened out of her wits. She screamed 'no' a couple of times, then vanished, just vanished. Didn't even take the time to turn around and run. She just vanished. I've never seen her do that before. What could possibly have happened to make her do that?"

Allen was busy downloading a file he had found. There she was in a Selma Tribune obituary! Vanessa Mary Blankenship. That was her name. It had to be. Age at death was right. Year was right as far as her dress vintage. But where was the picture?

The Mormon search engine he used was based on the picture he had submitted so there had to be a picture. So, where was it? He began paging to the end of the newspaper edition referred to in the Mormon reference hit list. Nothing in National, Sports, Lifestyles and the last section had Classifieds and Comics (only a couple of strips, back then). Then he went back to the obits.

"Vanessa Mary Blankenship; born November 22nd, 1905 in Tampa, Florida, died August 14th, 1932. Survived by her parents, one brother, several cousins and a niece. Services will be held August 16th at the First Emmanuel Lutheran Church at 1 pm, closed casket. Funeral will be followed by graveside services at the Saving Grace Graveyard at 4pm."

That was it. No occupation, no cause of death, and NO PICTURE. Funny, there were a LOT of obituaries, he noticed. Two whole pages of them? All ages. None with a listed cause of death. What had happened? He paged back. The front page had two pictures, but at this magnification there wasn't much resolution. The headline was readable though. "HOLY PATH CHURCH BURNED TO THE GROUND". He clicked on the main picture at the center top of page one. 'Burned to the ground' was right! Only things left were cinders and blackened studs that reached up like a rib cage. There were some people in the rubble, looking like they were searching.

Oh God, for people? There wouldn't be much to find. That place must have been like a crematorium. That's when it hit him; 'closed casket'. Oh no. He magnified the article and read: "Holy Path Community Evangelical Church was burned down last night. The tragedy occurred during a Sunday evening social and worship service. Cause of the fire is under investigation. Two suspects are being held at the county morgue. Both are male adults and both apparently died of gunshot wounds. Estimates of the loss of lives due to the fire are given at fifty-six, including thirteen children. One of the adults lost to the fire was a local school teacher who served as the church's 'cherub choir' director, Miss Vanessa Mary Blankenship." There was more, but Allen backed off the magnification to find the other picture. There it was. He pointed and magnified it. It was she! He printed it. It was the twin to the one Ryan had created.

That was it! That was what she had pushed out of her memory. Holy shit! She wants to know her past, but this? What must it have been like? Allen shuddered. Ryan has to know. How the hell was Ryan going to break this to Vanessa? What would happen? "Oh – My – God."

He went to the kitchen to grab a beer. Allen didn't drink beer often, but Gustav had laid in a supply of his favorite German lager into the suite fridge and Allen felt the need to steady himself. That's when he heard the door open. Ryan didn't look so good and everyone else looked worried. Allen's news wasn't going to cheer up anyone.

For years, Vanessa had two people she naturally went to for shelter and comfort. The first was Ryan. No matter where he was, she could find him. There was a deep bond between them that served as a directional beacon. Submarine or space station, she could be at his side in a blink, yet, she had just run away from him. He was in that church and something in that church had made her flee like the fires of Hell were reaching out to her, and, others? She felt the knowledge there, wanted it, and feared it. It was a big black void hiding a fiery monster inside. She didn't have the nerve to approach it.

The other place had been to visit Annie. But it was daytime and Annie was mad now. Still, she didn't know where else to go. In a blink, she was there at the Edwards Homestead. As always, people came and went. There was the porch she and Annie had shared so many hours of their, lives? Bloody, stupid language. Never the right words at the right time. They hadn't invented them yet, she supposed. Maybe Allen can publish a 'Departed Dictionary'. Another 'double-D' to make Ryan happy. That thought snapped her out of it. Between the joke, the thought of her Love and the glancing reference involving romance, she felt better.

Annie was standing on the porch looking north, west and at her children. She almost never left her porch, except when the soldiers came. _"Leave it to a woman to be just unpredictable enough to make others nervous."_ Vanessa thought about Jason and Rebecca, which helped distance herself from the void that still threatened to reveal itself to her. Vanessa walked to where the children were playing. From the corner of her eye she could see that Mad Annie was watching her, carefully. She had not spoken to the children before and wondered why. During the day, they had been dealing with soldiers and madness. Contacting the children seemed a kind thing to do, but when she asked Mad Annie for permission she was always met with a firm _"No"_. Ryan had insisted they obey Annie's wishes in the past, mostly out of fear for Vanessa's personal safety. Well, today she wouldn't bother with asking permission. It was time to get in touch with her inner adolescent. Might even be therapeutic. _"How do I start, though?"_ she thought. The answer that came to her was 'wing it'.

" _Hello children, what are you playing?"_ They didn't respond at first. People other than their mother hadn't spoken to them for a very, very long time. _"I used to like to play hide and seek (did I?) and jacks. What do you like to do?"_

Jason took the helm, standing between Vanessa and his sister, ashamed that this token of protection had never saved her from the soldiers. _"I'm Jason Edwards and this is my sister, Rebecca. We live here."_

A start. It pushed that void further away. _"I came from Milledgeville to visit, down the road east. I like your farm . Do you like it here?"_

Jason balked. It would be polite to say yes, but a lie is a lie. Rebecca hadn't developed such propriety yet and the opportunity to actually speak to someone besides Jason was irresistible. _"NO, we HATE it. Mom won't leave until Daddy comes home. I don't want to be here. I want to leave. Don't you shush me, Jason. You want to leave, too."_

" _Rebecca! You be quiet. That ain't polite and Mamma won't approve."_ Jason turned back to Vanessa, _"Don't mind Rebecca, she's only just seven. I'm eight, going on nine. Dad left me to be the man of the house until he returns, so I reckon that's who you're speaking to. So, what's your name and what's your business in these parts?"_

You can't lie to a child. That much she remembered. They know, just like Penny and Patricia knew, and spirit children knew more. _"My name is Vanessa. Vanessa Fitzgalen. I'm kind of lost right now. My husband is back in town with some friends. It's kind of hard to explain. I feel very confused right now and a little frightened."_

Jason had seen grown-ups be a lot of things, but 'lost and frightened' wasn't one of them. He began to mellow a little, but Rebecca didn't need so much time. She went up to Vanessa, who was kneeling now in order to talk to them face to face, and took her hand. Vanessa started and stared. Rebecca took her hand? She could feel, in a way, Rebecca's hand in return. Jason felt funny about holding a strange woman's hand and so placed his hand on her shoulder to express his own sympathy and support. She felt that, too!

She had to tell Ryan. Right away! She had made contact with Mad Annie's children for the first time, while Annie was watching her and had lived, sort of, to tell about it.

" _Thank you, Rebecca, and you, Jason. I would like to come and visit you again soon, maybe later today, but I have to find my husband. It's very important. Would you like me to visit again?"_ Both children nodded, wondering if they had said something to offend Vanessa. But her smile was as genuine as the warmth in her eyes. They could tell she spoke the truth. If she said she would be back, she would be. They nodded again with happier expressions and Vanessa walked away, with Annie's eyes watching her like a hawk.

Rebecca said to Jason, _"Daddy told us he'd be back, too."_

Jason replied with his best logic, hoping he was right, _"He would if he could. He can't, or he would have. Missus Vanessa can, so she will. "_

Allen brought in the whole eight pack of ale. No one refused. Not knowing exactly how to broach his subject, Allen waited first to hear what had happened. Ryan's mind was in high gear, but said nothing. Marianne once said that you could tell Ryan was in think-mode when you saw his eyes open, but darting like they do in REM sleep. Now he was in desperate think mode, which she recognized by the addition of what seemed to be random head motion. She and Rachel pulled Allen aside and passed on what Ryan had said. Allen nodded. It made sense and things were becoming clearer to him with their news. Ryan and Gustav were heard to be talking now.

"Gustav, I've never seen it before. There's no reference I can use, nothing to compare it to. She may be in trouble and there's not a damn thing I can do about it!" emphasizing the point by hitting the bottle hard on the table causing a small overflow. Marianne went for paper towels; Rachel took a seat next to Ryan and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Allen stood a few feet away from Ryan and got his full attention by saying, "Sir, I know what happened, why Vanessa reacted like that."

It was a testament to the level of mental frustration Ryan was in. He didn't just blow. Ryan erupted. It wasn't at Allen in particular, just at the situation. Allen had the misfortune to have hit the trip wire of blinded anguish. Rachel felt his muscles under her hand turn to iron.

"So! Young Einstein knows all? Isn't that SPECIAL! Young fellow, I am many times your age, have seen more than you will ever dream of seeing, know that woman far better than you will ever come CLOSE to knowing and you have the GODDAM NERVE to tell me you know what the HELL is going on? Well, why don't you just illuminate us poor, old, senile farts with your infinite wisdom. GO ON, DO IT, SPEAK BOY!"

The look on Ryan's face was enough to make a prizefighter duck and cover. Those newer to Ryan were in shock. Those more familiar with him were in more shock. Never before had they seen Ryan act like this, or even come close to it. Ryan had always been the rock that everyone else could count on, hang on to, and believe in. Allen had felt a distinct call to empty his bladder and it wasn't getting any easier with time. It was a portrait. No one moved or dared to blink.

It was Ryan that ended that vision. His teeth unclenched. His knitted brows rose in dawning horror. "What have I done? Oh God, Allen, oh son, oh." That was when Ryan David Fitzgalen finally and fully broke down. The rage of the storm front was intense, but brief. Rachel felt the iron muscles melt, and saw the rain of tears that followed cleanse a powerful and sorrowful soul. His friends, now over the shock, realized that the time had come for them to be the rock to their mentor and friend. It was a mutual and simultaneous decision, unspoken and undebated. All four held Ryan in an embrace known only to comrades in arms, given to someone of their own fold in great distress. Allen had been Ryan's lightening rod. He knew that now, though the men's room still beckoned. Right now, though, Ryan's mental welfare held priority. That didn't stop him from draining his bottle, though.

The healing of touch is known to anyone who has worked with newborns or the very elderly. Anyone who has felt grief and experienced the hand of someone who cares will discover support and comfort. With Ryan, it was more. He could actually feel something from each hand, arm and head on his shoulder or back. His friends were pulling him back from a ledge. He wasn't that close to the edge, but he wasn't too far away, either.

"Thank you, dear friends, thank you. I will never be able to thank you enough. Allen, lad, I hope you will find it in your heart to..."

"OH, CAN IT, you old fart! Who do you think you are, anyway, SUPERMAN?"

Rachel whispered in that odd, musical voice that people use to delicately defuse a touchy situation, "Allennn, what are you doooinnng? Calm down son, it's OK now."

"BULLSHIT! It's not OK, Mom. Ryan, you've taken the weight of everything on your shoulders for all these years, and you're still doing it by giving everyone else token burdens. It's time you stopped being responsible for everything and recognize that we are here to do the best we can do, not for you, but with you. We are VOLUNTEERS, albeit paid ones. Maybe you do have years on us, but have you ever met an adult who was a waste of your time or a young child who taught you more in a minute than you could learn from a full professor in a day?"

That recalled Phillip to Ryan's mind. To the surprise of everyone else, who thought that the storm cloud was about to return with lightning bolts, Ryan smiled. The old man was positively beaming! "Damn straight, son! Go on, run with it."

"Right! Here's the deal. I'll give you all I've got and it's going to be wrong sometimes, but it's my best. You will treat it with a block of salt and a bucket of respect. You get what you give, right? Well, you've given all you have, so now, and I think I speak for everyone here, you'll get all we have. Do I make myself clear, you slimy, deck scrubbing, sailor squid type?"

"Aye, aye, captain!" With that, the storm was over and Allen had firmly placed himself as the second in command. The team was set, albeit incredulous at Allen's methods of therapy. So was Allen, who coined a phrase after the fact regarding the German fermented product that was a bit more powerful than what he was used to at RPI: 'Gestapo ale: brewed rude.'

"As I was saying, here is why Vanessa... Wait. Is she here?" Ryan looked around, twice. He closed his eyes, felt for her and shook his head. "Good. Look at this." He set the PC screen on the table and everyone gathered around to see the headline. Allen tapped the pad and the church picture and related article came into view. Another tap, and there was Vanessa's picture. A final tap displayed the two pages of obituaries.

There was silence for a time, and then the mother who had admonished her son to keep a civil tongue let out with a soft but heartfelt, "Shit. Ryan, what are you going to tell her? God, I hope she comes back. What if she remembers it already? If she does, why hasn't she come back? Maybe she thinks you're back at that church and is afraid to come to you. Oh, Allen. You found it, but what do we do with it?"

Ryan looked up, feeling something familiar. "We'll find out now. Here she comes, thank Heavens."

Vanessa popped into the room and stopped at the intensity of emotions that echoed in there. There was so much of it, so many kinds, and so many sources. What happened here? _"Ryan, Honey, are you alright?"_

"I'm alright, Baby, now that you're back. I was worried about you. We all were. What happened? Can you tell us?" Despite the import of her news, she caught the words 'we' and 'us'. Before, he would have said 'I' and 'me'. Something did happen here, and it took an emotional nor'easter to cause it. There was a harmony now of feelings and personalities. She looked at Allen. He was the main one who looked different, more confident, more, sexism be damned, more a man.

" _Well I'll be. Whippersnapper put Geezer in his place, did he? About time, I say. Now maybe you'll have some time for me once in a while. Perfect. I've got some romantic one-liners in reserve that will make you walk funny for a week, Love. For instance..."_

Things were going to be OK, they thought, judging by the way fearless rooster was cackling and turning a bit red in the cheeks. What they wouldn't give to hear the other end of his conversations. Ryan often reported things, but Marianne felt strongly that he would leave out the juiciest parts and keep them to himself. Men were so selfish.

With her beloved in a better mood now, Vanessa related her news. _"I went to the farm. Mad Annie was on the porch. I don't think she will leave the porch unless the soldiers are there, and mainly just to confront that awful Jed soldier. I went and talked to the children."_ Ryan's eyes lit up.

Patience be damned. Gustav said, "Mr. Fitzgalen, you VILL interpret for us as it happens or be punished. Dat is und order. Schnell!"

" _Now there's an idea. Would you like to see me in leather boots? Shall I punish you with a riding crop?"_

"For Heavens sake, Vanessa, will you stick to the point? For the rest of you, she's flirting with me again, it's none of your business on the specifics and you're all too young for this sort of stuff anyway. She talked to Annie's kids and Annie didn't leave the porch. Looks like she won't unless the Cav is there."

" _That's not all, Love. I was getting a little teary there with them and they came to me. The little girl held my hand. The little boy put his hand on my shoulder. Don't you know that that means? I can touch them, I can feel them and, by God, I can LIFT THEM UP AND CARRY THEM, IF I MUST, TO SAFETY!"_

The import of that statement stopped the interpreter from passing it on right away. The others saw the thunderstruck look, so this time they were patient. He turned to them and summed it up nicely, ending with, "Gentlemen and ladies, it's a whole new ballgame."

Allen took the reins. They had a lot of new input, but it was just loose tools that no one knew how to use yet. "Mom, will you and Marianne call for room service and send up some din-din? We need brain fuel. Ryan, I want you and Vanessa to go into your room. Get that smile off your face soldier and you go do what you have to do. Gustav and I will start getting things organized on the table."

" _Who died and made HIM boss? Oh, it was you, wasn't it? Well, OK, I approve. C'mon, Sugar, let's slip into something more comfortable."_

Ryan and Vanessa made their exit; the ladies went to the phone calculating what finger foods left the fewest stains on war maps. Allen and Gustav were moving furniture for work stations, pulling out papers and MiDi's, moving the PC and plugging in the printer that Allen had ordered up earlier. Everyone was doing what he or she was meant to do and it was a great feeling for all. Ryan, though, had his 'warm fuzzy' overshadowed by the upcoming 'cold prickly'. How was he to begin his task? He needn't have asked, for he wasn't to begin. She began.

" _Dearest, I can tell. You know; don't you? I have fragments of it, but you know what happened, who I was. It was Allen that found it, wasn't it?"_ A nod. _"Figures. He is a fine young man, though for me he'll never hold a candle to you. He's part you, you know. Now you are faced with telling me something you think will hurt me and you can't find the words, can you?"_

"Baby, I'd give the rest of my years up right now if I could just hold you. It was bad. Real bad. No wonder you pushed it away. To start off with, your whole name is Vanessa Mary Blankenship."

Vanessa held up one hand to make Ryan wait a moment. She savored that name for a minute and, without another word from Ryan, pieces began to rise to the surface, one by one, by terrible one.

The Ku Klux Klan began right after the ending of the Civil War, but died off in the 1870's. In 1915, Colonel William J. Simmons (who was also a preacher) resurrected it near Atlanta, Georgia. It stayed small until Elizabeth Tyler and Edward Clarke added their talents as publicity agents/fund-raisers to the cauldron. They used a mixture of patriotism, Old South nostalgia and the fear of the changing ethnic nature of the country. The KKK reached its nadir in the 1920's, boasting a membership of over 4 million. They had strong bias against blacks, as before, but added Roman Catholics, Jews, foreigners and organized labor. During the 1930's the Klan's membership fell, disbanding in 1944, and then began to rise again to visibility during the 1960's. Such was the stage set-up that framed a return of log suppressed memory.

" _I taught black children in a one-room school-house in Selma. Daddy was pretty upset, saying I was wasting my talents when I could easily find a good man and a much higher class school nearer to Tampa, where I grew up. He never knew that it was his intolerance and belligerence that drove me out of my home in Tampa and into a situation that I knew would send him into a rage. He hurt Mom sometimes, not physically, but he was a bully. I hated the way he ruled with an iron hand, so I left as soon as I could for teaching college._

" _The people of Selma were, for the most part, wonderful and open to me. Most really didn't hate anyone, but only wanted it to stay 'them and us'. There were others, ones who made themselves feel bigger by making others smaller. They weren't necessarily evil, just no one ever taught them any better. Most of them would give their lives to protect their young ones. They were like big spoiled kids in some ways. But they were adults, too, and that made them dangerous and unpredictable._

" _I remember the Holy Path Community Evangelical Church, how impressive it was to say. So much more than the sleepy white church down the street: the Selma Lutheran Church. I think they were a little jealous of our grander name, and our exuberance. Our church sponsored a new schoolhouse for blacks, as the old one should have been condemned. The congregation built it and maintained it on church property. They raised money for new books and decent supplies with bake sales, rummage sales, raffles and anything else they could arrange. Things were pretty tight back then, but that made it all the more wonderful when their courage and determination bore fruit._

" _There was one really obnoxious man, moron really. The type that would get a laugh out of tossing a sack of kittens into the pond and watch it sink. We would call him a psychopath. He was part of the Klan, which had the gall to preach how 'Christian' they were. He said, "The niggers were getting too uppity and, someday soon, someone would have to show them their place."_

" _I was at a 'revival and social' at the church. There was the children's choir, the 'cherub choir' we called them, and all were in their Sunday best. I was the children's choir director. You should have heard the singing, Ryan. That's what drew me into that church you were in today. It was music to save Satan himself, some would say. I can't agree with that. In the middle of Amazing Grace, one of the members heard something at the front doors. Someone jammed them all so we couldn't get out the front or back. I remember the children screaming for their mothers, running into their arms for protection. The men did their best to break down the doors, but couldn't. The windows were narrow and they began to glow. They were different colors, those little panes, so that the morning sun during services would give wonderful warm colors on the people and pews. They now glowed yellow and evil. Someone jumped from a pew to the window to kick it out, then flew backwards from a shotgun blast. I remember hearing laughter from outside, then. It got all smoky, hard to see. Parents got their kids to lie down to get out of the smoke, but it was everywhere. Crying, coughing, screaming. begging, laughing and, above it all, was the crackling of the fire as boards and timbers caught. That church was all wood and it caught like kindling. I grabbed a little girl, Natalie I think, yes, it was Natalie. She's the one that gave me a bracelet one Sunday with my first name on it. She said she liked my name. I wore it that night. I screamed out the window to take the girl, to save her. I lifted her up, but one of the timbers broke and fell on us. Things were getting dark, even though there was a burning beam across me. I think it broke my back, but didn't feel any pain. I only remember seeing Natalie lying there next to me, her eyes open, seeing nothing. Her poor little chest crushed and_ burning _. She was looking right at me, her month open like she was going to call my name. I began to scream, not in pain, but in frustration. I had to save the children, I had to, but my legs wouldn't move. It couldn't end that way and I cried to God to let me save the little ones, please, let me save them. They were His children. Don't let them die. Don't let me let them die."_

Vanessa's voice had taken on a haunting, droning, dreamy rhythm. It was, to Ryan, like a bedtime story to shake the bones of the Brothers Grimm. Vanessa's voice was too soft to describe such a tragedy, such a pogrom, such a crime against God Himself. "For he that would harm one of my little ones, it would be better for him that there be a millstone tied around his neck and he be cast into the deepest ocean." Ryan wanted to kill those men with all the viciousness of a raging, wounded, insane-with-anger lion. But, they were dead. All those men were buried, their stones likely fallen or untended in tall grass and forgotten. He wondered, "Could this be a taste of what Annie felt before she died?"

Vanessa's voice began to sound saner. _"I remember running after that, nowhere in particular, just away. I had to leave my failure, like Adam and Eve cast out because of failed promises to God. I had promised to watch over those children. No, it wasn't my fault. I know that now, but I didn't know it then. I don't know how long it was before I started thinking again, an hour, a year, maybe a decade. That bracelet was still there on my wrist. I looked at it, and read 'Vanessa'. That was how I knew my name. Everything else was a blank. I wandered many places and began to realize what I was and the tragedies of the earthbound spirits that I could see but not do anything about. That frustrated me a lot, though I never realized the real reason why. Then, one day, I felt a pull to the west. I felt drawn to you, even though I never met you. What ever happened with that experiment put your spirit in attunement with my own. I could hear your call for help. All it took was for me to close my eyes and concentrate on your cry. When I opened my eyes, I was with you on that boat._

" _I saw your body on the deck, alive, but very still. I could also see the spirit within you being torn up. Pieces of life force_ _seemed to be ripped from you as if there were invisible piranha all around you. You never knew that I had to merge with you to prevent that power from destroying you. That is why you survived and those poor animals years later did not. You weren't told, because I thought you would have been frightened, or offended. You might have felt, violated."_

The revelation that he owed his life to Vanessa deepened his love for her yet another level into his heart.

" _I could feel those forces begin eating at me, too, and took refuge within your body. Honey, together, we saved each other. The day we spent like that tuned us into each other. We can sense things about how the other feels and thinks, more than most."_

"Before you came back, I could feel that you were coming. That's not the first time, either."

" _I know. You also know that I've always had a place in my heart for children, especially those we were able to help move on. Helping children gave me more peace of mind than any of the other rescues. That may seem natural, for everyone is more protective of children, but this went farther than that. Jason and Rebecca haven't left my mind for a day since we first saw them. The children in that fire, though? Ryan, I have to go there and see if I can help them. That may be why I'm still here. Each entity we've helped knew what it was they had to do to complete their journey here, and we've always been able to find our way to helping them do it. Something in me says I have to save the children. It must be those I couldn't help in that church. Ryan, what if they're still in there, burning, trying to get out, waiting for me?"_

Ryan sat, too full of emotion to do anything. His head was spinning with implications on top of implications, with ramifications warming up in the bullpen. Going to Selma could be done, but that might put the kibosh on giving Annie's children a lift. The Civil War re-enactment event was in place. Ryan had prepared that event through generous donations with many strings attached, timing it so as to introduce Allen's (and now Rachel's) talents to the mix. Their help had restructured his plans to something far more magnificent. What would happen now? Could he leave with Vanessa and go to Selma, or would she just go on her own? Would she be back, once she had done what she needed, or were they to be without their invaluable spirit guide?

She saved his life and he never knew it. He probably owed his clairvoyance to her as well, now that he thought about it. She held him together. He had CALLED her?

Then, something harder (personally) struck him. Vanessa might leave him. The one woman who had stuck with him for so many years, who was even able to stick with him. His longevity was not eternal, for he had managed to find cumulative gray on his dome, but there was no way he could find a soul partner that would be anything more than a brief interlude, patently unfair to any woman. Vanessa was the only woman for him for more reasons than one. And now, she might be gone?!?

But how could he complain? If children were burning, they HAD to do something, and, "...and, by Heaven above, it has to be now!"

Ryan stood up and looked at Vanessa. She had stopped talking. The large void she had feared had lost much of its original fire. What now remained, smoldered. Still, it was an immense relief to know who she was, what had happened and, most important, what she had to do. With Ryan, she always had found purpose enough, but now a greater purpose faced her. She, too, was in turmoil as to what to do. How could she abandon their shared quest for her private one? Yet, to let Natalie burn for one day more, if that was what was happening; no, she couldn't do it. Now she was balanced on a razor and looked to her husband and soul mate for guidance. To her relief, he had that look of resolution she had come to know and rely on. He simply said, "Come."

Ryan walked out into the hive of activity, and then raised his hand for silence. "There has been a change of plans. I will be leaving for a day, maybe two. Vanessa will be coming with me. You must continue the work without me. One more thing. We can't count on her lifting those children out of the path of harm anymore."

That was a slap in the face to everyone and Vanessa felt horrible. She loved these people. Ryan gave the thumbnail version of what Vanessa had told him. He was on his way to Selma on the next flight and asked Allen to book him at Savannah airport. He asked Gustav to call a taxi or shuttle to pick him up STAT. It was a testimony to the strength and resilience their team had forged through previous fires that activity began immediately without recrimination or muttering. There was work to be done. The Chief was not going to be there. OK. Second in Command was there and he would take over.

Everyone had something to do and they did it. Ryan choked, but maintained the face of resolution and walked out the door. All eyes looked at his back, and Vanessa's if they could but see her, and prayed for their best fortune.

Chapter 14 – NATALIE

Ryan caught the 6:15pm American to Selma. Allen had managed to have a limo waiting for him, which warmed Ryan's heart. The driver was waiting at the entryway where arriving passengers were filing out, holding up a sign announcing 'FITZGALEN'. The driver thought it odd that his fare carried no luggage. Not even a business briefcase.

After he had opened the door for Ryan, he handed him the sign that he had used to get Ryan's attention and said, "Flip it." On the back, there was a transmitted note copy: 'We're praying for you. Love, the Fitzgalen family.' Choke, again.

" _Ditto, Love. Thank you. I don't know what else to say but, thank you."_

"We don't know what we'll be facing. I'm not sure as to where to find this place. Do you think you can remember where the church or school is, after all these years? For that matter, it probably isn't even there any more. Maybe there's a strip mall or retirement center. Maybe just woods or a graveyard. Damn."

Vanessa looked blank at that, forgetting how the landscape could change in a century or two. Could she find it? She didn't know! The driver wondered at the sanity of Mr. Fitzgalen, but allowed for a possible ear piece/phone conversation was engaged.

Ryan pulled out his SatCom, recorded his query and sent it off to Allen. Vanessa had tried her best to describe the general area to Ryan. The driver knew a lot about the city and was able to get to the vicinity using what Ryan had relayed to him. It looked so strange though. Nothing seemed familiar. Yet, Vanessa felt something. They weren't there, but they weren't far. Ryan's SatCom beeped and the message was put on the public circuit so that Vanessa could hear. "Figured you'd need some directions. Marianne said right after you left that men never ask for them until completely lost. Lost yet? I'm sending maps from that time period and some current ones, with the old Grace Church and school coordinates. Neither one currently exists. Good luck!"

The driver overheard, and asked to borrow Ryan's SatCom device for a moment. Ryan handed it over and the driver plugged it into his navigation computer. People have been known to look for anything from a good time to a grand uncle's gravesite, and the livery people were well trained. "Got it," he said and off they went. Three miles later, the limo stopped. Vanessa told Ryan that her feelings were strong.

It was near the edge of the city limits (that figured). There was a sizable middle school that looked modern. The driver played with the controls for a minute and told them, "Not there, not where the school is. Look, over there. The old church was right where that playground is." The sun was setting and the dusky sky was getting darker. Ryan asked the limo driver to wait, then walked to the playground. The driver wondered what Ryan could possibly want there so, to pass the time, he began playing around with his own reference software. He had extensive information access that went back to the colonial times, if necessary.

Vanessa and Ryan stopped. She looked around at the children who were swinging their last allowed minutes, squeezed out of their not-so-patiently waiting parents. Those parents became even less patient upon seeing a strange man standing in the middle of the playground, looking around as though lost. Soon, all the children had left, except one. There was a little black girl sitting on the slide, smiling and looking at him.

Ryan realized suddenly that the girl wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Vanessa! There on the girl's face was a wide, open, honest smile that beamed out in the darkening Alabama sky. The look on Vanessa's face was one of greatest delight and wonder.

" _Natalie, Honey, is that you? Is it really you?"_

" _Yep, it's me Missy Blankenship. I heard you was going to be here so I come right away. Been waiting for a little while, but not long. How you be, Missy?"_

With many adult entities, Vanessa could not make physical contact. With children, she had much better luck, especially of late. Vanessa could and did pick Natalie up and gave her the longest, happiest embrace. Eight-year-old arms returned the hug, laced with just a touch of giggling laughter. Ryan was understandably confused. Where were the flames? Where were the others who died in the fire? What happened to the misery, gnashing of teeth and moans? From whom did the little girl hear about Vanessa's coming?

" _I'm fine, right fine, Natalie."_ Vanessa was dropping easily into the drawl she used to speak when Natalie was alive. _"Oh sweetie, I'd forgotten who I was until just today. My dearest friend and husband here, Ryan Fitzgalen, helped me get my memory back. I came right away here to see if I could help, but,"_ Vanessa looked around, not sure what was going on, _"...you don't look like yon need my help. Honey, can you tell me what is going on?"_ Vanessa was sitting on the edge of the slide and Ryan sat down on a nearby swing to listen.

" _Missy, that night we died was a terrible one. I was scared sure and couldn't find Mommy or Daddy. I found you and knew it was going to be all right. You was strong for me and held me up. Then that big wooden thing fell right on top of us. I remember seeing you trying to get to me, then things got dark. 1 opened my eyes again, the ones I got now, and saw you and me under burning wood. Mommy and Daddy found me, they was dead too, and picked me up. Everyone was there. We wasn't scared no more. It looked like when the three men in the Bible was in the fiery furnace, but they wasn't burning or anything. I was the first to notice you weren't there, Missy. Daddy saw you running away. We tried to call to you but you didn't hear us, I expect. Maybe you was too far away or maybe you was too scared to hear. Daddy gave me to Mommy and took out after you, but something wouldn't let him go too far, pulled him back to us."_

Vanessa took it all in. She was so happy to find that her beloved little ones weren't consigned to the ages of torture those poor children of Annie's were. But, if that were true, _"Natalie, you went over to the other side with the others?"_

" _Yes'm, Missy, we did."_

" _Then, Natalie, how did you get back here?"_

" _Why, I told you, Missy! You'd think a schoolteacher would listen better than that (giggle). You been thinking that you have to save us so that you can come home. We don't need no saving, but you are real nice to try to do it anyway. All of us thank you for being so nice now, and back then, too. We all love you, Missy. Anyway, you ran away because you didn't save us kids. They told me to tell you that the two kids that need you are back in Milledgeville. Where's Milledgeville, Missy?"_

Ryan's mind continued to sputter. "How did she know about Annie's children, or that they were in Milledgeville; a city whose location she apparently doesn't know? Who told her to tell Vanessa? How did she get back from the other side? Do others do that?"

" _Well, that s over in Georgia, but I'm still confused. You went over and came back?"_

Natalie got up from Vanessa's lap, and gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. _"You still got that bracelet, the one I made for you?"_

" _Yes, it's on my left arm, here it is, see? That's how I even knew my first name all these years."_

Natalie reached out with both hands and placed them around the bracelet. There was a soft glow that peeked out from her cupped hands. A blue-white shine rose, spearing out from between Natalie's fingers into the Louisiana twilight, ebbed, and then went out.

" _So you keep that with you, don't you take it off for nothing or no one. You hear?"_

Vanessa dumbly nodded, not comprehending any more that Ryan, who now had far exceeded his 'duh' limit.

" _I has to be going now. You take care of those two children, now. That's your ticket home, Missy. We'll be waiting for you. One more thing, you stay away from that Annie lady. It's real important. Let the others handle her. You just stay clear."_ Natalie took little, slow steps backwards, waving, like a little girl might. It was strange, but to both Ryan and Vanessa, Natalie began to fade and change at the same time. She seemed to be getting taller, maturing, but it was near dark now and hard to see. Then she was gone.

"Son of a..."

" _Don't!"_

Ryan's mouth closed with an audible snap. "Sorry, Baby, but holy...cow!"

" _Weak, but better. Ryan, isn't it wonderful! I don't have to leave! I can still help Jason and Rebecca!! And best of all, my cherub choir is fine, more than fine, they're together still and in Heaven! With their parents!! I can't wait to tell the others. C'mon, let's go. Wheeeee!"_

The driver had finished his research. What a sad turn of events. That playground had been built on that site as a memorial to the children that had died in that church fire. He wondered if that school teacher might be related to this man, somehow, since all the others who had died had been Afro-American. Then he saw Mr. Fitzgalen. Skipping? Seemed kind of off the beam, after what he had read. He opened the door and let his fare in, then got into the driver's seat and began to speak. "I looked up the history of this area, Mr. Fitzgalen. That church you were looking for was burned down by Klansmen. You related to that lady that got killed back then?"

"Yes, she's, er, in the family tree. I've been sort of dreading coming here, expecting to see some old ghosts or something. _(Giggle)_ All the ghosts are gone, I guess. Time to get on with life."

"Well, Mr. Fitzgalen, if it means anything to you, the city archives has a research download on the burning, written by some preacher name of Haskins. He had a grandfather that was there when it happened. I'll put what I found on your screen." The dividing window went up, which, Ryan now realized, doubled as a viewing screen. Handy doodad. He'll have to mention this to the Kingston Limo Company.

Chapter 15 – KLUKKERS

Curtis Basrap had no job. The Depression had seen to that. "Fuckin' politicians," came a well-known Curtis quote. It didn't much matter who he aimed his frustrations at, for the same adjective would always accompany the noun: niggers, Catholics, Jews, chinks, or anyone else who got in his sights. His wife had left him a year and a month ago. Went home to Mamma, she did. "The bitch. Fuckin' women," he said at the bar, sitting next to his shadow, Tom Pitcher. Tom never married, did have a job (pushing broom), and didn't have much luck with the ladies, at least not the pretty ones. Especially not the special one he had eyes for.

"Damn straight right on that one, Curtis. Ain't hardly a one that appreciates a real man anymore. If you ain't got the 'do-re-me', you ain't got the 'seafood Mamma'."

There weren't any arguments from the others at the Railside Tavern, for many were in the same boat, more or less. Curtis had made money from his father's still up north of town. Daddy wasn't around anymore. Drinking too much of his own brew gave Daddy something the doctors called a funny name: 'see roses'. "Guess it had something to do with the red blotches on Dad's face put there by moonshine," he would say. Curtis was following in his father's footsteps, others would say.

"Shit fire in Hell, Tom. Nothin's goin right for nobody. Goddam niggers take all the jobs and what they don't get, fuckin' chinks take the rest. Jews got a strangle hold on the economy and the unions don't do shit." He liked to talk like that, sounded real smart. Learned it from the local Dragon, who was more educated than he was. Didn't matter what you looked like or earned, though, when you got your sheet on. "You know what we gotta do? Get rid of them, push'em right out. They got no right bein' here. Ship'em back to niggerland by the boatload. That's how they got here, anyway. Lazy bastards, don't work a lick in the fields anymore anyway, so what good are they?"

Tom was used to his mentor's mutterings. Curtis was a big man and most folk gave him wide berth. Tom wasn't so big, but he felt larger under Curtis's protective shadow. Lot of people talked bad about his friend, but they kept shelling out coins for the Everclear the Basrap family was famous for (the secret ingredient was one drop of gasoline per gallon of Everclear). Local gumshoes left Curtis alone. They were scared of him, they were. Some Fed had come snooping once, they say. Weren't going to do any snooping anymore, from what Curtis says.

"Pisses me off, Tom, that they built a church and a school. What does a nigger want with book readin', anyway? They too dumb to do anything with it and even if they weren't, then they too lazy to work with it. I don't read and look at me! Gotta show'em, Tom, show'em all to get the hell away from here. Ought to leave our town the way it was supposed to be, just like Dragon said. 'Racially pure' he says. Makes sense to me."

"Me too, Curtis." Other members of the invisible empire nodded and mumbled assent. It was a smart thing to do when Curtis was tying one on.

Curtis looked at Tom. "Glad you think so, ol' buddy. Cause the time is come." Curtis had heard about a get together at that church tonight. Even that pretty lady teacher was going to be there. Curtis smiled even more. If it worked like he planned, it was going to be a hot night in more ways than one! He would teach the teacher a thing or two. Tom hit it on the head, he did, saying the women didn't know what a real man was like. Well, that little doe was going to learn what a real southern buck could do, tonight! He had it all planned out.

They walked down the road to the edge of town. There were only two of them. Seems the other 'Inn-habitants' had other plans. Just as well. "Pansy asses, that's what they are. We gotta take action, just like Dragon says, and they all has excuses. They all has lacey panties on. C'mon Tom, almost there. I got some surprises for them blackies."

Tom was getting excited. Curtis could be pretty crazy, but that was part of the fun. There had been some scary times before, but those times made the best stories, didn't they? Couldn't hurt scarin' those niggers a little, anyways. Maybe they'd move out after all. Maybe he'd get a shot at that teacher. He'd teach her a few things, he would. Curtis would have first go at her, sure. He wasn't above being next in line, though. Beats nothing.

There was the church. The school was dark, but the windows of the church glowed bright. They could hear the children singing inside and people laughing. They could smell good things to eat. That made Curtis all the madder. He thought, "Why should they have whole families when I don't? Why should they eat fine when I eat what I shot or caught?" No one cooked for him! Well, he was going to do some cookin' tonight. "Yessir!"

Curtis told Tom to wait there, and snuck around to the back door to block it. Then he padded back up front, took two stashed railroad ties (he was one of the strongest men in these parts) and blocked the front doors. Tom got more and more uncomfortable, seeing Curtis take some stashed jugs and douse the walls all round the church, from where he could hear an old Gospel song started up. What the Hell was he doin'? No, it couldn't be.

Curtis struck a match and saw the slow drip fruits of his labor leap to take on an unholy life that hungrily licked at church walls, forcing him to jump back quick or get singed. Curtis trotted up to Tom and tossed him a single barrel shot gun, keeping his old man's double barrel for himself. Tom could only stand there, holding onto the aging firearm, staring at the conflagration. Both men were amazed at how flammable Curtis's Everclear was, and they hadn't anticipated that the wood used for the church was old and dry. This was going to put a crimp on Curtis's plans for one of the inhabitants of the church. "Oh well, other fish in the sea," he thought.

The screams could be heard now, of women, men, and, "Merciful Jesus, Curtis!" They could hear the efforts of people inside trying to break down the doors. Nothing was going to get by those wedged railroad ties. He saw someone trying to get out of a window.

While Tom started running for the front porch, Curtis made for the north side of the building where a man's face and hands could be seen through a partially broken window. "We'll see about that, nigger!" he shouted. Curtis was close enough to just raise the shotgun up and fire. No need to aim much. The man was gone, and Curtis laughed loud and long. "Fry, nigger!" Curtis had put a tie by the building to pull the teacher out of the church, but things had gone too far for that. The fire was just too far advanced.

Tom was trying to get to the two ties and managed to knock one down to the porch floor, but it still blocked the door. They were damned heavy. How the hell did Curtis haul both of them up here so quiet? The flames were rising higher by the minute, by the second. The heat was blistering his face, and his overalls were beginning to smoke. Tom had to get off the porch or explode. He tried twice more to go back, but it was hopeless. "They're screamin', Gawd All Mighty!" All he could do was stand back and stare in horror at the flames, now licking at the sky in wicked delight. What had they done, for Christ's sake? His eyes were torn away from the fire by a sight just as evil.

Curtis, his work finished, went back one more time to his hidden wagon. There was one last thing needed to complete the masterpiece. Folks were coming now and they had to see the hero dressed right. "Yessir, folks will be talking about me for many years to come, for sure."

Tom saw Curtis, standing there with his sheet on, shotgun still in hand. Others came and bore witness to the nightmare. Curtis's white sheet and hood now blazoned orange and red from the colors of a dying church's agony. Curtis looked up to the roof and was pleased all the more. On top of the church he saw it, a sign from God Himself: a burning cross.

Tom saw Curtis look up and followed his gaze. He saw the cross, and its implications meant something very different to him. The fullness of the crime tore his heart apart. Tom Pitcher may not a big man, but he could do one last deed of redemption, maybe. He began to walk his last mile, one that measured eighty-five feet long.

Curtis saw the townspeople and felt power. He saw his approaching comrade and felt more power. Tom's flocking to his leadership would start the landslide. It was the beginning of the rally that would cleanse the South, just like Dragon said. Maybe they'd elect him the new Dragon. Why not? No one else was taking the horns. Their numbers had been declining badly with the Depression. He would change that with fire and blood. Fire and Blood. That was the motto of the Salvation Army, wasn't it? Well, he'd put new meaning into that, too. Curtis turned to greet his first follower in his holy war, only to see his first in command raise his old man's old single shot to Curtis's chest.

"Tom?" That was Curtis's last word.

Tom felt he had made himself major domo to the Devil's own kinfolk. Worst of all, he had stood by and allowed ultimate evil to have its way with innocent children and their parents, in a CHURCH, for Christ's sake! He knew his soul had one chance. Another may never come again. With the shotgun, cold in his hands despite the heat of the church, he walked. Someone else would push his broom tomorrow and people would have to buy their hooch elsewhere. Tom stopped five feet from the man he once called friend, raised the rifle, heard the final word of the condemned and pulled the trigger of judgment. The rifle dropped to the ground just after its victim did. The screams had stopped from the church. They stopped just after the roof collapsed. Tom bent down over Curtis and picked up the double barrel. He turned to the church and walked up to the porch. The flames were dying down, but it was still a furnace. What was left of the standing walls were black shadows whose top edge, windows and doorway were glowing Halloween orange, coloring the spectators so that they looked like the waiting line for Satan's gates. The crowd had now reached well over two hundred and that number was still growing. Those that were there saw yet another sight none would forget. Like a backwoods prophet, Tom Pitcher slew the Klukker and walked right into the flames of the church's front porch. It had to hurt him bad, and they could see his clothes catch fire. Yet, Tom didn't scream or run. He just knelt before the doorway. The church doors had fallen back, affording a view of perdition itself. Tom put the barrel of the shotgun to his jaw, aiming so that he would never hear those screams again. The blast startled everyone and emptied Tom Pitcher's head of memory and pain.

The crowd saw Tom's hat blow off and sail backwards in an odd way. A hat should catch the wind and only go a short distance. It landed after a flight of ninety feet at the feet of Reverend Thomas Haskins. In the slowly dying light of the dead church, he could see the reason for the hat's ballistic qualities. "Oh, my." It wasn't empty.

The screen only gave a brief glimpse of the lives of Tom and Curtis, but it was enough. Ryan and Vanessa looked at each other.

" _Heaven claims its own, Love, and so does Hell."_

Ryan SatCom'd Allen to have the return tickets ready at the airport counter. The trip was silent after that. The limo company was closed by the time Ryan had called, so Allen dug up a local cab. The driver turned out to be a pleasant man, experienced enough to know that his talents for chipper conversation were not called for now. It was in the wee hours when Ryan arrived at the hotel. The cabbie wished the gentleman a good evening, then went home to feed his goldfish.

Late hour or not, all were waiting up to hear what had happened. Besides involving someone they cared about, the news would make a lot of difference in how plans were to proceed. When they found out Vanessa was still on the team, a cheer broke out which made her very happy. The story of Natalie really didn't take long and everyone felt more confident about their goals after hearing it. The follow up on the Klukkers that didn't survive their evil rampage was grim. What they did was so unthinkable that, even though it happened so long ago, it still was able to evoke rage and great sorrow. "Served them right," was the consensus.

Ryan insisted on hitting the bed before any more plans could be made. Allen promised him a couple of real interesting twists when morning came. He was not kidding.

The next morning at breakfast, down in the restaurant, Allen led off. "Whom were you planning on Vanessa handing the two kids off to?" Ryan blinked. He hadn't decided. Vanessa headed the list on full transport out of there, but there might be plenty of candidates among the Union men, if horse assisted rapid transit were necessary. His Great Grandfather, maybe?

Allen leaned over with a most mischievous look on his face. Rachel had heard it, already. Cat and the Angel were, for once, of one accord. Everyone was smug and conspiratorial. Ryan was getting excited. The feeling was electrifying.

Allen took up the lead, again. "Which of the soldiers has thrown more monkey wrenches into the works than any other? Jed Patterson, right? There is such a great hatred and craziness in him and, somehow, she can use that to her advantage as a weapon to break up the plans made against her. Got it so far? Listen. Annie's going to be absolutely bedazzled with the spectacle that will be going on. Add to it big time by changing a main course in her day's usual menu. Stop Jed from going after Annie."

Ryan looked incredulous. "OK, Houdini. Just how have you managed to pull that particular rabbit out of your hat? Mind you, I no longer doubt your abilities, but I would dearly love to learn the inside dope on this piece of legerdemain."

Allen's smile grew bigger. "Every plan ever made for escape was made behind Jed's back. I did some research on this guy. He's nutty, sure, but there's a whole lot of good in his background, just as you said. Supported his whole family when his Dad died; that's a goal I can identify with. Yes, he's angry and she's his target. The fact that she drove a kitchen knife into his spleen doesn't calm the flame either. Now, what would happen if we tried a different approach? Convince him that the worst thing he could possibly do to Annie is to take her children from her. Have Vanessa hand the kids to Private Patterson! Tell him that this is his ticket not only for revenge, but for his freedom, and the troop's, and the children which he probably has no real grudge against."

"You've got to be kidding."

Talk, argue.

"Now, let me get this straight."

Argue, debate, silence.

"Well, I'll be damned!"

" _You'd better not be, Darling. I have plans for you, later."_

Ryan smiled, looking at Allen, shaking his head all the while and said "Great, great grandson of an old fart, you are a genius."

"There's more, commander. Look at how many men Covington has been able to get to cross over. Look at the dates, look at the numbers. None of them are impressive, but look at the general pattern."

Ryan looked, and saw. "Hey you know, it was nothing for decades after the initial breakouts, then a drib, another drib, then a bigger drab, mostly recent. What are you getting at, son?"

"We've been saying all along that one of the problems of getting a few across here and there is that Annie has more gigawatts to focus on fewer targets. If that's so, how come one successful escape was followed by another and then another? Maybe the more that get through, the weaker she gets. There're fewer soldiers to threaten her, or whatever it is that she uses to get juiced. Even if we just get a dozen by on Saturday, it may make her weak enough to blast through even more on Sunday." The boy needed knighting. Why didn't he think of that? He wasn't used to feeling so short sighted. The little whelp. "There's more yet, Chief, though I'm not sure as to how this figures into things. I did some research. There were sixty-five men on that original raiding party. Two thirds of them were dead within six months of the farm raid."

Ryan said, "Whoa, partner. This was the Civil War. Soldiers got killed by the bucketful. What happened, did they run into a Confederate force?"

"That was part of it. Hood managed to get his digs in. Covington's group got hit and lost a forth before they knew what was happening. Most of the rest got away. The thing that I'm wondering about is that the rest died with a diagnosis of consumption, pneumonia, or heart attack half a year after the Instate event. Within another month, all but two were gone, same reasons. Those died a month later, same causes."

"Holy crow," said Ryan, "...what are we dealing with here, the 'Mommy's Curse'? You think she hexed them to death?"

"I don't know, but you explain it. Annie's a powerful spirit and she wanted the boys with a vengeance for vengeance. What else explains it? The next thought is, could she do it again, still an angry spirit, now aware of our presence and intentions?"

Ryan's thoughts were interrupted by a surprisingly loud belch. All eyes turned to Gustav, who was thoroughly embarrassed.

"Good heavens, I am so sorry. All these hours we've been putting in and the running around, I've been getting some indigestion lately." Vanessa, at times like these, liked to read the expressions on her friends' faces. Allen and Ryan were surprised, but amused. Rachel was a little disgusted. Marianne looked a little concerned, telling Vanessa which of the group was going to insist Gustav get an early bedtime tonight. Rachel was used to 'mother henning' for youths. Marianne took on older chicks to cluck over, maybe in compensation for never having had to change diapers.

Gustav downed an antacid and the plotting went on. Four days, including today, until the big event. There was much more to do, now.

Chapter 16 – DAY 4

Ryan and Allen rode their two rented horses soon after breakfast. Ryan knew the spot where they would be able to meet and ride with the soldiers for just over an hour and a half before having to break off due to the strip mall. Allen laughed at the thought of dusty Civil War soldiers trotting through displays of dinette sets and bunk beds. Ryan was less the humorist, wondering what those men must think to see furniture for families like the ones they were denied. "You're too serious, Ryan. I was about to say that life's too short, but that doesn't really apply to you."

"Very funny, grasshopper."

"Again with that bug name. What's with the 'grasshopper' bit?"

"Long before your time, there was a show Vanessa and I used to like called 'Kung Fu' The Master used that term for his apprentice. I guess it meant someone who was full of energy and drive, but had a ways to go to reach maturity and full learning." Allen liked the analogy to master and student. There was a lot to learn from Ryan and you couldn't beat the student to teacher ratio.

"I keep hearing about what you and Vanessa liked on television. Wasn't there more you guys did to relax?" Ryan smiled. "Besides that, I mean. Geez, you old pervert."

"Well, we traveled a lot. Our first years were somewhat restricted due to the war, and then Obediah came along. He was a handful, always interested in everything and anything that didn't move fast enough to avoid his scrutiny. We'd see him in the driveway studying an anthill, then blink and next see him up a tree gathering pinecones. Our work with entities also kept us busy. There was a lot of work involved in finding sites to investigate and background research to use in getting our targets to move on. But we loved our work so much that we didn't really feel a need to vacation from it."

Allen wondered if he could push the envelope. They were waiting for the soldiers, so there wasn't much else to do but talk. "Ryan, don't answer if you don't want to, but what was it like, seeing Vanessa age while you didn't? How did you guys handle that?"

Ryan had been expecting that. Had the tables been turned, he certainly would have wondered. "I stopped seeing my son and his family after a while. Vanessa's normal aging allowed her to continue visitations for a while longer. I was as afraid that my son would see his father as a freak of nature as I was of exposure to public attention, followed with me being mounted onto a public microscope.

"My fears, as well as Vanessa's, led us to eventually send family and friends post cards from a series of foreign countries. Finally, we missed them so much that we went to visit them, anyway. That was the day you saw in the video when you and I first met. They were surprised, to say the least, but accepting. Vanessa kept aging, but held up well until the last few months. She just got tired. I used a wheelchair to shuttle her about when the home scene got too oppressive. It took a whole lot of love then to keep her spirits up and there were times she got pretty testy. I'd usually short-circuit it by asking her if, had the roles been reversed, would she have done the same for me? So many couples suffer the loss of function of one of the partners and I wonder if they don't discover a deeper love than those who aren't so afflicted. I've heard that the purest silver comes from the hottest fire and that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger. If that's true, then our love became pure and strong indeed.

"There was one walk we took on a paved nature trail when a well-intentioned older woman came up to us and said how wonderful it was to see a man take such good care of his grandmother."

Allen thought, "Ouch."

"Even as she aged, my wife's sharp wit never left her. She smiled at the intruder and told her that I was her kept lover. The look on the woman's face was good enough, leaving it at that. When did Vanessa ever leave it at that? She went on to say that I was for sale, as she found my sexual stamina not what it used to be, and could the nice lady please direct her to the nearest gigolo establishment? I thought the woman would go into apoplexy. We'd better can it for now. Here come the soldiers."

Major Covington received the report that his old friend was up ahead with another in tow. A minute later, Ryan and the Major were riding side by side. _"Think you might like to ride with us through the furniture store this time, Master Fitzgalen? There's a sale on leather love seats."_

"Maybe tomorrow, Major. I've got a new recruit here and he's been a regular fountain of new ideas. We have to talk, privately."

Jed's attention perked up. _"When ever that Ryan fellow showed up, things got right interesting. Always trying something, the Major was. When the two of them were involved, they tried even more. Fine with me. Distract that Devil's bitch enough I just might get her, finally. Damn her eyes, Coaljack! Who's the kid, I wonder?"_

Allen felt prickles on his neck. It was enough to have one friendly female entity in their midst. Now they had fifty ghost riders, with horses that were also held in thrall, and he couldn't see a thing. Like Melissa had said more than once, "This really bites."

"Major, let's trot on ahead. Bring Private Cooper along, too. We've got some news for him." Orders were given and the group of four (half dead, half alive) moved ahead to ride point. Ryan began giving the news so far, including Vanessa's proposal and Allen's plan on using Private Patterson as a pivot point. Then he turned it over to Allen, who felt a little silly talking to apparently nothing. Still, awkwardness hadn't stopped him in the past from doing things that seemed ridiculous to the casual observer.

"I'm addressing Private Elijah Cooper, if you can hear me." Allen looked at Ryan. He nodded. Allen continued. "I have researched your family, Private Cooper. Your wife Delores gave birth to your son, Walther Thaddeus, eight months after you left for the war." Cooper had known that. Letters from Delores had reached him before he had died in that firefight with Hood's men. "What you may not know is that Walther married and had three children. One of those children married one Erin Patrick Fitzgalen. They moved to Galveston and their first-born child is now riding with you. Congratulations, Private Cooper, and allow me to introduce your great grandchild, Ryan David Fitzgalen. That also makes me your (Allen used his fingers to get it right) great, great, great, great, great grandson."

He stopped talking and rode quietly. He could see Ryan's head turned to the left and listening. Ryan was smiling and Allen could see the mistiness in his eyes. Allen's own eyes then suffered increased humidity.

Ryan finally motioned Allen closer. "Great Granddad Elijah thanks you from the bottom of his heart. He would like to give you something in return, but doesn't have a clue as to what it should be. I told him we might work out something in the future, but for now, let's concentrate on the plans at hand." It sounded fair to Allen. He never expected a return other than the feeling of helping someone in desperate need. Besides, what could a ghost give a living person? Next time he was there, he would have with him copies of pictures of Elijah's family. What grandfather wouldn't want to see pics of his kids, grand kids, and well, he didn't need a picture of the generation after that, did he?

Ryan asked the Major what plans were made for today. The answer he received had to be passed on to Allen later in nutshell form. Major Covington felt the need to speak.

" _My good friend, the well is dry today. We have been wore successful in the last year than we have in the previous one hundred, that's true. Maybe Mrs. Edwards is getting old or careless. Hard to say. We're tired, Ryan. We lost our bones, but we're bone tired. It's hard to be brilliant at such times. The only thing we can hang our hats on is that we suffer together; bearing burdens in comradeship as good soldiers should. We still have purpose that holds us together. That, too, has been a rock to stand on. We have also had our successes, and they were hard won. I was proud of my men when we walked the ground. I am even more so with their bravery and devotion as spirits._

" _It was a strange thing, Ryan. So many of my men were strong and healthy, in the prime of their young manhood, yet all of them died all too soon, as if we had become cursed in life to hasten our cursed afterlife."_

On they rode on 'Ryan's path'. Scores of years of subtly wielding influence, buying out properties, nudging political types with undeclared contributions that created the path they now rode upon. All just to share time with these men for an hour and forty minutes on the first leg, then later for another forty minutes. The strip mall was inconvenient, but they had enough time for what was needed.

" _My religious beliefs told me that when I died, I would either sleep till Judgment Day or go before our good Lord and Savior to be tested. The truth came as a shock. I opened my eyes at dawn and recognized the faces of twenty-two of my men. Imagine my joy of reuniting with those who served me and the Union so valiantly being there to greet me into the after life. Imagine my sorrow then to see, in their eyes, grief that I should suffer the same awful fate they had been consigned to. Seemed every other day I was called upon, with my men, to greet yet another soldier of our group until the roster was complete. A half score of us managed to get by Mrs. Edwards early on, but it took few coon's ages before we were able to find how to outmaneuver Mrs. Edwards again. Elijah here has been responsible for his share of the plots and plans. Now, you've heard an old soldier prattle as only an old soldier can. What kind of mischief has this first mate of yours cooked up?"_

Ryan began to tell the ideas his team had arranged and had just enough time to cap it off with the climax when they had to part company or cause a scene at the furniture discount warehouse. Ryan told the Major that he would bring more news tomorrow as plans firmed up, and then turned his horse around. Allen followed suit, keeping a respectful silence for the time being. He had been thinking, and wanted to get some answers that might help him make better plans. Ryan looked at the eyes of the men who passed and all but one of them smiled and nodded. That one ignored the both of them, but kept a smirk on his face all the while.

After Ryan had relayed his conversation with the Major for Allen on the way back to the stable, Allen began to ask his long list of questions.

"I would like to know more about entities, what they can do, why they can or cannot contact solid things or each other. If I'm to play the game, it would be nice to know the rules."

"Fair enough, as long as you can accept that what I'm going to say is just opinion and not presented in any planned way. Still, I've done a lot of research on my own because of Vanessa and the entities we were trying to help. 'Know thy enemies', for us, became 'know thy targets'.

"In the 1960's and 70's there was a lot of interest in 'near death experiences'. People had a hunger to discover what really happened when you took the major dirt nap. Never mind the differences between the major religions. Just within Christianity alone, there have been arguments and schisms on the topic. Some believe we all lie in stasis until the Second Coming, which is why many buried folk are laid to rest with their heads to the west."

"New one on me. Some reason for that, I assume."

"When the Big G-Man comes back, it's supposed to be from the east. Christians wanted to be raised up so that they face the Son, or the Four Horsemen, or whatever. Other sects believe you go right to the main gate for review and decision. Hell itself is an article of speculation in Christianity. Seems half of them believe the eternal lake of fire is good for one quick flameout per soul, the other half that condemned people will par boil for eternity. Then there are those who hold to Dante and his complicated view of the seven rings of Hell.

"I recall a movie that highlighted a book titled 'Beyond The Grave', or something like that. It mentioned a researcher who measured mass loss of a human at the moment of death. Turns out that each body lost a small but measurable amount of mass the moment he or she died; about three ounces. The spirit or soul that hitches a ride on this limo con carne is a cohesive and organized packet of energy of a type we don't know much about. Rules of physics apply to it, as it is energy and has properties, but we don't know really what those rules are. I've a few ideas, though.

"Take visibility for instance. That same movie indicated an example of someone capturing with photography an amorphous mist leaving the body at the point of death. Photographic film has been known to capture many strange things most of us don't see with our eyes. Why?

"I believe that the mass of a spirit radiates a type of spiritual energy, detectable by a camera or clairvoyant individual. It is of a wavelength incompatible for most eye/brain receivers to register. Those that can see them often say they can see through the image; kind of translucent. That makes sense to me. Entities are seen by what they radiate, not like normal objects in our own plane that are opaque and just reflect external light. Spirit beings therefore allow the ROY G BIV component of the spectrum to pass through them, so we see the combination of their own radiation and the hard object reflections behind them."

"OK, makes sense. Do you see through them?"

"No. That can be an advantage and a disadvantage. I can't always tell who's alive and who's not. Walking through walls is a clue, but that doesn't always happen. My magnetic exposure seems to have made me particularly in tune with the energy signatures that entities give off. Enough so that their energy is sufficient to block off or overpower the light reflected from objects behind them."

"I follow. Now, how about physical contact from a spirit? That was the softest kiss I had ever had the other night in your office from Vanessa. But I felt it. You said it takes concentration on her part. Any idea on how that works? That kind of information might come in handy, soon."

"Right. One second helping of opinion coming up. Ever see one of those light bulbs that have inside it four wafers balanced on a wire cross? Each wafer has a white side and a dark side. Since light has mass, shining light on the bulb causes the arrangement inside the bulb to rotate around a spindle. The light bounces off the white wafer but is absorbed by the black. The act of reflecting imparts a small but sufficient amount of momentum to each white square so that it is pushed away from the light source. Eventually the thing builds up enough of a head of steam to spin merrily along. Energy has mass, mass can be felt and cause reactions on solid objects. Lasers are a good example. Entities are energy, cohesive and organized. They are also all different. Vanessa is gifted with a remarkable ability to manipulate solid objects. I've never seen any to do so at the same level of finesse (some can pack a clumsy whollop). Annie can turn book pages one at a time if she really concentrates. That brings me to another related subject. Allen, ever hear of poltergeists?"

"They're spirits that throw things around, right?"

"Correct. All the spiritual catapulting, to my knowledge, is tied into a previous resident, say, a mother at her home or an owner of a business building. They resent intruders and start throwing a tantrum. I think they can only toss things they have become attuned to in life. All objects have an ability to absorb energies we don't know anything about. How many psychics have you heard of that get impressions from objects, with some of them leading police to long lost buried murder victims? I knew of one fellow, who owned an upscale antique place, who refused to handle gold brought up from Spanish galleons. He said that the metal was a conductor of emotions and held on to the anguish of the poor salts that went down with the ships. Spirits haunting former homes have a narrow band of connectedness that allows them to manipulate the objects they are familiar with. Vanessa is sort of a broadband situation, and she can nail almost anything she chooses, as long as she gets a rest in between flicking ears and tipping drink glasses.

"I can't touch her very well, though. If I pass my hand through her, I can feel the barest sensations of resistance. She says she can feel my energy as it passes through her. No matter how I concentrate, I can't bridge the touch gap like she does."

"I'm with you, Ryan. Now, how about entities with entities."

"Vanessa can pretty well get a visual and audio on every entity we come across. She in turn seems to not only receive but broadcast a wide enough bandwidth that other spirits can see and hear her as well. Touch is another thing all together. She didn't have as much luck before the Navy incident, so I think we both were changed that day. That event may also explain our high degree of closeness, connectedness, and the fact that I can feel her at all.

"Vanessa is attuned especially to children, partly from dying in that fire. I think it's also because she has always loved children. That is what led her to be a teacher in the first place. She has a natural connection with them. A real Pied Piper, if you know that story." Allen did. His mother had told him stories as a child, especially early on. She had said later that it helped her pass the lonely time after his Dad died and helped keep him from crying himself to sleep.

"That's fine for Vanessa and Annie's kids, but how do we know that Jed or any other soldier for that matter will be able to interact with the kids as well? Will any of them be able to carry the kids?"

"I suspect that's the question you've been leading up to all this time, isn't it? I can't try and prove it, for it would give away our hand to Mad Annie. Consider this, though. Every day those kids get trampled by ghost horses and are in what appears to be obvious emotional and the equivalent of physical distress. The riders are closely allied to and touching those horses. You can wheedle this into the algebraic idea that if A equals C, and B equals C, then A must equal B. Riders touch horses, horses touch children, therefore riders must be able to touch children. Also, the force of Annie's spirit when she died which tagged that large number of independent entities for her 'harvesting' would likely have had a tuning in effect to all involved. Remember what Major Covington said about his men reacting like an incredibly honed machine? I feel that they are tuned into each other in more ways than just experience."

"Sounds good, but are you sure? Do you really know if Jason and Rebecca can be carried off?"

"No, but it's the best deal in town. We have no choice but to go for it. If it doesn't pan out, we punt." The rest of the ride back to the stable was quiet. Allen wondered how far the ladies and Gustav had gotten with the project he had SatCom'd into his PC at the suite.

Vanessa's task was to strengthen the trust with the children. It was mid-morning, long before the troops were to arrive. Hopefully, that would give her more time and less distraction. But there were some concerns.

First, how much do the children tell their mother? Letting the cat out of the bag is a risk here, but one she had to take. Jason and Rebecca had to trust her completely if she was going to be able to get them out of harms way, for trust solidified inter-entity touch.

Second, could she trust the bond that kept Mad Annie on her porch? She hadn't come down off it yesterday. Might she come down today? If she did, what would or could she do? Maybe Vanessa should go up to her right off and try to defuse the situation by asking permission to speak to her children. It would be the respectful thing to do, but too risky. Suppose Mad Annie forbade her to speak to the children? That might lose the whole ball of wax right there and triple the likelihood of a confrontation before its time.

Third, just how powerful was Mad Annie? She controlled some kind of resurrection circuit for both kids and soldiers. Annie's capacity to fire blast any spirit who had displeased her was well documented. That time Jed Patterson leaped off his horse (ouch), her flaming vengeance took on a whole new dimension of very ugly special effects that would have pleased the most rabid horror movie aficionado.

Forth, what kind of hornet's nest would they stir up by involving the children? If she was hellfire just for daily exercise, what might happen when she realized the whole fabric of her order of things was being torn away from her by way of her own children?

Fifth, if she kept on thinking like this, there was a good chance she would go mad herself, and wouldn't that be something to please her Love?

" _Oh, farts! Let's get on with it."_

She entered the Homestead gate, then strolled leisurely to where the children played. When they caught sight of Vanessa, she witnessed the guarded smiles on their faces as they kept their backs to their mother to hide even that. Vanessa shifted left and saw Annie, standing as usual on the porch, now dividing her attention equally to the north, the west, the children and to herself. A chill rose up Vanessa's back, which she forced back down by concentrating on flowers, sunlight and the children. Ryan had once said (he said a lot, the old windbag, but most of it was actually worth listening to) that the mind could only think one thought at a time. It could process many in succession, but only one at a time. When she was in Mary's body, she discovered the miracles of morning sickness, thanks to Obediah. Ryan had her so tickled with silly stories, busy with a thousand things to do and concerned over what turned out to be his own troubles trumped up for the occasion, that she usually forgot about being nauseous. He was wisely absent, now, so as not to get Mad Annie upset prematurely, but she sure missed him.

" _Hi, Miss Vanessa. I told Rebecca you would be back. She didn't believe me._

" _That's not so Jason! I just, well, it isn't so and that's that."_

" _Rebecca, Jason, don't go on so. I'm just happy to see you again. What are you playing today?"_

Jason said, _"Usual stuff. We can go in a circle, took at people and make fun of them, watch the ants, sing songs, march around. It gets pretty boring, though. Would you please play with us?"_

" _Yes, please Miss Vanessa! Play with us! We're so tired of the same things every day. Please? You're the first grown-up that will talk to us."_

OK, that seemed like a good start. Play? She couldn't think of anything to play. However, _"Tell me, would you like to hear a story?"_

Both children lit up. A real story! Even the most ancient children loved the adventure, distraction and attention given to them in a flight of fancy told by someone who cares. Both jumped up and down and said _"Yes!"_ many times over. Great. Now, what the heck could she come up with? It had been a lot of years since Obediah was little. Vanessa looked at the older boy, the younger girl, then at their mother. She smiled. Yes, this would be just the ticket, maybe. _"There's one I used to love to tell my own little boy. Have you ever heard 'Hansel and Gretel'?"_

Vanessa could not recall when that story was even written, and so didn't know if Jason and Rebecca might have heard it before. It turned out they hadn't. Good! She sat down and began to tell the tale of two wonderful children who, from events beyond their control, were lost beyond hope under the control of the wicked witch. She made sure to emphasize how cooperation and inventiveness won the day and freedom for the brother and sister and many others under the witch's power. Not wanting to frighten them, should they make the connection to their present plight, Vanessa edited out the burning the wicked witch in the oven. Rather, Hansel and Gretel broke the spells of entrapment and took away the witch's wicked powers in the process. _"After all,"_ she thought, _"...altering stories is part of the legitimate folk process."_

She made another change in s later story. In the original French version of Cinderella, the main character wore slippers of fur, not glass. That little change was due to an English speaking listener who collected an oral French fable, not knowing that the words in French for glass and fur sounded the same, though spelled differently. It was just as well. Cinderella was known, in one version, to have had swollen feet from dancing all night. To get her tootsies into that now too-small slipper, she cut off her toes. _"Fairy tales. Brrrr. Fairies were a bloodthirsty lot. And how will this fairy tale of ours turn out?"_

Jason and Rebecca were enthralled and begged for more. The fable was a desperately appreciated release from the terror they knew was coming. As the day wore on, Vanessa did her best to pull up as many children's tales as she could: Sleeping Beauty (taming rather than shish-ka-bobbing the dragon), Snow White (reforming rather than assassinating the witch), the Wind in the Willows (little to change, but a lot had to be made up due to unfamiliarity). Vanessa dredged up versions of Pecos Bill and Mike Fink (not many knew about that Midwestern river-man). The well started to go dry so, in desperation, she pulled up a medley of Gilligan's Island episodes.

Annie decided that Vanessa was not a threat and went back to looking north and west, mostly. That was a relief for Vanessa, who checked in Annie's direction from time to time. The sun was westering. Jason and Rebecca began to get antsy.

" _Children, did I tell you a story you didn't like?"_

Jason was looking west. Rebecca looked at her and said, _"Oh no, Miss Vanessa. We like your stories just fine. They are wonderful, but, well, they're going to be here soon, so you better get out of the way. We don't want you hurt."_

Treading carefully, Vanessa asked, _"Honey, what happens when the horses get here? Do you know?"_

Jason turned his head to look into their new friends eyes. _"We die, Miss Vanessa. We die every day. Is there something you can do to help us? Mamma can't help us. The men don't want to hurt us, but they can't help it. Mamma won't leave the front porch and we can't leave here. We tried, but Mamma won't let us. Why does Mamma keep us here, Miss Vanessa? Do you know?"_

There was the door, opened wide for her. Dare she enter? Was it too soon? DAMN it, how was she to proceed? She felt inside herself, then looked into the children's eyes. They were children, yet they weren't. There was a maturity in them that suffering brings to young victims. Children, torn apart by tragedy, grew up in a hurry as a defense mechanism. Little girls whose mothers die or leave the home become the woman of the house, losing that essential childhood they need for mental stability, the ability to trust, to believe in good and right. Children with cancer. She had seen them in many hospitals. They came to accept their pain with resignation, which evoked even more sadness and frustration from the adults who cared for them than anything else would. Vanessa would have given her life, if she had one, to take away the suffering from even one of those poor children. She tried to save the children at Grace Church and failed. Well, by God, she was going to do her all fired best to make up for lost time.

" _Children, I know we don't have much time before the men come. I will stay with you until then. Just before they, come, I will have to step away. If it were in my power to take you away today, I would. No, don't look like that. Don't lose hope. My husband and our wonderful friends have been working on a plan to help you. You have to trust me if this is going to work."_

It was the first time Jason and Rebecca had a real glimmer of hope and their eves showed it.

Rebecca asked, _"Miss Vanessa, are you an angel? We have prayed so many times for an angel. Are you sent from God to help us?"_

How the Hel - Heaven could she answer that? The only way: truth. _"No, I am not an angel. Maybe God did send me, but if He did, He didn't tell me. God's got a way of hearing prayers, especially from children. With His help and of the best group of friends you could ever wish for, we're going to get you out of this mess very soon. I promise you that."_

' _Cross your heart?"_

" _Yes Jason, cross my heart?_ " Vanessa sealed the promise with her hand crossing the front of her dress.

Both children stood up and faced the west. Jason turned to Vanessa. _"You better go now, Miss Vanessa. They're coming. You can't die now. We need you. Go on."_

It took all of her strength not to grab the children right then and run for their lives. Ryan knew her too well and forbade that. Her short-term effort could destroy all their plans to get everyone over. No action was ever harder for Vanessa to take than what she did then. Step by slow step, she walked backwards, passing through the north fence and the hedges, never looking away. Rebecca and Jason held each other's hands, standing and keeping their eyes on Vanessa. She wanted to look away, to run like she did from Grace Church on that burning night, but she didn't, she couldn't. Time began to slow down; sounds stopped registering, except for one. Horses. Vanessa could hear their hooves. The sound began as a whisper, growing in clarity with each passing moment. So many. Jason kept both of Rebecca's hands in his right and wrapped his left arm around his sister's shoulders. Horses and men unwillingly emerged from the woods. Now the sounds were clear, mixing with hooves were creaking leather sounds from reins and saddles and the banshee battle cry of one mad spirit. The daily horror thundered in from Vanessa's right and she kept her eyes on the children. The tidal wave of Union blue crashed onto the shore of the farmstead yard and the children were lost from view. Only then did Vanessa close her eyes, tightly, as she slowly fell down to her knees.

Annie had kept an eye on the strange woman. She had seen her before, long ago, with that man who turned out to be helping the blue coats. She thought, _"That man wasn't there with her. Probably she saw the light and left the bastard. Guess she has some smarts. It was nice of her to stop and visit the children. Maybe she would come up and sit a spell with me as well."_ Annie would be sure to invite her up some time soon. In the meantime, her children seemed happy with the woman. A mother wanted to see her children happy. It was natural.

The day had gone on as it always did for Annie. The Devil Men came and she kept them all. The Major didn't outsmart her this time. Major, indeed. Major pain in the petutie, if you asked her! She wondered, not for the first time, if she might just let him go on by and keep the rest. It would make her work a lot easier. Cut off the head and the rest of the chicken could flap around all day if it wanted to. Wasn't going nowhere. She had tucked in her children after the Devil Men passed. She had the soldiers right where she wanted them. Yessir, right in her apron pocket.

Allen and Ryan came into the suite. Rachel and Marianne were at the dining table with Allen's PC, busy.

Ryan looked around and asked, "Where's Gustav?"

Marianne responded. "Boss, we've got four days and things are falling pretty well into place. I have two paralegals at the office chasing down the nuts and bolts and both report in daily on my message board. Let the man rest. He needs it, Ryan. He's exhausted. You may have lost sight of the fact that he's getting older a lot faster than you."

"Well far be it for me, the Boss, to, no, hold it. I'm over reacting again, aren't I?"

"I've seen you worse. I'm serious though. I love that aging shark and you as well. You're my family and the only kids I've got. So, how did it go with the posse?"

Allen said, "Boss man interpreted for the clairvoyantly impaired. I sure wish I could see things, too. You know, maybe it's my imagination but I sometimes think I can feel something."

That perked Rachel's interest, though Marianne chalked it up to wishful thinking. "Son, what is it you are feeling?"

"Hard to say. Kind of a prickling on the back of my neck. Nothing threatening, just, a feeling there. Anyway, how did the project go?"

Marianne was collating pictures on the table. "95% done. There are going to be a lot of happy haunters tomorrow. This is really sweet of you, though it's a shame we can't give each man a wallet to keep them in. Still, I'll bet they are going to be real grateful."

Ryan practiced his recurring blank expression. When did he lose control? And where was Vanessa? It was getting dark already. Maybe she stayed on to visit with Annie? "OK, color me clueless and let the deposed king in on the secret. Marianne, what is it you two are working on?"

"Boss, I thought YOU were a slave driver. Your usurper puts you to shame. Check this out!"

There on the table was the nearly completed project. There were fifty envelopes, each with a name on it. Ryan recognized the names as those of the remaining Union soldiers.

"Go on, peek inside." Rachel was pretty proud of their accomplishment and could sympathize with Allen's frustration of not being able to witness the fruits of their labors.

Ryan picked up the closest envelope. It read "Peterson, Private Pete Nathaniel". Inside were pictures. Ryan picked out one and looked at it. It was a copy of an old photograph, doctored up for clarity, of a woman. On the back was handwritten 'Mrs. Kate Winona Peterson, October 12th, 1864'. He flipped through the rest of the pictures, and then set the envelope down. "You did a family photo album on EACH MAN? ID's and all?"

Rachel broke out her ear-to-ear smile. "You got that right! These poor boys have been denied their families all this time and I'll bet that they would love to know about those people they still care about. It's going to be a bit tricky and I'm not sure how you'll do it. Maybe we should all go and each take a share. Ryan, you could give us the high sign when each soldier looking at the pictures is done and when to flip to the next one. With you directing and the three of us flipping photos, we should be able to get the whole troop done well before the first break off point, where you insist on not shopping horseback. What do you say?"

Ryan thought about it. Why not? "Sure, sounds like a great plan. About time we did something just for fun for a change. All work and no play, and all that. Great! One minor change. Marianne, reserve the usual two mares. We need to keep the rest of you on your own tasks. Allen and I can handle the group during the two legs of our ride, tomorrow."

Marianne was disappointed, but Rachel couldn't complain. Being that far off the ground, juggling reins and photos, wasn't her idea of a great time.

Vanessa made the scene. Ryan saw her face and asked, "What happened?"

Chapter 17 – MADNESS

Earlier, the witnessed daily tragedy was over. 'One, two, three, red light'. Children played that game. Vanessa wondered briefly if she had when she was a child. She didn't remember. Did Mad Annie play that game with the soldiers? What was it she said, or did, to stop their motion like that? They were all faced east in order to see the goal they were prevented from achieving. They were all stock still, quiet; horses, too. Some of them had reached about a hundred feet beyond the porch, with the rest strung out and scattered behind. Then, as always, they faded and were gone.

After the Union men had passed into their oblivion, Vanessa looked at where the children had been. Not a sign of them was left. Mad Annie was still standing on her porch, as always. In the past, she and Ryan had left her alone at this point. That was about to change, immediately. She felt the rage of impotence well up within her as the spectacle just witnessed coalesced with the Grace Church fire. In front of her, in the direction she found herself helpless not to walk towards, was their MOTHER! No mother, no matter how insane, could consign flesh of her flesh to this. She had to say something! What to say was beyond her at the moment.

From clenched teeth came Vanessa's words: _"Mrs. Annie Edwards, I would like to have a word with you."_

But Annie looked different. The fire had ebbed to a dull ember, but it could still be seen. It was like 'after glow', in an obscene sort of comparison. The passion act had risen, culminated, abated. Now, she just stood there looking violated in her torn dress, but, satisfied? Disgust rose in Vanessa's heart at the wicked sexuality of the whole thing.

Could that be part of it? Could that be IT? Was Jed Patterson her illicit lover? A grim smile momentarily passed Vanessa's face. Jed might be looked upon as Mad Annie's 'old flame'. Yet, that look of pleasure on Mad Annie's face gradually disappeared. What was left looked more confused than anything.

Mad Annie began to become aware of her surroundings, turned her head at the noise she had heard a moment ago.

" _There you are. You are the one who played with my children. They seemed to be having so much fun. But it's late and I had to put them to bed. A mother's work is never done, you know. I was hoping you might come up to the porch for a spell. I get a little lonely sometimes and it would be right pleasant to pass a little time in good company. I see you aren't keeping company with that Union sympathizer that used to work here. Ryan was his name if I recollect. A spy for the North, probably. That's just fine, Dearie, just fine. We Southern girls hare to stick to our own kind. Texan indeed! I remember him telling me that. Pish tosh. If he's Southern, then the world is upside down."_

Now there was a social data-dump. Vanessa thought of that last sentence. _"Maybe it is, Annie. It sure is for you."_ Vanessa wanted to lash out, but sensed something important had changed and she needed to find out what it was.

They sat down on the porch as the process of starting the visitor wind-down was done by the 'help'. The sun was about an hour and a half from sunset and there was a cool breeze coming in from the north, judging from the way the trees swayed. Annie babbled on about how much a chore it was to keep a good home while the man of the house was away defending their country. Vanessa thought, _"Her mad self still thinks the war is on? Ryan thought so before, so her denial is still intact."_

" _Mrs. Edwards..."_

" _Call me Annie, Dearie."_

" _All right, Annie. Please, call me Vanessa. Where is your husband right now?"_

" _Why, knowing my Archibald, he's giving the Union the fear of God itself. That Sherman, the son of Beelzebub himself is on the march with his minions and my Archibald is helping General Hood to stop them. God bless Jefferson Davis."_

There was the uncomfortable feeling that she was walking on thin ice, talking to Mad Annie. What was worse, beneath the ice wasn't water, but fire.

" _I really enjoyed playing games with Jason and Rebecca."_ Vanessa set her face to be passive, to hide her grief. Fortunately, the mad are usually not as observant of others true feelings as the sane are. _"Where are they now, Annie?"_

" _Why, sleeping of course. Young'ns need their rest. Maybe someday you'll be a mother and learn these things. Fed them a good meal and sent them off to bed after they washed up and said their prayers. Let me tell you how hard it has been taking care of two children, the farm, and all the other things that..."_

On and on she went. Mad Annie was sure a lot more chatty now than her other self, but it was one-way chat, mostly. At night, it had always been a give and take, an even split. Now she rambled, mostly sounding sensible to a casual listener but having very little connection to reality. WHAT good meal? WHAT prayers? Had she blocked out the trampling of her children just now?

" _I couldn't help but notice, but didn't a troop of Union soldiers just come by here?"_

" _Heavens no, child! They aren't due through here till tomorrow. Not to worry though. My Archibald will be here in time to rout those roustabouts all the way back to Dishonest Abe himself. We're perfectly safe. The South is going to win this war yet. You'll see! Robert E. Lee is the greatest general there ever was. He'll see to it. You just wait and see."_

Mad Annie went on describing how wonderful her Archibald was, who, by the way she told it, would be winning the Civil War single handedly. The sun was beginning to set. Perhaps another forty minutes or so remained. Could she learn any more about Annie, something they could use? A weak spot? How do you find a weak spot that a sane person could use against someone whose grip on reality was fleeting at best? _"Hmmm..."_

" _Thank you, Annie. I feel much safer now. Say, I'm a bit hungry. Might there be a few leftovers from dinner? We could go inside and chat there. What do you say?"_

Mad Annie's smile faded. She looked unfocused, confused _. "Sorry Dearie, kitchen's closed. Dogs got the scraps. Everything's put away. Cook went home. Sorry."_

" _Oh, that's all right (what dogs?). Say, I couldn't help but admire your garden right over there. It looks just wonderful. What do you grow there?"_

Mad Annie seemed to relax. So did Vanessa, sensing that the ice she was standing on cracked a little just moments ago. The smart thing to do would be to take off as soon as politeness would allow, but something held her there. She had to know more.

" _Why child, don't you know that the Edwards Homestead has the best fruit trees in the county? And our tomatoes and potatoes are the talk of Milledgeville at the county fairs. We grow the biggest squash and, I don't mean to brag, but I'm told I make the best cornbread in these parts. You can ask any man. Don't ask the womenfolk, though."_

Annie laughed at her jab at her neighbors' jealousy of her cooking and agricultural wherewithal. _"You can see right from here the peach and apple trees. Look at the fruit hanging there! We'll be getting ready for harvest any day, now. We'll make sure none of the sweat from Southern brows feeds Yankee mouths."_

" _They look wonderful, Annie! Say, I feel uncomfortable going into someone else's garden. Would you be a 'Dearie' and fetch us a couple of those wonderful looking peaches?"_

The defocused look came back. Annie looked at the peaches. They were there, in plain sight. She couldn't say that the kitchen was closed now. There they were. So, why not just do the right neighborly thing and go pick a couple? She took a step and then stopped. Annie's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, trying to find a way out of the trap, looking like a fish out of water.

It was Vanessa's turn to watch like a hawk. She had maneuvered Mad Annie into a conundrum. Whatever was operating her mind was stuck in the mud, not able to go backwards or forwards. _"Caught your hand in the cookie jar?"_

Annie was a hospitable Southern woman of good reputation. She had a guest who was hungry. "When I came to your door hungry, you fed me", the Good Book said. It would only take about forty or fifty steps to get to the first tree. The fruit was ripe. The lowest branches were well within reach. She took a second step and a look of panic began to show on her face. A third step, this one shaky, her hands began to rise as if to ward off a blow to the mid-section.

" _Oh my look at the time I have to check on the kids and get the wash done and get ready for guests tomorrow and I'm sorry we didn't have more time to talk and you better get going and you can pick one or two peaches on your way out and thanks very much for stopping by and for playing with the children and come back tomorrow and I'll make sure you get some real Southern hospitality and cooking thank you good bye see you tomorrow."_

With that frantic outburst, Annie rushed into the house. This time, not even bothering to walk through the door but plowing through the wall.

The sun continued to set. From the porch, Vanessa watched the colors of dusk begin to tinge the clouds with a glow worthy of a religious painting. _"How can such beauty follow such ugliness?"_ Then, as always, the colors began to fade, the skies darkened. _"Why is it that children must suffer for what adults do?"_ Vanessa stood there, looking west, looking like a part time replacement for Mad Annie. _"How can God allow this to continue?"_ She was detached from everything but that which was racing through her mind. _"Does He even know?"_ So much had happened in the last half day. _"Does He even care?"_ What did it all mean?

A voice came from behind. _"Hello Vanessa, Dear! What a pleasant surprise. Won't you sit and chat for a while? Hello? Hello! Honey, are you alright?"_ Vanessa's desire to cry bubbled up and was barely suppressed. A desire to scream followed on its heels. Suppression failed. Two very old women then talked for hours.

A young woman sat at a desk. She had been hitting the MiDi's for hours, now reading sentences over more than once and not getting anything out of them. She rose, closed her PC, and walked down the hall and to the room next door where her new friend was. She knocked and heard, "Come in." When the door opened, Barbara saw one bleary-eyed Barbie enter her room. "Where do you want the body sent?"

"Funny. Mind if I take a seat?"

"Sure, take the other chair. If you hit the bed you probably won't get up. Hit a wall, did you?"

"If you hear a gentle knock at your door in about three minutes, I'd appreciate it if you would open it. It'll be my butt."

"Good one. I'll pass that one along. OK, how important are tomorrow's assignments?"

"The math is a must, no prisoners taken and the professor is a bitch cubed. I'm ninety percent on that but my eyes don't accept more information. Maybe it's true that blonds are dumb."

"Can the sexist crap right now or turn around and get out. You are not dumb. Common sense is another thing altogether. I'm getting a little woofed myself, so let's get out for a while. You jog?"

"I can stair step you into the ground, lady," said Melissa with no small amount of pride.

"Gym's closed. Grab your sports bra. We're going for a run. It'll wipe out the cobwebs."

Ten minutes later, the two students were padding around the complex, over to the field house, up to the skating rink, around Samaritan Hospital and back to the dorm. Much to her displeasure, Barbara was much more out of breath than Melissa was. "I give up! How's a Barbie babe outdo a regular jogger?" Stair-steppers were OK, she had done that. But jogging was different in Troy where just about everything was built on a hill. It could be a real killer.

"Well, you're in pretty good shape for a book nerd. Let's take a look at your room fridge." The two by two room unit opened to reveal; "No wonder! Soda, chocolate milk, peanut butter, whole milk, cheese." A peek into the closet shelves showed sugary cereals, Ritz crackers, and a variety of other snack items available at the school store. "Get a bag."

"What are you going to do?"

"This crap is why your butt laughs at your jogging, why you've got enough zits to pass for a map of the Swiss Alps, and why you're sucking wind. That's also why I get more calls from guys than you do. Lady, you could look real good if you would just apply a little more common sense to your diet."

"Hey wait a minute. I'm OK with myself, you know? A social life screwed up your scholastics, right?"

"Yes, it did. Screwed up a lot more than that, if you must know. I was at one end of the spectrum. You're at the other. We both need a balance, Barbara, so let's make sure you don't turn into a well educated and lonely overweight zit farm."

"Hey, I didn't ask for your help, you asked for mine. Now, get back to your room and crack those books and I mean NOW."

"OK, mind if I study here? It's a little lonely."

"Sure, take the chair and spread out your stuff on the bed."

If any man had been watching, he would have been mystified. After men have a head on, they mutter, plan revenge and kick themselves for too-late-comebacks. Women more often tend to blow off their tension with verbal mini-booms. Then, once the air is cleared, get back to the business at hand, relieved rather than morose. There are exceptions to that rule which, to the delight of women everywhere, confuses men even more.

Vanessa looked like she had been through the wringer. Her clothes never changed, or her hair, so Ryan could only tell by looking at her face. Especially her eyes. They are the mirrors of the soul and, with spiritual entities, the soul isn't buried as far from observation as it is with the living. Those that see spirits will often readily sense a mood or emotion, when the same people might be clueless in dealing with living people.

She related the events of the day and omitted no details, even if painful. She couldn't take the chance that some detail she might leave out might just unearth the winning ticket. Marianne sensed it coming and made sure her purse was close at hand as soon as Ryan began translating. Rachel was catching on and already had her tissue stash ready in her own purse just in case the narrative took a turn for the weepy.

First, Vanessa went over the day's playing with the children, the stories told them and how they enjoyed them.

(click/open, click/open)

Ryan continued to pass on how each child had asked her to move away so that she didn't get hurt when the men and horses came.

(crinkle, crinkle, pull, pull, dab, dab)

Finally, starting to choke, Ryan managed to croak out the scene of the children holding hands as the wave of resisting soldiers rode over them, and how they never looked away from her.

(pull, pull, blow, pull, pull, blow, sniff, snort, bawl)

Taking more than just a moment to get a drink of water, Ryan resumed relating the bizarre conversation with Mad Annie, followed by the unnerving return of Nighttime Annie. He would fill Gustav in tomorrow, after breakfast.

It took a little while before the Mother Hen Waterworks Company wound down on production. When it finally did, the Old Man of the Sea took the helm and said, "People, we are mental puppy chow. Tomorrow is day three of the count down. Let's get our cobwebs cleared with a good night's sleep and be fresh in the morning."

Allen thought to himself, while walking to the bathroom and from there to the sack, "Annie almost short-circuited. Can we use that?" He went over the possibilities while getting rid of some coffee side effects. "She still believes the war is on. Will that make or break our surprise?" He ruminated over this one while brushing his teeth, flossing and changing into pajamas. Allen was actually a shy man, at least with any not considered to be a significant other. His need for sleep was quietly insistent, and his brain began to wander along paths that had little to do with things at hand; a natural mechanism where the conscious brain distances itself from too much reality focus that would rob it of both perspective and of needed sleep. Still, he was in question mode and the last verbalized thought he was able to muster was, "I wonder what Melissa is doing right now, (yawn) who she's with, where she is..." As it turns out, Vanessa was looking in on him just then and she smiled. A side scheme began to form, something less weighty and more fun than the task that had occupied them for so long.

Gustav continued to sleep his exhaustion away. In his dreams, he wandered to old places, finding friends long gone. People and places seemed distant to him, yet close. He could reach out to them, but was unable to touch them. He found his childhood home, but others lived there now. No one looked at him, no one answered him. How sad. Oh, well.

Rachel and Marianne lay on Marianne's bed and talked for a while longer. Hotels wisely kept tissues handy in all their rooms, never knowing what sort of human activity or emotion or virus might be revealing itself. The women kept their emergency stashes in their purses and used the hotel's when possible. In this business, you never knew when you would need to dry your eyes, or someone else's. As the night wore on, both women gradually and gently nodded off as their last mumbled words became unintelligible.

When they woke up the next day, cuddled together, it was instantly agreed not to pass on that little bit of trivia to anyone. They were platonic, plain and simple, but rumors get started like that.

Ryan laid his head back on his pillow, satisfied with boxer shorts for sleepwear. PJ's never cut it in the Navy and he never got out of the habit despite northern climes. He liked his bedrooms warm, like they were back in Galveston. Vanessa came in and, as usual, wished she could slip in next to him. His eyes looked into hers and he said, "I'm so sorry, my Love. That must have been so hard for you, today. Maybe it would be better if I went tomorrow."

" _No. The children trust me now. There isn't time to change things. Besides, Mad Annie thinks you are a Yankee spy. She doesn't think I'm with you anymore and that pleases her. Maybe I can get more out of her tomorrow. I've got to try. Think about it and see if there's something you can suggest for me to do or find out."_

"Vanessa, you're doing more than fine on your own. That was pretty slick with the food approach. Trouble is, I don't know if you were close to a break though, or an explosion. Remember what Natalie told you about avoiding confrontation. She may know something we don't. She has to. Did you figure out anything on that bracelet thing she did?"

" _No, not a thing. It looks the same, feels the same, no difference as far as I can tell."_ Vanessa and Ryan looked at it. It was simply made, mostly yarn of different colors, French braided into a wrist wrap. There was a flat wooden piece that bore Vanessa's name, carved carefully with a penknife, probably. Natalie told Vanessa long ago that her father had done the carving, but she had done the yarn work. It wasn't the first or last present her school children had given her, but it was one that she valued highly. _"Never mind that for now. You need rest too, Sweetheart. Close your eyes and rest, and way your dreams be sweet. I love you, always. Oh, and Honey?"_

(Yawn). "Yes, Baby."

" _One little question."_

"Sure, what is it?" Yawn.

" _Since you and Allen have been doing so much with figuring out ancestry, do you think you and he could shed a little light on something that has been on my mind for almost sixty years?"_

A little of the sleepiness left Ryan. If something was that important to his soul mate, after what she had been through today: "Honey, you name it. What's on your mind?"

" _Was Astro on the Jetsons a direct descendent of Scooby Doo?"_

Ryan's mouth was open to give a kindly response to a deep question. It stayed open, with nothing to say. His eyes were now wide-open, sleepiness gone. Everyone else was on the verge of sleep and he didn't dare make the kind of noise he sorely wished to right now. Vanessa, on the other hand, took full advantage of the situation and her uniqueness with a long, loud laugh at her Love's expense. He'd been had, he thought.

Then Ryan smiled. He'd been had by the best.

Chapter 18 – DAY 3

Mad Annie was troubled. Things seemed different today, though she was hard to put a finger on as to why. The children weren't up yet.

" _Maybe they should be,"_ she thought. _"After all, this is a farm. Farm children are supposed to help with the chores, aren't they?"_ She looked over at the barn, where there should be horses and cows ready for riding or buggy pulling and milking, respectively. The barn doors were closed, with the morning dew visible. The sun was warming the moisture on the roof and there was a ghostly vapor that rose over the peak from it. _"Ghosts! Brrr "_ She was always afraid of ghost stories. Her oldest brother, Bartholomew, liked to tell them. She and her sister would love/hate to hear them, holding on to each other's hands. Annie stopped her train of thought. Why did that notion bother her just now? She felt sensations of familiarity of love, fear, and ghost stories. _"What was that phrase I learned in Paris? Oh yes, deja vu. That was it, yes."_

A cup of coffee would fit the mood right now. It sure would. No one was up but her to fix it, though. She could do it. Just mosey right into the kitchen, fire up the stove and throw on the coffee pot. Even as a girl, she had loved the smell of coffee and bacon in the morning, though she only liked the taste of the bacon. Instead, her mother would put on a pot of hot cider with a stick of cinnamon in it. That was just the thing on a cool morning to make getting up early a good thing. Fresh cider squeezed from just-picked apples. Apples were fruit, like, peaches. Annie looked over at the orchard where the well-tended trees were laden with fruit. The trees were different than the ones she once knew. Those had died. These had been planted since. She remembered people bringing them in. How long did it take for trees to grow to the size they were now? Something (someone?) told her to stop such prattle. That woman yesterday who came to pay respects, the one her children so enjoyed playing with, had asked for something from the kitchen and later for some of her fruit.

Annie licked her lips and looked at the trees, then back at her home's closed front door. That feeling was coming back again. Shouldn't someone be starting breakfast?

Marianne and Rachel woke in surprise. They looked at each other and realized both had conked out without so much as taking off a sock. They giggled like girls that had finagled a sleepover despite parental restrictions, then their mother hen genes kicked in. Duty called and children needed breakfast. Rachel padded back into her own room (after Marianne checked to see if the coast was clear) and, in fifteen minutes, both women were showered and bath-robed, trying to get the knots out of their hair before showing themselves to the general public.

Gustav, Ryan, and Allen slept, and dreamt.

Gustav was trying to protect a litter of puppies from a big nasty cat, shielding them at the cost of being clawed. His clothes were torn and his mother was going to scold him for ruining his good Sunday outfit, but the puppies needed his protection. Mamma would understand, wouldn't she?

Ryan was floating on a raft in the ocean, but the colors were wrong. The water was black and there was danger nearby. But it wasn't the water. No whales or sharks to be seen anywhere. The threat was in the air. It was charged with malevolence that wanted to nibble away at him like rabid rats. He considered diving into the water to get away from it, but no amount of walking got him to the raft's edge. Yet, he felt no fear, for soon there was a soothing presence that made things all better. It filled and shared his body and gave him a peace of mind in spite of the bad air. He stuck his tongue out, lay back on the raft and made funny pictures out of the clouds in the air. There was a train engine, an airplane, a car, a church, and there was a dark cloud, in the west. Danger? He looked to the east, and saw a red sky. Sailors take warning. The dark cloud came closer, but he was not the target. It was another cloud, the one that looked like a church. He watched as the cloud enveloped the church. Ryan was saddened, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Allen was late for class, but it was OK. He knew it was a dream and checked out the other classrooms. The first was full of children. They were all black, and they were singing. The second had no one in it, but the walls and desks were charred black from a fire. The children were gone. That was good. The third had soldiers in it, all dressed in uniforms of various conflicts, all uncomfortable looking. They were squished into little children's desks and they couldn't get out of them. Someone had put glue on the seats. They looked funny and Allen laughed. One of the soldiers heard him and aimed a revolver at Allen. He closed that door real fast. The last room had a teacher in it. No one else was there. It was an old-fashioned room. She had an old-fashioned blue dress on and was quite attractive. The teacher was a bit too old for him, but not that old. The woman waved him to the one desk that seemed right for him, right in front of her. He smiled and walked over to it, but sat on the desk rather than in the chair. That was for children and he was much too old for that. The teacher seemed pleased, then turned around to write something on the blackboard. She wrote the first word: 'LEAD'. He looked at the word and wondered if she meant 'lead, as in the metal' or 'lead someone'.

The second word was 'LOVE'. "Lead, love, laugh and be happy." Wasn't that a song that granddad used to sing when Allen was really little? Lead and love. This was a dream, so he was in control. If he was in control, what was this lady doing writing words on the blackboard? Was he making her do it? She began to write a third and, he knew, final word. Allen felt sure it would be 'LAUGH', like in that stupid song, but it wasn't. The letters were wrong. It was hard to read, to make out. He squinted his eyes and the letters began to take form, F, O, R, but there wasn't time because it was school lunchtime and the cafeteria was serving coffee. But since when did a grade school cafeteria ever serve coffee? He was waking up. The last impression he recalled on waking was a look of major annoyance on the teacher's face who was scrambling to finish the word. The room grew hazy, but he could make out two more letters: 'G' and 'I'. "Forgi?" he said when his eyes opened. "Porgi? Porgi and Bess? Porky Pig?"

" _Oh, farts!"_

The ladies had ordered room service, which was prompt in delivering a nice spread. In the interim, they had also gotten dressed and looked annoyingly refreshed as the men-folk grumped out of their rooms, scratching, yawning and blinking, dressed in their slippers and hotel robes. Ryan looked up at Rachel and Marianne, his head bent forward, raised one eyebrow and asked, "What, did you sleep in your clothes?" Neither woman answered directly, but both smirked. "I'll never figure them out, dead or alive."

Everyone grabbed coffee (or tea), loaded plates (family style) and shuffled (or stepped lively, which irritated the shufflers) to couches and coffee tables of the suite's common room. The sounds were homey: fork scrapes, cup clinks and various sounds of appreciation that weren't found in the dictionary, unless under the general umbrella of 'grunt'. Gustav had to be filled in on everything and apologized more than once for being absent the previous night. The Mother Hens had directed him to sit on the big couch and each took up stations on either side of him, which pleased him immensely. They knew who needed their support the most. There was a comforting feeling when he griped and one or both of them would reach over and squeeze his hand, rub his neck, or even tousle his hair. He could get used to this real fast, and alternated between finding things to grump about and smiling.

Ryan smiled and shook his head. "Snow on the roof."

Allen finished the old saying: "Fire in the furnace." With that, battle plans for the day were bandied about in an atmosphere of friendship and full stomachs. Allen and Ryan would ride with the men to raise morale and make inroads with Jed Patterson, if possible. Rachel and Marianne would coordinate with the re-enactors, the Edwards Homestead staffers and its board of directors for all the last minute details a project of this size would entail. Gustav had defrayed a lot of the costs involved in this project by bartering with two television stations, in his capacity as a board member for the Edwards Historical Site, for exclusive filming rights. One was to focus on roaming around and getting footage of individuals and small groups. The other would be set up strategically to capture the main arena spectacles. Gustav had to manage some last minute quagmires on liability, contracts with vendors, and such. Vanessa would...Ryan looked around. Where was she? Gone already? That wasn't like her. He then announced Vanessa's arrival, followed by a question directed at her absence. No answer. He finally said that the Lady Vanessa was not in a mood to do anything but smirk and God help the person she was directing her attentions to.

"OK, children, Daddy says clean up your plates, finish your drinks and let's roll. Allen, that sheepskin saddle pad will be waiting. Sorry about the sores. Gustav, you take it easy. That's an order, so shut that open mouth of yours. There's egg yolk between your teeth. Ladies, you have both proven to be invaluable, so I propose we all take them out to a nice dinner tonight. All in favor say 'aye'. All opposed and willing to personally cook dinner themselves and do the dishes? So carried. So, let's make like a cowgirl brassier."

There was a general look of 'huh? Ryan was getting more unpredictable to his old friends lately, and he never was predictable to his new ones. He just smiled and said "Round'em up, head'em out." A volley of crumpled and greasy napkins was launched. Most found their laughing target.

Melissa came back to her room right about then, toweling her hair and getting ready for class. What she saw on her desk was immediately suspicious. The space in front of her PC was cleared of her math papers. No one could have gotten in, other than the RA (resident advisor), and she wasn't up yet judging from the snoring from her room. There was a picture leaning against the front of the PC screen that caught her eye. It was the one of Allen she just recently had put away. Had he been there? The mystery made her resolution to pay closer attention in class that day far more difficult to stick to. There were too many guys sitting next to her, trying to be friendly in class and the cafeteria (especially the cafeteria), adding to the general silliness.

"Thank you, I can carry my own books."

"Thank you, I already have an exercise partner."

"Thank you, but pep rallies make me hurl."

She was wearing sweats today, for God's sake! You couldn't even see the panty lines. "What's wrong with these guys? I wish Allen was back."

Jed Patterson sat waiting for the column to form up. His horse, Coaljack, was an Andelusian. He'd heard from the trader that sold him the horse that Coaljack had the bloodline of the old medieval warhorses. Jed knew horses and felt it was probably true. From what he had read (though he had dropped out of school, Daddy made sure he could read well enough to get by), this breed was mated to the big Percherons to make the fearsome war stallion. Had he lived, that would have been one of his life's fondest dreams. As it was though, Coaljack had put the fear of God into many a Johnny. He got the best Jed could give him, which wasn't always sufficient, but it was the best he could do. Kind of like how his Daddy gave his limited best to Jed. Coaljack was the closest thing to a son he would ever know. That used to make him blind mad but, for the moment, he was just grateful that he had even that. Some of the other men looked at Jed and began to murmur.

The grove where they appeared each morning was peaceful. _"Looked to belong to some rich folk in that big house tip there,"_ Jed told his horse. He'd seen the house in its stages of construction, how long ago, ninety years? It was so hard to keep track of the days. It was a day like any other, from the look of it, though this one promised to be a pleasant one. There were birds singing and hardly a cloud in the sky. He supposed that even Hell could sometimes be 'right purty'. Had he been able to have paper and pen, he might have kept an interesting journal. All the changes he had noticed over time, all the times he tried to avenge himself and the other soldiers on that woman. For the most part, the entries wouldn't change much faster than a tree would if you stood there and watched it grow. But something was different today, or at least seemed so. It was a vague feeling of unrest, a hint of a desire to question himself. He'd not had that before and felt he must be getting soft in his 'old age'. With that, Private Patterson laughed at himself, which gave the willies to his (former?) comrades. No one liked being near a mad man who was laughing, for what a mad man found funny was often not pleasant.

Allen and Ryan had taken their horses, Maribelle and Cumquat (Allen had groused yesterday about spending the afternoon sitting on a southern fruit, and what idiot would name a horse Cumquat, anyway?) for a leisurely walk. It was Thursday, September 29th and the leaves were turning color beautifully. Only a few had dropped, enough to make the effect pleasing to the eye as daubs of color highlighted the green carpet of grass. Adding to the sweetness of the morning was the breeze that made those daubs of red, yellow and brown dance in lines and circles with gentle, scratchy, whisper songs. The whole effect was intoxicating and Allen began to softly hum the first thing that came to mind. On the second go round, Ryan added his voice to the music; "Oh I wish I was down in the land of cotton. Old times there are not forgotten, look away, look away, look away, Dixie land." Not knowing many more words, both men hummed along in a pleasant base and tenor harmony. As time nudged along, Ryan stopped humming and commented, "Aye, there's the rub. 'Old times there are not forgotten'. Kind of sums it all up, doesn't it?"

Allen thought about it. "Yeah. You know, there are drugs called amnesiacs. Shame we can't use them on Annie or Jed. Versed was one such drug used for a long time. Keeps the person undergoing anesthesia from remembering what was said and done during surgery. Learned that from Jeremy, a pre-med roomie I used to have."

"Oh? How can you forget what happened when you are unconscious? Unconscious is unconscious. You don't hear or see anything. I don't remember anything I hear in my sleep, do you?"

"Do you really want a lecture from the little whelp?"

Ouch. "Sorry about that, son. Yes, I would very much like a lecture from the not-so-little whelp."

"Fair enough. First of all, you do hear in your sleep. How many times did you wake up from a dream that included a real sound going on, and you had just made creative use of it in that dream?"

Ryan nodded. "OK, I'll grant you that one. Good point! Can you top it?"

"I'll try, Gramps. Drug sedation is different from sleep. Your subconscious is alert and still tuned into the world. I've read where people wake up after a surgery and throw bedpans at the surgeon when he or she walked in if they had said uncomplimentary things directed at the patient during the procedure. It's been shown that positive conversation content during surgery has a direct link to recovery success. The subconscious also is not subject to cultural mores when speaking its mind. Dreams can get pretty sexual, or violent, or just plain rude. It's not good or bad, just what is. When a person is under, Jeremy told me, they have a habit of saying some pretty explicit stuff. They will know down deep that things that shouldn't have been said had been and will feel violated."

"Is your memory photographic, Allen? You have a command of information on a lot of fields."

"I like to read, download, and play Trivial Pursuit. There are a hundred versions, depending on what your main interests are. At RPI, I was in with a group that liked to play. You pick up a lot that way. Also, Mom was someone that insisted I learn something new every day when I was growing up. Learning became fun in the process. Probably why I like college so much. Learning is a high for me."

"I've noticed."

"I was wondering, Ryan. Ghosts don't sleep, do they?"

"Can't prove they don't, but I've never found one napping. Sleeping is time programmed in to allow the body to regenerate from damage done the day before. Entities don't seem to have that need...no bodies to damage. Still, their level of consciousness and awareness varies greatly. Some of them appear to have their full personality, while others display only a fragment of the whole they used to be."

Allen yawned. "Speaking of sleeping, this pace, the sun, the whole scene here is a living lullaby. Any coffee on this route?"

"You know, Allen, you're becoming far too addicted to that stuff. Why not give it a break?"

"I'll buy."

"Check and roger. It's a quarter mile that way for a shortcut." Ryan pointed 45 degrees to the left of yesterday's path and off they went, with Allen now convinced that there was more Scottish than Irish blood in Ryan's background. Going over rough ground was more interesting, since more attention had to be paid to branches both on the trees and on the ground. That made the ride more authentic and less like an amusement park attraction. They came out near County Route 17 and waited for a hole in the traffic. Hybrid cars and trucks whizzed by, seeming to be in a great hurry to get somewhere. People who had learned how to travel slowly and be one with nature felt sorry for the hustling masses. The hustling masses who saw the two blue-jeaned riders would vent their envy with words.

"How quaint," one mother said.

"Look at the old-time cowboys!" said a child.

A businessman using an earplug to feed him his supervisor's instructions for the upcoming contract goals just muttered, "Hicks."

Crossing over the road was a snap as traffic at this hour hadn't reached the peak numbers yet. It would, by the time they needed to get back, but that wasn't a problem, according to Ryan. They would follow the road for a few hundred yards, duck under CR17 at a stream overpass and be back in plenty of time. Both got off their horses at an authentic-looking general store, complete with hitching post.

"I love this place. I've been drawn here quite a few times in the past. The smell is always the same: candies, candles, and notions-lotions-potions. There are soaps and craftsy things enough to make any souvenir hunter salivate. They make a damn good cup of coffee, too. How about you pick up a couple of mediums while I hit the head."

"Got it, Boss." While Ryan sought out the sign that said 'Pointers (the ladies room: 'Setters'), Allen stepped up to the counter and paid for two blacks, one with two sugars, one straight. His Mom had made sure that his sweet tooth had been kept in check ever since he first found something other than her to chow down on. She was one of those people who felt that sugar was one of the evils of the world, pointing to many studies on aberrant behavior that demonstrated how 'special needs' children improved with a diet mostly devoid of sugar. Improvements were noted in grades and social skills, and there was a drop in episodes of aggressive behavior. Not content to let it go at that, she added the insight that sugar had been responsible for more slavery in the world's history than tobacco and cotton combined. He learned to appreciate the virtues of honey, produced, he was happy to point out to his dear mother, by thousands of drone bees enslaved to a lazy queen. She didn't laugh.

There was a flyer on the counter about the upcoming event at the Edwards Homestead. Nice one. Someone had known how to use color and design to attract the eye. He took one and the cashier noticed. "Ought to be a real sight, that one. I plan on going myself. Owners had to call ManPower to staff the store on Saturday. No one wants to miss the battle. Can you believe over three thousand re-enactors will be there? My uncle is a blacksmith and he'll be there, making horseshoes and fireplace pokers to sell. Here's his card, friend. Tell him his nephew, Frank, said 'Hi'."

"Will do, Frank. Name's Allen. Maybe I'll see you there."

"Maybe not. I hear there's going to be upwards of sixty-thousand visitors. Every hotel for fifty miles has been booked for months and I hear ones further out have raised their rates."

"I'm with some friends in a suite over at the Milledgeville Marriott. Thanks for the heads up, anyway."

Frank's eyebrows went up at that. This kid either was a pathological liar or someone with big time bucks to burn. Ryan came up to claim his coffee and stuck out his hand. "Hi Frank! I see you met Allen. How's Uncle Blacksmith, Gary, isn't it?"

"Allen's your friend, Ryan? Well, that explains it. If anyone can pull strings to get Marriott rooms this weekend, you can. Uncle Gary's fine. Hey, thanks again for getting me the nod from Georgia Tech. I start next spring. Nate will be old enough to take over the store for Dad, then. I'm taking astrophysics as a major and astronavigation as a second."

"Well, guess I'll have Gustav give Carrie Handers over at NASA the word that their next fair haired boy is being groomed. You'll go far, Frank, my boy. Just stay away from the babes long enough to get your cume up. You can attest to that one, can't you, Allen my lad?"

"I'll get you for that," Allen muttered, but smiled when he said it.

"Sure thing, Ryan, and thanks again. Mom said to say 'Hi' when I saw you. Nice to meet you, Allen."

They went to the porch and sipped enough from their cups to make them safer in the saddle. Allen visited 'Pointers', then they both climbed aboard and started on their rendezvous with the Union soldiers.

"Ryan, I think you know half the locals of Milledgeville."

"I'm working on the other half."

"Any of them know your last name?"

"No."

Gustav went to his room and picked up the hotel phone. He asked to be connected with local information. A minute later, he inserted his MFD card and confirmed his identity by pressing his thumb against the ID square.

Chapter 19 – CHANGING ATTITUDES

Vanessa was at the Homestead. She said a prayer for guidance and strength, for both would most likely be needed today. Coming back still gave her a feeling of knee weakness. They weren't really weak, but that was the way the spirit mind worked. Feelings existed in mortal and spirit beings. The ways feelings were interpreted in life carried over to the afterlife.

Jason and Rebecca caught sight of her right away and their smiles erased her nervousness. Vanessa held up one finger in the universal sign of 'hold on, be there soon', and turned to approach the main house porch. Mad Annie was there, looking hard at her. Not angry, just hard.

" _Good morning to you, Annie. My but it's a fine day today. You are well, I hope?"_

" _Doing just fine, Dearie. You are a little late for breakfast, sorry. Did you eat already?''_

Vanessa heard the hope and nervousness in Annie's voice. This WAS a key. Now, how did one turn it safely? _"Oh yes, stuffed like Tom Turkey at Thanksgiving. Please don't trouble yourself."_ Annie's face showed visible relief. Good. Keep the flow going. Listen more, talk less. _"So, things seem pretty lively here. Is it some kind of celebration for your family, or for the Southern Army?"_ Now, shut up and open your ears.

Mad Annie looked at the heightened activity. People (that worked for her?) were here that she had never seen before. She hadn't sent for them and she didn't have a clue as to why they were doing what they were doing. There were men and women building something beyond the front fence that looked like grandstands. There were others working with wires in the ground. Still more were putting up stands, kind of like what you would see at a bazaar. What in the name of Heavenly Glory was going on and how could she admit to this nice visitor, the only one who has talked to her in a coon's age, that the Lady of the Estate was befuddled?

" _Well, I do believe it is being done by the Milledgeville Women's Auxiliary to welcome my Archibald and his soldiers in a triumphant return."_ she lied. " _It should be quite a sight to see. Will you, um, be around for it?"_ She hoped not.

Vanessa gave an honest answer through a less than honest smile. _"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm sure it will be something neither of us will soon forget."_

Mad Annie's smile didn't fade, but her eyes betrayed her. Vanessa made a mental note that she should be there well before the big day's festivities began to add more confusion to the mixture.

Things were getting uncomfortable again for Mad Annie. That seemed to happen whenever this Vanessa woman came round. She seemed friendly enough. Maybe there had been just too few social callers recently and there was a natural awkwardness. That would pass in time with practice, wouldn't it?

" _Annie, Honey, I'm sure you have lots to do, inside the house, to get ready. Why there must he a thousand details to see to. Everything has to be ready for your Archibald, right?"_ Vanessa nodded her head slightly as she spoke to encourage agreement on Annie's part _. "You don't want him to think you've been lazy in his absence, do you?"_ Vanessa shook her head slightly to emphasize the negative. Ryan called this visual linguistics when it applied to him, but female manipulation of poor, unsuspecting and naive men when the shoe was on the other foot.

" _No, er, yes, and, I mean, I had better get a move on. There is so much to do, you are right on that point. Now don't you bother with me, Dearie. I'll be out later, if you have a mind to stick around. The children might like your company a spell, if it isn't too much trouble."_

" _No trouble at all, Dearie. You just go and get your house ready. I'll be fine, just fine."_

Jason and Rebecca had been watching all along. There was their mother, the woman they nursed from, learned from; the one that let them die every day, no longer fed them and hardly ever spoke to them. They were sure the person who looked like their mother was their mother, but somehow, not sure. Then there was Vanessa. They had seen her many times, but only since the last two days had she been actually speaking to them. There was the familiarity of having seen her, that she never changed (she and they always wore the same clothes). There was the fact that she came up and talked to them like they were real, something they long thirsted for. She also had spoken to them of helping them, help which their mother had denied them. How could that be? Had Rebecca been alive, she would have had faced serious problems with maternal role modeling when maturity arrived in her life.

A child psychologist would gear up to deal with emotional scars, aberrant behavior, codependency, arrested development and a dozen other catch words that tried to describe the sad effects of what happens when 'childhood' was ripped from 'child'. Vanessa had given all of this long and considered thought. She wasn't there, though, to be their therapist. Her goal was to get these children to where the greatest therapist of all was waiting for them. The soldiers were also important, very important. Each was a soul created by the same authority that created these children. But values are skewed by the human desire to protect the young at all costs. If God were to think otherwise, then that was God's business. He made her like she was, so He must have had a damn, uh, darn good reason for it.

" _Hello Jason, Rebecca! What a fine day it is today. Just look at all the colors and all the people busy working. Isn't it grand?"_

" _Sure is!"_ said Rebecca, getting her two cents in first this time. Vanessa smiled inside to think that sibling rivalry could go on beyond the grave.

Vanessa would take this in baby steps. _"Do you know what is happening here?"_

Jason chimed in this time. _"Kind of, Miss Vanessa. We've seen doings like this in the past, but never this big."_

" _Well children, I made a promise to help you. My friends are going to help me make that come true. They can do many great things and you are seeing a small part of our plan. I can't tell you yet when it is going to happen, but it will be soon, real soon."_

Jason looked at Vanessa in that hard sort of way. He truly bore resemblance to his mother when he did that, she thought. He said, _"You don't want us to give the plan away to Mamma. That's why you don't tell us. When we had others our age to play with, we never told secrets to anyone that couldn't keep a secret. You don't trust us, Miss Vanessa?"_

Ryan had forewarned Vanessa that this kind of question might come up, thanks to a 'heads up' from Rachel. That didn't stop Vanessa from feeling as naked as the Emperor with the penchant for new clothes.

" _Jason, mothers can sense things about their children. I know, I was a mother, once. I can't lie to you because you would see right through me. You can't lie to your mother either, if she were to ask you straight out."_

That's when Rebecca burst Vanessa's bubble. _"But Miss Vanessa, Jason and I don't get to talk to her hardly at all. She doesn't pay any attention to us 'cept once in a while. Miss Vanessa, is that really our Mommy?"_

OK crew, ten minutes. Break for commercial. She'd been cornered and never saw it coming. How proud her friends had been of her cleverness with Mad Annie. How proud would they still be when they hear that a little girl pulled the rug out from under her? This was no place for lies, and putting off answering risked losing precious trust. ( _"Double farts, with cheese sauce!")_

" _Rebecca, that was a simple question, but simple questions sometimes require very hard answers. If we are going to be a team that wins, then we have to trust each other fully. We can have no secrets. I see that now."_

Both came closer as she motioned them in. An atmosphere of collusion grew. _"If everything goes as planned, you will have to endure the horsemen two more times. On the third day, all the soldiers escape and you two, as well."_ Vanessa looked at the house. Annie was not to be seen. Was she afraid of Vanessa? Not likely, given Annie's power rating. She was more likely nervous about Vanessa putting her into another no-win situation like the food request. That would bare her insanity to scrutiny and that was intolerable to the crippled shard of the poor children's mother.

For everything, there is a season. A time to play safe, a time to take a chance. _"Children, we are going to take this a little step at a time. You have to know, if you don't already, that you and your mother died a long time ago. Do you know that?"_ Slow nods answered her. _"I'm dead too. Most people die and go on to see God. I never did, because I still have some work to do here before it's my time to move on. Do you understand that also?"_

Jason asked, _"Miss Vanessa, are we the reason you are staying here and not going to God?"_

She was going to have to give a pre-emptive tissue alert when she got back tonight. _"Yes, Jason. I didn't know it until just a short time ago, but yes. It's been very hard to find out how to help you, your mother and the soldiers at the same time. All of you should have moved on to God, but didn't. That is a situation we are going to fix."_

Here goes. _"The person you see on the porch every day is only a part of your mother's spirit, a part that is brain sick. This part isn't thinking right and can't see or understand what she is doing. If she were well, your mother would never, ever, let any of this happen to you. To fix things, we have to do things that are going to upset her, a lot. That would bother any son or daughter. Yon have to understand that we are going to have to frighten her to get her to let go of you and the soldiers. It is her sickness that is making her hold everyone here. The trick is to break that grip without hurting her. We are going to do it in three days. That's a lot to take in. Do you understand me?"_

Four eyes knocked at the door of Vanessa's soul. She let them in. Trust was either complete, or gone. There were no degrees here. She remained completely passive as the search continued. It was an odd feeling, being scrutinized by a little boy and girl, especially when her service to them was a big part of her reason for being on Earth. They needed each other. They saw that, and that was what turned the final switch.

" _What do you want me and my brother to do?"_

The ride seemed, different. Not a lot, but when you have been doing the same thing every day for tens of thousands of days, you notice little changes. It wasn't the scenery or anything new that mortal folk had placed along their paths. The men began to look around nervously. Change involves the unknown. The unknown causes fear. Even Purgatory offers comfort in repetition. Better the Hell you know than the Hell you don't.

Private Elijah Cooper trotted up to his Commanding Officer. "Sir?"

"I feel it, too. And I, I hear it?" The Major looked around. Someone was singing. How long had it been since any had felt up to raising their voices in song, not under orders to do so, that is?

" _Hurrah for the Union! Hurrah boys, hurrah! Down with the traitor and up with the flag..."_

Major Benjamin Covington, US Army, Third Division, XX Corps, said, _"Well I'll be hanged. Private Patterson?"_

Mad Annie felt it unraveling. No, it couldn't happen, not now, not ever! She had a mission, a goal: revenge! Over and over her mantra of purpose she repeated. With each repetition, the fire grew stronger. That woman had confused her. She might be well meaning, but she had confused her. No longer. _"NO!"_

Mad Annie walked to the front porch. There was that woman, telling stories to her children. Let her. She was cheap entertainment for Jason and Rebecca while she did more important work. She looked to the north, then to the west. Yes, to the west. That's where her work lay. Her hands drew up into fists and her whole being tensed as a spring in a watch wound tight. The power was returning. Annie was back. The real one. Not that insane ninny.

Vanessa had forgotten to ask her friends for story suggestions. After telling the children the plan and helping them over at least some of their fears of change, she had recalled the story about a Dutch boy and a leaking dike. The story was dim in her memory, but continued unfolding itself in the telling so that even she was entertained at discovering the storyline again. Something was in the air, though. The light in the children's eyes was still there, but not quite as sparkling as it was moments before.

" _Then the little Dutch boy placed his fingers in the dike. Night fell. His cries were not heard, but he could not leave his post lest the leak become a stream, then a torrent, and then become a flood that would end his village. He became weaker, but his spirit was strong, and he saved his village, at the cost of (something's wrong) of his, life?"_

She turned slowly. Mad Annie was at the helm. The weakness and confusion she had seen before was gone and something in Vanessa said that re-establishing it would not be easy, if it were possible at all. Hope faltered. The enemy stood resilient and strong beyond her own strength. But little hands stopped Vanessa's downward spiral. She looked down to eyes that trusted her, that were coming to love her, with hands that clasped about her own.

The children had accepted her commitment and they didn't give up as easily as wise adults did. _"Miss Vanessa, don't give up. Rebecca and me, we'll do what has to be done. Please, we don't have anyone else. You're our only hope. We believe in you."_

Madness has no logic or reason, but it does have purpose. Ryan had said that. Well Vanessa Blankenship Fitzgalen's fire had purpose and reason. Her purpose didn't include revenge, but it did have salvation, love and friendship. If what she had on her side didn't win out over what madness had on its side, then what was the purpose of existence? She looked again at Mad Annie. She saw strength, but she also saw what so much strength almost always had. Brittleness. That was the key, she thought. Her next thought was an oath.

" _You and me, Bitch."_

The breath of fresh air grew heavy again. Shoulders bowed again. The song the men had joined in with, stopped dead. The despair of prisoners who had been given a taste of freedom, only to have it ripped away, threatened to topple the underpinnings Major Covington had worn his heart out to create. He couldn't let it happen, but what could he do? Fight it! That's what soldiers do!

" _Soldiers of the Union,"_ he called, turning in his saddle on a horse now totally unresponsive to his wishes, _"...our friends have given us a taste of what we are fighting to achieve, what we have fought for so long to win. The demon has rallied, but so did the South, many times. We won that war then and we will win our war now."_

That yielded some response, but not enough. He needed more to stop the plummeting morale. _"I have had the honor of fighting alongside the greatest military minds and bravest men in the world, but was never so honored as I am now to lead the men of this unit. We have won hard battles with Mrs. Edwards in the past and we will continue to strive until the last man has crossed over her terror into the land of milk and honey. Be strong my comrades! We will prevail/ I swear it by all that's holy!"_

It was working, it was turning it around, when, _"Is that what you think, to give empty words that shore up helpless wraiths bonded by Satan's bride herself?"_

Patterson!

" _She only let a few of us go to give false hope to the rest and strengthen her grip on those left behind. I see nothing to fight for other than to trample that witch along with her demon spawned children!"_

Allen's attention was drawn to Ryan, who stared ahead with grave concern etched on his face. "Ride, Allen, quickly! It's falling apart!"

Maribelle and Cumquat may be tame mares, but they ran damned hard until they were in the midst of cowed warhorse spirits ridden by spirits equally worn by burdens beyond measure. Allen knew things weren't right and felt like a blind man in a theater fire, desperate to help, but helpless to do so. That prickling on the back of his neck was there, but it was different now. It felt like 'afraid'.

Major Covington looked at Ryan with a plea in his beleaguered face. That was all it took. Ryan knew that seconds now counted more than content. "SOLDIERS!" That got some attention. "I have a gift for each one of you." Lame, but it got more. "It grieves me that I cannot give something you can hold and have always with you, but I think you will find what we have for you most rewarding." Maribelle and Cumquat had settled into the 'last-mile' pace of their spiritual cousins.

Allen wondered if their oddly named steeds were offering comfort and support to their own departed brethren. He smiled a little to think that (who knows with this group?) there was a great-times-ten grand horse in the equation. It would be possible to find that out, as horse breeding records were often better kept than human ones. As if he needed more to do.

Ryan opened his saddlebag. Allen did likewise. Ryan nodded. The two took up the column's rear, side by side. Ryan called out, "When I call your name, you will form up to my right, one at a time. When Allen calls your name, you will form up to his left. When we are finished with you, you will move ahead to let the next soldier have his turn. We will have to move smartly on this, for time is limited. We will break for the shopping plaza, then start again at the covered bridge. Is that clear, soldiers?"

There was a chorus of tentative _"Yes, Sir."_

"Too weak," thought Ryan.

Major Covington boomed, _"Is THAT any way for Union men to answer? Is there LACE in your underwear? The man asked you if that was clear. RESPOND!"_

" _YES, SIR!"_

Allen called out, "ARNESON, PRIVATE MARSHALL."

Ryan called out, "BENSON, PRIVATE ARTEMUS."

Two soldiers dropped back and took their respective posts. Two envelopes were pulled from the bags and opened. Each mortal took out an 11x14 image and held it at 45 degrees to the lateral, 20 degrees forward tilt. Allen could only look right to Ryan for his cues to turn the picture over. At the nod, he did so at the same time as Ryan did. Allen looked down at his mother's handwriting, which had lovingly labeled the computer image: "Mrs. Bernice Katherine Arneson, devoted wife of Private Marshall Arneson".

Another nod, another picture, another wait of twenty seconds, another turn. "Matthew Marshall Arneson, son of Private Marshall Arneson, age twelve. Quintavia Susanna Arneson, daughter, age nine." Each man was allotted up to six pictures, depending on how many descendents there were, marital status and availability of pictures. Fortunately, the Civil War (if there was anything fortunate to be said of that epoch) had spurred an intense interest in photography. Pairs of soldiers were called so that each man shared the same number of available portraits. If there was the blessing of family group shots, those were synchronized and allowed a double time slot for full appreciation. This was not just a loving gift to spirits that once shared the mortality and humanity of their gift givers, it was a strategic morale builder that saved the whole mission. It was at times like these when Ryan began to lean further away from his closely held faith in free will. Each time he had encountered evidence that caused him to consider one way above the other, something happened to the contrary. He had a favorite saying to describe his frustration: "There is only one way to make God laugh. Tell Him your plans."

They had come to the last picture, which was returned to the packet. Ryan first looked to his right, listening, then to Allen's left. He considered what he had heard, then smiled and nodded. He nodded again to Allen as he watched the two entities spur their mounts forward.

"We'll be bringing the pictures back again tomorrow, Allen. Your idea is working better than you planned."

Allen smiled as he called out, "BERDSLEY, PRIVATE CHARLES."

"BINGHAMPTON, SERGEANT PETER."

Annie felt strong and in control again but, to her frustration, felt little mice nibbling at the edge of her control. If she ever found those little mice, Lord have mercy on their souls. How did that story go? "Nibble, nibble, little mouse, who's that nibbling on my house?" She had meant to tell that story to her children. Funny, she had never gotten around to it.

Vanessa continued to tell stories. She spoke of when she was a little girl, of how the world had changed, how she had met Ryan, everything true and important to her that she could think of. The children had to know her like a big sister. They had to be fully connected if she was going to be able to do what she wanted to do. Falsehood ate trust like termites ate wood. If trust were to disappear, she felt sure that the connectedness she had to Jason and Rebecca would deteriorate. If connectedness left, she felt just as sure that her ability to hold the children would leave as well.

"PATTERSON, PRIVATE JEDEDIAH."

"PERRY, PRIVATE KEVIN."

Jed had been sure he would be passed over, for he was not a member of this group, not really. They had always excluded him from their plans and, though that suited his purposes, it still hurt. Yet, his name was called and in order, like he was part of the squad. That felt, good, kind of. His expression changed, a little.

Annie's expression changed, a little. Vanessa saw it. Panic? Confusion? Now what was happening?

" _Natalie was sitting right there on the slide, smiling from ear to ear, still with clips in her pig tails and the same dress she wore that awful night."_

" _Really? Did it look anything like mine? Was she burned? How old was she? I'd love to meet her, can she come and play?"_

" _One question at a time Rebecca. Now, lets see, her dress was plaid with gray and blue..."_

Jed hesitated, but the looks on the other men's faces he had seen made him really wonder about what was happening. He had almost decided to ignore the call, but the Major had sidled up next to him.

" _Jed, we've had a lot of differences in the past. You once called me your Commanding Officer. What Ryan has to offer you will not cost you anything and may even give ease to the pain in your heart. I apologize to you, man to man, for not speaking to you earlier. Will you please take your place in our group and see what has been offered to you?"_

The bummer looked at the Major, then back to the mortals that awaited him, then back to the Major. _"What could it hurt?"_

Jed took his station to Allen's left, leaned forward and looked into Ryan's eyes for the first time. He looked for the distrust he had come to know too well. All he saw was, what? He couldn't tell.

A nod. The first picture was pulled. Jed looked at a photograph that he had taken for his sisters to have when he left for the war. His beard was scruffier back then, but the eyes had the deep intensity that he inherited from his fisherman father. The next one took him by surprise. There was a plain looking young woman standing next to a young man. She was holding a baby in her arms. The family looked happy, like what he had once desired. The woman looked, somehow, familiar. Who was she? After a double time slot, another nod from Ryan was given. Jedediah Patterson read the inscription on the back. "Terrance Thomas Gillian, wife Roberta Patterson Gillian and two month old son Jedediah Gillian." Another nod, and Allen quick flipped back to the image. _"That's your nephew, Private Patterson. He was named in honor of you, in your memory, sir."_

Jedediah looked at Allen, who was blind to the scrutiny he was under. Jed did a couple of double takes, first of the picture, then of Allen, then back again. The next two pictures, there were only four in his packet, was of his other sister Judith with her family, which included three girls and one boy. Jed snorted to think of that hellcat of a sibling he had once put up with had three girls to wreak vengeance upon her. A triple dose of her own medicine. He had been pretty mad at her many times, but just let any stranger say something remotely uncomplimentary to either of his sisters and they would wind up with dirt for dessert. The last picture went straight to his heart. It was his mother and father, taken as a third anniversary present from the owner of the fishing company Dad had worked for as a reward for his faithful service. It was another double slot, but this time there was no need to flip the picture over. Identification was not necessary here, though Ryan had flipped his.

Ryan gave the signal for the two soldiers to spur their way back to the front. Major Covington gave the signal for Allen and Ryan to break off. There wasn't enough time to get the next two before the strip mall. Another quick trip to the Milledgeville Country Store and the owner, Glenn, was there. This time it was homemade lemonade. The slow pace to the place where they would pick up the soldiers again offered opportunity for talk.

"I figure you were paying attention to your own man, but would you tell me what you were able to catch from Jed?" While saying this, Allen was able to juggle reins, lemonade and the packet of Jed's pictures so that he could look again at the man while they were speaking of him.

"Actually, I was paying more attention to your side than mine. You delivered your line perfectly. Jed looked thunderstruck. Who knows, maybe we're doing para-psychotherapy on him. That might make things easier, or harder. No way to tell until the fat lady sings. I feel that keeping things in flux though will give us the greatest leverage against Mad Annie. The pictures seemed to soften his hard features. Maybe there's hope for the man, Allen."

Allen looked again at the picture of the dark-eyed youth. Who knows how he would have turned out had he survived the war? Who knows what he would do in three days? What singing fat lady?

Vanessa saw Mad Annie becoming even more upset. Did it have to do with what Ryan and Allen were up to? The children sensed it now, too.

" _Jason, something's got Mamma unhappy. I never saw her like that. Is she upset with Miss Vanessa and us, you think?"_

" _Nah, she's looking at where the soldiers are. See? She hasn't looked north for a while and still isn't. Miss Vanessa, she usually splits her time evenly between the two directions. She's only looking west. Is your husband stirring up the fire?"_

" _I can't say for sure, but it looks that way, Jason. Say, I just remembered a game we can play together. Have either of you two ever heard of rock, paper, and scissors? NO? Well then, let's go over some rules."_

Marianne and Rachel walked along the storefront streets of Milledgeville. Gustav convinced them that there was nothing on the docket he couldn't handle for the next few hours, that the ladies needed to get out if they were to continue keeping their wits sharp and he needed some 'alone time', anyway. "Why don't you two just do some shopping?" Gustav was not above playing dirty.

The city was lapping up the infusion of funds from so many tourists. The Homestead event had attracted a number of interesting demographics and many were out and about to sample the town, since festivities at the Estate officially began tomorrow. Most of them had brought funds for memorabilia.

The city had alternating banners in agreed-to-equal numbers that represented the Union and the Confederacy. They fluttered from lampposts, store awnings, flag poles at both stores and residences. Display windows were geared up and decked out for souvenir hunters. Most establishments had their serving and supervising people in period costume. Cafes and restaurants made sure all the period 'vittles' were in sufficient supply. So many things, obvious to the eye, were aimed at pleasing visitors. Rachel and Marianne noticed the less obvious.

There was the increased police presence; mounted, bikes, cars. The ladies had spotted a 'low-rent' vendor with t-shirt wares who was quietly being given the boot by the local constabulary, demonstrating the desire to keep the place free from riff-raff, or maybe just pleasing the local (voting) citizens. There was a parking lot reserved for such nomadic types at the west edge of town (this time around, they managed to keep the primarily northern carpet-baggers at bay). Additional Southern revenge took the form of a fairly hefty fee charged to such vendors, which added to the city coffers.

The ladies entered a mid-town tavern, simply called "The Inn", for a rest, and were seduced by the ambiance of fireplaces and the smell of the house specialty of mulled cider. There was a rack of motorcycles outside, as well as cars with plates from around the country. The bikers were in a knot at the bar, unhappily being 'encouraged' to keep noise and drinking limited by a badge-wearing police team. Granted their bikes were hybrids, but they were HARLEY hybrids. Their jackets had the MC to the right of the club logo rather than on the left, indicating the club was an outlaw MC (motorcycle club). The fifteen men and seven women in the club's staked-out section of the bar were doing a fine job of acting civilized, in their opinion. Others thought differently.

Two police officers (one male, one female, as you never knew when someone would need to mount an entry into a restroom) sat near the group, drinking complimentary coffee. Their location guaranteed a wide vantage point, but was weak on close up details.

"Hammer" Jenkins was six foot four, two hundred and forty pounds. Three quarters of that was muscle, a forth was spawned by beer. He was proud of his iron horse, which he named 'Harrier' after a warplane his grandfather flew. In that vein, he had opted out from the jeans that were popular with his compatriots to camouflage pants. He had 'dog tags' on a chain necklace. His club vest, unwashed, had buttons on it that he considered of great wit: "Gun owners do it with Smith and Wesson Oil", "When you pull the pin, Mr. Grenade is no longer your friend", and "Harley, the ultimate crotch rocket". In real life, Hammer had a job as an accountant twenty hours a week, full time during tax season. The duller the job, the wilder the pass time. Now with five 'brewskis' to his credit and a navel peeking out from under his T-shirt, Hammer noticed two fine candidates for a hog ride. One wore a ring, one didn't. Not that it mattered. He wasn't looking for commitment, just fun. Running damp fingers through his stringy locks, he rose up from the stool, got his sea legs and strode off in a most manly fashion to his objective. Time for tactical.

"Rachel, don't look now, but..."

"I see him. Don't worry, he's heading for the men's room and taking in the scenery."

"No concur, lady. I'll bet a pedicure that wolf man is on the prowl and we're prey. This is not good."

"Uh oh, no bet. That's not a bladder stagger. That walking wall doesn't look like 'no' is in his limited vocabulary. Holy Mary, will you look at the cheesy grin?"

As Hammer got closer their voices got more subdued. It was crowded in the bar, but Hammer didn't have any trouble navigating to the objective, his height being an automatic crow's nest. His stature also encouraged lesser men to give clear passage.

Rachel said, "Time to beat retreat. Otherwise we're sitting ducks, so to speak."

They rose and began to collect their things when the Hammer dropped. "Ladies, you just can't be leaving right now. Why, you are a sight for these poor old soldier's eyes. Now don't let the outfit frighten you none. Inside you will find the biggest teddy bear, anywhere. Just let ol Hammer buy you two birds a drink. I got some stories guaranteed to make you blush and laugh for a week." He liked the looks of Spic Chic better, so he emphasized his intentions, obviously desirable to any female with sense and taste, by placing one hand on Marianne's shoulder. Just to cover his bases, he set his stein down and put the other on Blondie's as well. 'Two on one's always fun'.

Rachel realized that the strength in those ham hock hands was considerable. It felt like a yoke had been placed on her shoulder. Frightened, she looked at Marianne, who gave all appearances of being calm and in control. She next looked for the police that she had seen earlier, but they were preoccupied with a minor disagreement between patrons at the other end of the bar. The place was pretty noisy and she didn't know if anything short of a scream would fetch help. Marianne's voice brought her attention back to the immediate area.

"Your hands, move'em or lose'em, now!"

A wench with fire! She would be something else when he finally convinced her of his sterling qualities. He dropped his hand from the wimpy blond, who felt that her best course of action was to fade and grab the police. It was the look on Marianne's face that slowed her progress to a rhythm of 'take a step, turn and look, take another step, look again'. Others had noticed the confrontation brewing and had made room for the play to continue. Had Hammer been less influenced by Budweiser, he might have taken better notice of the calculating manner of stance and eye focus of the 'sweet little thang' he had in his hands.

"Second warning. I am a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and am telling you to let go right now. You will NOT get a third warning. You have five seconds."

One-one-thousand. Hammer was surprised by the tack the bird took. She was bluffing, of course, but it was a new approach his brain had to mull over. His smile stayed fixed and so did his hands. The bartender told the bikers to do something about their leader. He was answered with "You wanna tell Hammer what to do?" looks on their faces.

Two-one-thousand. Marianne's stance was firm, but relaxed. Her eyes took in the obstacles and made quick estimates to minimize collateral damage. The police had finally noticed the commotion and started to make progress in their direction despite a now densely packed circle of patrons.

Three-one-thousand. Hammer was composing a wonderfully effective woman-pleaser of a line. He was good at that sort of thing, though often times when he woke the next morning the bird in hand was not quite the beauty queen he had thought he had. The police were getting ready to intervene. One had her com-link to the squad car up and running in case back-up was needed.

Four-one-thousand. De-focus. Breathe in, let it out halfway. "Now, little missy..." The policeman took one step forward from the circle's periphery. He didn't take a second.

Five-one-thousand. Hammer never finished the next syllable, much less the next word. Her left leg, set behind her, became a blur as her knee made a hard contact on a soft target. Hammer's eyes grew wide as air exploded out of his lungs. With his main attention diverted to nether areas, she was able to facilitate Hammer's involuntary bow by an elegant two handed arm twist. Between her leverage and the biker's already doubled over posture, Hammer's face met the floor, hard. The policewoman stood, com-link and mouth open, neither serving a useful purpose at the moment.

Seven-one-thousand. Twenty-one biker jaws dropped in unity with the rest of those who were blessed with a good view.

Hammer staggered up, his pride smarting almost as much as his bloodied nose, and almost as much as an area that would require ice packs later.

"You little BITCH!" He charged Marianne like a wounded rhino. Her smile only stoked his fires hotter. She stood between Hammer and the bar, six feet from the counter. Hammer could see her, the bar, the bartender and his own reflection in the bar mirror. Hammer's outstretched arms were grappled by double cobra-grabs. Marianne did a controlled drop with one leg on the floor to facilitate her own roll and the other foot in Hammer's belly to facilitate his joining the First Airborne. Now Hammer could see the bartender and his reflection all the clearer. Marianne was no longer in his field of vision. Hammer was a 'dumb bomb', closing in on a target not chosen by him. The bartender did a perfect Daffy Duck whimper of "Mother,", before getting 'Hammered'. Rachel and Marianne both saw Hammer fly over the counter from interesting perspectives. Rachel, though, was able to see more of the aftermath: the bartender collision, the crash into the rows of bottles, and the 'Titanic's' drop from view.

Police now focused on the bar, from where came an inarticulate animal cry of anger and pain, with another voice screaming, "Get off of me, you big moron!" The distraction allowed Marianne and Rachel to slip out between very respectful patrons and make a diplomatic exit. Rachel made a mental note to never, NEVER, get Marianne mad, if it could possibly be avoided. Rachel kept quiet as they got into a cab.

She didn't have to wait long. "A lady has to learn to protect herself. The martial arts aren't designed for the true student to whup ass. It's more to let you know when it's wisest to 'get out of Dodge'. That moose was big, but beer fogged. He had military trappings that anyone could see were bogus. All I did was apply some simple techniques anyone can learn (I'll give you some lessons, if you like), used his own considerable mass against him and made an escape rather than taking advantage of his weakened state. The gang there was without a head. You control the head, you control the body."

"Marianne, my life before meeting you and the rest used to be full and interesting. Being with you all for only this very short time has been the most exciting time I've ever had. My former life seems stifling now." That led to deeper issues. "There is just too much going on. Frank and the kids are back home without me. All of you are fast becoming family to me. Allen wants my help. What am I going to do? There are too many things demanding my attention and I'm at the overwhelmed damsel point!"

"We have fifteen minutes before reaching the hotel. I'm going to teach you something. Close your eyes and put that whole thought and all its related parts into a box."

"Huh?"

"Alright, let's start from scratch. Picture yourself alone in a comfortable room. Got it? Good. From this day forward, that is your private room. Decorate it as you like, but put a table in the center of it. OK? Now, on that table are a box, string, ribbon, scissors, a pen and a MiDi. Picture yourself walking up to it, OK? Now, pick up the MiDi. Record on it what you are most concerned about. Think of a title to put on the disc. Don't tell me what it is, but write it on the disc with the pen. Done? Place the disc in the box and tie the box up with the string. Put a ribbon around it. Write the title you put on the disc on the front of the box as well. Let me know when you are done. Take your time."

Rachel nodded, eyes still closed. Marianne could see the outlines of Rachel's eyes under her lids moving, like someone in REM sleep might show. Rachel's room was like an efficiency chalet. There were beams of wood, a fire, half-curtains and an oriental throw rug. She nodded.

"Fine, now look on the wall. Picture shelves with several boxes there similar to the one on the table. Those are empty, waiting for you to use them as you feel the need. Pick up the box with the MiDi in it. Walk over to the shelves. Place the box with the others. You will get back to that problem. It's there and waiting for the right time, a time of your own choosing. In the meanwhile, you can direct your full attention to the matters at hand. Open your eyes."

Rachel opened her eyes. They were at the hotel. Where did the fifteen minutes go? It seemed like only two or three minutes since they got into the cab. Rachel's eyes had been opened so many times in the past few days that she wondered why they didn't fall out. Earlier, Rachel had felt a kinship with Marianne, especially when she had found out about their mutual widowhood. Since then, it was one proof after another that she was sitting next to Wonder Woman. Rachel had done a lot, true, but it paled by comparison to this dark-skinned professional.

As they walked into the empty elevator, she said, "Marianne, I think the reason I remarried and you didn't is that no man could possibly keep up with you. You practically run the office, you're a hypnotherapist, wonderful friends rely on you, you are brilliant, you're Miss Bruce Lee and what really gets my goat is that, on top of it all, your butt's smaller than mine. I can handle the rest, but take on some cellulite, will you?"

Marianne looked honestly surprised, as the elevator doors opened and they walked down the hall, turning right to their suite. "Excuse me? Don't you play the understated heroine with me, honey-child. I never won any debate presidency. I never had a wonderful child like Allen to raise and a thousand memories to treasure. And if you want to talk being pissed off, well how the Hell do you think I felt when a blond, too dumb to know how good she has it, comes waltzing into my world with the son I could only dream of having and a clueless but loving and living husband, who starts off popping out ideas right and left? Wonderful ideas on how to solve problems that have been plaguing the lot of us for years? My men were drooling all over you two. Do you have any goddamn idea what it is like for a Sicilian to control her jealousy? You're lucky you still have unified kneecaps! Then the bimbo's son comes along and catches me gathering information on the new team members and embarrasses the HELL out of me back on the plane!"

Rachel stopped cold. She thought, "So that's what I missed."

Marianne stopped cold. She thought, "Ooops."

Marianne and Rachel stood, noses half a foot away, eves unblinking but moistening, fists balled up and placed on their hips, leaning forward in something resembling an impending cockfight. One sniffed. The other swallowed. Both began to leak. One sobbed. The other snorted. Then both fell into alternating laughing, crying and hugging.

Gustav had heard the ruckus from the time the elevator doors opened. The volume increased as the 'ladies' got closer to the suite entry door. He was trapped. Godzilla and Rodan were at the threshold and he was stuck in downtown Tokyo with no way out. What had happened? What could he do? Wait! The bobcats have stopped screeching. The silence was worse than the noise. No, he could hear something, like, inarticulate noises.

"Good Lord, they're CHOKING each other! Annie must have hexed them!" He had to do something! Fast! No time to call security and medical rescue. They couldn't get there in time to prevent murder. The only thing he could do was to charge into the fray and break up the combatants, at the risk of his own physical well being, until order could be restored. Without further consideration for his own safety, a man with a mission sprinted to the door and swung it open.

Rachel and Marianne turned their heads to look at a lawyer that hadn't been so befuddled since his Boy Scout troop admitted their first girls. Where were the mortal enemies of a few moments ago? Why, they were hugging themselves silly, exuding moisture out of too many facial orifices, smiling, crying and laughing. That was where! It was silly and he would have nothing further to do with it.

"Aliens," he muttered, closing the door and getting back to his liability argument with Liberty Mutual on minor changes he was proposing to the weekend's events. The person on the other end of the PC exchange was being unreasonable, obstinate, a pain in the neck and insulting. That, he could handle. He opened the plastic pill caddy he had ordered delivered to the suite this morning while the ladies were away

Chapter 20 – ATTACK

The riders met up again. Ryan told Allen that, even from a distance, he could see a change. The soldiers were riding with straighter backs, eyes less downcast. They were talking more to each other. Probably comparing notes on the pictures, he guessed correctly. The Major was in the lead and, though his head didn't turn, Ryan caught the sparkle in his eyes, his smile and the slight nod as he passed. Mortal men once again took their places at the end of the column.

"RASKOSKIE, PRIVATE RICHARD."

"RICCARDO, PRIVATE ANGELINO."

" _Miss Vanessa, they'll be here soon. Will you stay nearby like you did yesterday? It helps keep me from being sad. "_

" _(choke) Rebecca, I will do that for you and you, too, Jason. I wish I could make the time go by more quickly so we could just skip over to Saturday."_

" _We know, Miss Vanessa. My sister and I have waited this long. We can wait a little while longer. It's not as bad now, knowing it's not forever and that you're there. Now, I start this time. Ready? One, two, SCISSORS. Dang!"_

Annie could sense the male closeness now. The difference in her feel of things was no longer vague. It was definite. She still could reach out and feel them, control them and their mounts, but they didn't feel as bent, as cowed. Something's propping them up and she aimed to kick that prop out from under them. She looked at the children, then at Vanessa.

"Can't be her. She's been there all along. Must be that wicked Ryan fellow. Must concentrate, must..." She closed her eyes and concentrated hard, harder than she had in a century of absolute control. She reached out fully with her senses and felt her way to the soldiers, using her connection to Patterson as her main homing signal. There they were. She didn't so much see them as she sensed their presence. She brushed by each one, starting with the Major himself. Like a wave of discontent, a shiver went over each man starting from the front and working its way down the line. One by one, counting as she went. After she had counted forty-eight, she drifted further back. There. The last two. Something was between them, but she couldn't make it out. There was energy there that disturbed the binding flow she had woven among all the Union men. Could that be Ryan? She had not done this for well over a century and was unsure of what kind of risks such unpracticed effort might entail, but she was more afraid not to take action. There was too much to lose and she might lose either way. But if she had to lose the game, then better from action than from inaction.

She came closer to the flow obstruction and sensed presence. More than one being was the first impression she twigged. She quieted all thoughts except those that took in what could be sensed. Four. Two and two.

" _Of course. Men on horses. Two of them, mounted. One must be Ryan. Who is the other? What can I do about it? Maybe, this?"_

Ryan was busy looking at the two men on either side. These were the last two, which was good because the Homestead was coming up. Allen was the first to notice it. Cumquat was getting, what, spooked? Turning from York, Private Aaron, he asked, "Ryan, is something funny going on up ahead?"

Ryan looked and saw, something. It was, what? "Private Zielinski, do you see anything up ahead?"

" _No sir, but Tango is getting jittery. Wait, something's coming. Oh no! It's her! She's here, Sir. I feel her coming."_

"Who? Mrs. Edwards?"

" _Yes, Sir. She hasn't come here personally since I can't remember when. I don't think she can hear us, Sir, but she can sense rebellion."_

Ryan fumed, "Damn her. What do I do? Run with it."

The Major felt the passing, but it had taken time to recall the signature of his enemy. _"My God. RYAN, SHE'S JUST PASSED BY ME, SHE'S COMING BACK YOUR WAY!"_ Major Covington knew what to do next. _"Men of the Union! She's here. Remove any thoughts of rebellion out of your minds. Think of home. NO, BELAY THAT. Think of something terrible. Think of, dying, of losing your wives and families, that's an order, NOW!"_

Mad Annie felt the resilience fade. Good. She put them down now as she did long ago. _"The feeble fools. Now, look at the two. One of them has strength, has sight. The other is blind, but there is still strength in him. One I dare not. This one, however, I dare."_

Ryan was closely watching the column for changes. This visit was completely unexpected and he had to find out more about what Mad Annie was capable of. Everything else was put out of his mind.

Allen blinked a couple of times and shook his head. He felt sleepy and warm. There was a prickle along the hairs of his arms and legs that tickled pleasantly. It was like he had taken a sleeping pill or something. The light was getting darker. Should it be doing that? Where is..."Rrryyyyannnn..."

Ryan's forward focus broke when he heard Allen. Fortunately, Allen fell towards him and he was able to catch him. Things were getting too much for Cumquat. Sensing Mad Annie was bad enough. Sensing her rider was not right, really not right, was frightening her into flight. Cumquat reared and Ryan had to hold onto Allen, which was no small feat as Allen's right foot was still in the stirrup. Cumquat bolted and Ryan was left holding Allen, minus one half of a pair of expensive athletic shoes. "Major! I have to go right away! I need a distraction!"

" _Sing, men! For all your worth! SING!"_

With Allen flopped over Maribelle (fortunately, Ryan rode on an English rather than Western saddle, or his passenger would have suffered internal injuries from the pommel), Ryan made quick but careful tracks back away from the soldiers. He could hear them, fading into the background.

" _Hurrah, boys, hurrah. Down with the traitor, and up with the flag."_

"What the Hell did she do? How the Hell did she do it?"

" _Yes we'll rally round the flag boys, rally once again."_

"Like Gustav says, it's a whole new ballgame."

" _Shouting the battle cry of freedom."_

"Shit."

Gustav was grumbling. "Bloody females. Who can understand them?" He was working at Allen's PC that he had programmed to include his own ID, still arguing with the insurance carrier. The PC spit out a rapid series of chirps. His eyes widened. That's not good. To the beleaguered insurance representative on the other side of the connection, he clicked the 'emergency-disconnect-sorry-will-call-you-after-the-dust-settles' button. That freed the main input channel. The carrier rep leaned back and wondered what kind of person could be so insistent, rude, and demanding. The guy had to be a lawyer.

Gustav hit the disconnect after getting the quick-and-dirty from Ryan. "CHRIST! Marianne, Rachel, hit the deck. NOW!" Both came on the run, wondering what could 'Mr. Calm' possibly be so upset about. "Grab your purses, I'll explain on the way." They went out the door and he punched the elevator. Immediately after, he hit a speed connect, which gave him a line to the front desk.

"May I help..."

"CAN IT. This is the penthouse suite, Mendelssohn speaking. This is an emergency. Get me transportation, I don't care if it's the laundry delivery truck, and have it out front five minutes ago. Do you understand?"

"WHAT? Gustav, what..." Marianne knew better than to ask. Rachel didn't, yet.

"QUIET." Back to the phone. "I said, can you comply with my request?" It was a question, but there was no question on the other end that this was not a polite request.

"Yes sir, Mr. Mendelssohn. It will be waiting." The elevator door opened and the three piled in. He began another speed dial on the SatCom.

"Ryan, thank God. We're on our way. Fill me in on any details. Marianne, straight passage, now!"

Marianne pulled something long and metal out of her hair and shoved it into the 'FIRE CONTROL' slot, jiggled it a bit, turned it and put the elevator on emergency mode where it would only stop when it got to the bottom. That surprised a few floors worth of patrons who had been patiently waiting.

"Uh huh, he's OK? What do you mean, 'not sure'? Crap, Ryan, when will they know? Right, we just hit the ground floor."

It didn't take a techno-weenie to figure out that the person at the center of the emergency was Allen. Rachel was pale, but kept her wits under control. She couldn't help her son and might hurt him by falling apart now. She closed her eyes and did an emergency transport to her recently built mental room. There was the table. She grabbed a MiDi, filled it, labeled it, put it in the box and gave it a quick tie with a scrap of ribbon. The box was tossed onto the shelf next to 'Frank'. It read "Not Again".

Hysterics were little more to her than a selfish tantrum when something you cherished was being taken away. She had come to trust the members of her, family? Well, the team, anyway. Gustav may get grumpy and leaned a bit toward the stuffy side, but he was a trooper when the storm hit.

The elevator door opened. No one ran, but Gustav set a quick pace to the front door. The concierge called out, "Green Taxi!" The leader of the pack gave a quick nod and straight-armed the automatically opening doors that were not fast enough for him.

Sure enough, the driver of a large, green taxi held the doors wide open. Experienced, he gauged what was coming and decided not to do the door-closing thing. He jogged to the driver's seat. His fares would prefer to close their own doors to save the extra few seconds. The man had just let off a set of wealthy Tokyo visitors when 'Maurice' hailed him. The concierge's name was actually Bob, but to him, they were all 'Maurice'.

He wondered which one was the 'emergency'. Experience said 'no one'. The man gave the orders, the women followed his lead. Either woman looked capable in her own right, so this man must be someone who earned the respect to command. The driver heard the order for Milledgeville General ER (it figured) and didn't waste time getting up to speed and a bit more. He knew the short cuts like a pro, which he was. Maybe that's why he felt attuned to what was going on. Pros know pros. It's a fraternity/sorority that you don't apply for. You either are one, or you aren't.

The women were a good place to start. He looked in his rear view for a snapshot. 'Blond' was paler than a blond should be. 'Hispanic' (Mediterranean?) assumed a posture of supporter and comforter. The cab driver would have been an excellent psychologist or analyst, but he had too much fun doing this. Besides, he probably helped more people in more ways than those stuffed shirts ever dreamed of doing. 'Man' was talking on his SatCom. Nice model, expensive. 'Man' is 'business', but not the head. He's a right hand. He wondered if it was the number one that was in trouble. He considered the upset woman; 'Blond'. He estimated her age and how old a child of hers would likely be. The number he came up with was not old enough to have risen to a position of major authority unless he or she inherited it.

Maybe 'emergency' was her husband? Gut said no. It was a kid. You don't get that pale unless it was a kid.

There were other possible scenarios, but this one felt right. It was time to test it out. "Ma'am, Milledgeville General is the best in the county. I'm sure your child is going to be fine." Peripheral vision to his right revealed a startled man. Bingo! "Your boss with him right now?" The driver could not have known how much he had just inadvertently altered his life. That realization would come soon enough, though.

Gustav was floored. "How the hell did you know all that? What are you, C.I.A.?"

"No sir, C.A.B. I've been at this for a long time. I get a feeling for how things are and I'm usually right. Am I?"

"Well, I was just about to give the whole story to your other two fares, but maybe you'd like to fill them in instead?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. That's all I've been able to piece together. Name's Ralph Kithcart. Call me Ralph. E.R in seven minutes. They have great Doc's there folks, really know their sh-stuff."

That brought a ghost of a smile to Rachel. "That's OK, Ralph. I don't mind the occasional 'shit'. Helps cleanse the colon and flattens your tummy."

Ralph liked this one. He wondered if she was single. Angles were wrong to scope out the left hand and he couldn't quite get a read on her status, yet. That was odd.

"Gotcha ma'am. Potty language is kosher in present company if the situation calls for it."

Gustav had a good eye for people and this was 'good people'. He was successful because he knew how to put the right people to work for him in the right places. The current crisis had shaken his faith in the team as it stood. Perhaps it was time to recruit?

"My name's Gustav. Back there are Rachel and Marianne. Chances are I don't need to tell you which are which. When this is over, quit this cab and work for me. Please, with sprinkles?"

"Sorry Gustav. I'm vested, tested and never been bested. Carry on, King Kraut." There was more than one snicker from the back.

After all this time, Mad Annie had pulled a royal rabbit out of her bonnet and caught everyone off guard. They needed a mind reader, and make that to go. There was no time for a hiring interview. Gustav went with his instincts. "Cancel that offer. I get enough grief from yon saucy wenches. Ladies, Ryan and Allen were with the last pair of soldiers when something came down the column. It seemed to be Mad Annie sniffing the changes in the air. She chose Allen to reach out to, for some reason. Maybe she felt Ryan was too strong with his altered bio-magnetic configuration. Allen just fell asleep like Snow White. Ryan caught him, threw him over his mount and rode straight to the hospital while the soldiers sang up a storm to confuse Mad Annie. Allen's resting comfortably, but he's still out to lunch. This changes things, big time. We'll have to redo our plans on child and soldier saving if Mad Annie's able to reach out like this, or worse. You got all that, Ralph?"

"Since we're going to the hospital ER, I'll stop in with you and have them uncross my eyes. There's one hell of a story here and we're two minutes out. Tell you what, the fare is free and I'll throw in the trip back together with the benefit of my own infinite wisdom to solve all your turmoils. All it will cost you is some time, the scoop, and a few drinks. How about it?"

Marianne thought that Mike would have liked this guy. "Take it Gustav, you old skinflint. 'Free' was your family motto, wasn't it?"

Gustav looked at Ralph. His wiles, learned from many years of getting what he wanted from people (manipulating), were bearing fruit. A quick calculation of how to get this fish to come closer to his hook, then, "If you must marry, my good man, marry domestic These imports get tart when they age."

'WHUMP'

"Lady, please, go easy on the upholstery. Kick his butt, but not through my seat back. Before you take it out on me, too, I was just about to strongly disagree." Ralph had decided that he preferred the fiery Philippino, or whatever she was. "Be glad to show you my collection of ice-breaker lies, I mean, lines, sometime."

The hack was an expert, Gustav thought. Even in this upsetting time, he was able to get a snort of laughter from two very uptight women who were just short of crying. This was getting to be most promising.

Marianne looked at Ralph through narrowed eye slits and tilted her head slightly. "We'll see, maybe later. I'll return the favor and show you some of my favorite karate blocks."

Rachel had to join in. "She's not kidding, friend. I saw her topple a HUGE biker this afternoon. Then, if that wasn't enough, she launched him over the counter of the bar."

Ralph blinked. "Wait a minute! That was you? My cab radio has police band. Detective Sara Benson reported an incident involving the biggest biker she had ever seen being floored, then catapulted, by a now missing olive-skinned dark brown haired female in her early 30's. They were looking for her, she said. I had trouble hearing her clearly as she was busting a gut."

Marianne liked the underestimate of her age. She wondered how old Ralph was. Hard to tell from behind. A quick glance on a right hand turn showed he had an unadorned left hand.

Gustav gave up. There was no control to be had with women, none at all. "Picking on bikers? Marianne, what were you thinking? I hope there were more than thirty because I'd hate to think you were the bully."

"There were only twenty-two. I'm sorry, Gustav. I wasn't thinking."

"Three Hail Mary's, a Novena, a trip to Lourdes, and polish my shoes."

"NO, Gustav, not the shoes again! My eyebrows are just now growing back."

Ralph pulled into the HR entrance circle and tried to announce the arrival, but he couldn't. He was laughing too hard and loud. Pointing had to suffice. Two ER attendants came out, hearing the roars from the cab. Gustav pulled one to the side and told him, "Psychotic episode. I and my associates managed to convince him to come here at the risk of our own lives. I'm Dr. Mendelssohn. Better put him in isolation until I can pull up his records from World-Medi-Scan. Careful, he's delusional."

As they walked in, Rachel scolded Gustav. "That man gave us a lot of help he didn't have to and this is how you treat him?"

Marianne laughed behind her hand. "Rachel, Honey, you need to learn more about our 'team shark'."

Gustav took on his professional voice and face. "My dear Mrs. Gladstone, I just made sure our good cab driver would still be here when I desired to return to the hotel. He will also know whom not to treat lightly in the future, should push come to shove." There were other reasons. Gustav was serious about adding this man to the team. There would be some pretty rough times ahead. He had to find out how Ralph Kithcart handled significant stress, but he felt right about the man in his gut instinct department.

Despite the now-closed double doors of the ER entrance, they could hear a bellowing of disbelief. Marianne said to Gustav, "You make nice man go away, and I'll introduce your head to your butt."

"Not to worry, oh height challenged Amazon. Ralph isn't the only one who can read people. He'll be fine and it will give you two something in common to grouse about...Me." Gustav privately hoped he was right. Being a martyr was not on his list of things to do today. Ralph he could handle. Marianne was a different story.

The ER public information desk clerk was used to people in all flavors of emotional states. A nervous looking man and two women with a case of the giggles was not what she was used to. "May I help you?"

"Please, this is Rachel Hawthorn Gladstone, whose son, Allen, was just brought in. I am Allen's legal council and this is my assistant, Marianne Cabrini. We are in a hurry, if you please." He leaned forward and whispered. "She's near mental collapse. Please, it's her only son and she has to see him right away."

"Yes, sir. Phil, come over here. Please escort these nice people to E-7, bed B. Thank you. Mrs. Gladstone, your son is resting comfortably. I'm sure he will be fine. Phil here will take you right to him. If there is anything else you might need, you come right back here and I will personally help you. Just ask for Alice Littleton."

All three offered their thanks and began to follow Phil. Marianne made a mental note to send that lady a serious flower arrangement. If only more hospitals had people like that, they wouldn't be so feared by Joe Public. "Gustav, if you're going to hire Ralph, I claim Alice."

Phil, an aging volunteer who seemed happy in his work, said, "Please don't take our Alice away. She's what makes this place wonderful for so many sad folks. We'd miss her something terrible."

Marianne sighed. "Well, at least with Ralph I'll have a younger man to have fun with for a change."

Phil said, "Here we are, folks, E-7. 'A' bed is unoccupied, so you can go right in. I believe there is someone waiting for you."

Going through the door put a damper on the up-mood they worked so hard to achieve. Ryan was sitting on the two-seater couch. Allen was in 'B' bed with wires hooked up to his chest, head and one to his left index finger. There were monitors set into the wall, displaying all kinds of information to the medically wise and offering gibberish to everyone else.

"Doctor Adamson left a minute ago. Allen's resting, but hasn't regained consciousness." Ryan related all that had happened starting with the showing of pictures to the look on the faces of ER personnel when he rode through the pneumatic doors on Maribelle. The stables were less than a mile from the hospital so it was the fastest way to get there. Hospital employees who were there to witness the tale would be the envy of their audiences for years to come. Ryan found out from a nurse that, after he had dismounted in the waiting room, Maribelle had been attracted to the emergency personnel (only) coffee and locker room, smelling doughnuts. By the time they had gotten her out of there, three boxes of Duncan variety packs were of historical interest only. Someone had the foresight to grab the ER's digi-cam and Ryan pointed to his complimentary copies on the tray table. Since Allen was being closely monitored by remote, they took a few minutes to take a look.

The first image showed a doorway being blocked by a sight usually reserved for those who follow horse trailers on the highway. "That's how she managed to down all the donuts. No one had the gumption to go under or around. Some enterprising nurse broke out a gurney and had someone wheel her up behind Maribelle. She crawled over the rump and scrunched into the saddle. The reins, however, were over the horse's head, dangling onto the floor. She couldn't convince the horse to do anything, except keep eating, so someone handed her the ER's digi-cam." The second image showed a bird's eye view of Maribelle's head buried in an open box with a cloud of powdered sugar rising from it. "The nurse managed to get someone to pass her one of those reach extenders from the janitor's closet and snagged the reins. By that time, though, there wasn't anything left to hold an equine sweet tooth's interest, so Maribelle was cooperative in backing out."

The third image showed the nurse, complete with a small cowboy hat on her head, sitting in front of the ER admitting station on a horse with sugar white lips. "They have things like hats around as props to calm down children in the waiting room. I could swear I've seen that nag in a vaudeville act."

The final souvenir showed two disgruntled housekeeping employees cleaning up a parting gift Maribelle had left. Behind them was the kiosk where the ER staff worked. It was one of those half-high walls and there was a white-sleeved arm hanging over one of them.

"That's the charge nurse, well, part of her, anyway. She was hanging on to the wall with one arm, holding her ribs with the other. These are going into ER magazine next month."

Rachel looked at Allen. "Ryan?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever lead a normal life?"

"Once."

Gustav turned around, "You never mentioned."

"You never asked."

Shortly after Ryan first pulled Allen off Maribelle, his burden had lost touch with the real world. Allen was drifting, feeling quite pleasant, warm and comforted. He opened his eyes and could see he was standing in a field of new corn, hearing the wind rustle the leaves. Even smells were there of earth, plants and animal fertilizer. She was standing a few feet in front of him.

"I know you. You're Mrs. Anita Edwards. What are you doing here? For that matter, what am I doing here? While you're at it, where is here?" The answer he got didn't have the hollow sounds some dreams manufacture. The apparition before him sounded very...solid?

"You know my name, young man? Before asking so many questions of a lady, you might be polite and introduce yourself to me, first."

"I'm sorry. Of course. My name is Allen Hawthorn, ma'am. I'm a college student visiting Georgia, sort of on vacation."

"That's much better. Very well, Master Hawthorn. This is my home, the way it once was, until things changed."

Allen looked around. They were in a cornfield, but there were other fields in sight. He could see what might be cotton, orchards and other crops that were low and green (beans maybe, peas?). There were men and women in the fields. African American. Slaves. He could see the Homestead Main House, the main barn and other buildings that were less well built and didn't look familiar. Slave homes, he guessed. They must have been more cheaply built and didn't stand up to the test of time. There was a peacefulness to it all, a slow pace so different than at RPI. Than New York in general, for that matter. He looked back at Annie. "How did I get here?"

"It isn't real, Master Hawthorn. It is what I remember. I reached out to you. You were riding with the soldiers and that Ryan fellow. I touched your mind and you fell asleep. I can feel our touch getting gradually weaker, so I expect someone's probably carrying you away from here. Ryan, maybe? We have a little time, so why not get to know each other better? Why are you riding with the soldiers? Are you a Yankee? You aren't dressed like one."

Allen realized that this was an unimagined opportunity that fell into his lap when he fell asleep. "Mrs. Edwards, please, let the soldiers go. Let God judge them now. They've suffered enough, haven't they? You lost your family, well, so did they when they lost their lives. You did that to them, didn't you?"

The image didn't get angry. Her voice was calm, as she said, "They took my Archibald. They took my slaves. They took my children. They took my life. They took our nation. Are you so wise as to pretend you are the new Moses, asking me to let your people go? I don't think so. There aren't enough years in eternity to punish those that destroyed me, my family, and my country."

It was a tall wall. Try going around it. "Mrs. Edwards, my own father was taken from me when I was four years old by a salesman who had been at the wheel too long. That man died in the same accident. I forgave him, long ago. He made a mistake and paid for it with his and my father's life. Revenge will not bring back my father or the years I was denied his presence. I always had his love. Mom made sure I knew that. He was a good man, but shit happens, Mrs. Edwards."

That got a curious look. "I beg your pardon. Master Hawthorn?"

"Oh, sorry. It's an old saying my Mom uses, rarely, when things get very hard for her. It means that life was never meant to be always nice, fair, or even tolerable. Bad things happen to good people every day. If everyone took revenge on everyone they thought needed to be revenged, we would be extinct."

"Go on, Master Hawthorn. I don't agree with everything you say, but you seem to be a good young man. Good men are worth listening to, my Daddy used to say."

"Thank you, Mrs. Edwards. All my friends and I want to do is to allow spirits like you, your children and those men you have in your control to go to where they were meant to go."

"There are others helping you in this?"

"Ryan is my great, great, grandfather. One of the soldiers is his great grandfather. My mother is helping, and so is Gustav, Marianne, and..."

"Yes, Master Hawthorn, who else?"

She was pumping him for information! That is what this was about. Damn it! She knew about the others. Did he stop in time? "Ryan has hired staff that helps us help others. There are drivers, for instance, legal people, historians, lawyers..."

"ENOUGH. Well, Master Hawthorn, you gave me something to think about, anyway. You didn't tell me everything I wanted to know, but you did tell me much. Thank you for that. Now I know where you are, who you are and some of those you are working with. That's a start. I know your mind now and will be waiting for you. You know what I can do if your friends do something I don't like. We're connected, just like those soldiers were to me when I died. I collected them, and I can collect you as well. Look around you, Master Allen. Look at what is waiting for you."

Allen looked. The fields were catching on fire and so were the buildings. The slaves were coming, each with some kind of farm implement. They were all looking at him with dull, mindless expressions. Allen looked where to run, but the fire was everywhere. Still, he ran. His progress seemed good as the burning stalks of corn were whizzing past rapidly, but there seemed to be no end to them. He looked behind himself, still running. There were the slaves. They were very slowly closing the gap, but they were walking. "How can that be?"

It was like a dream. "Crap on a cupcake, it IS a dream!" It was HIS dream. He could take control. He had to. Annie's contact with him had been diminishing all this time. Maybe he had enough amps now to break the connect. Those were slaves. How could he deal with them in a way that his mind would accept as effective? Well, there was one way that came to mind. Mom often said that if something comes to mind unbidden, it was probably worth listening to. Damn, that sounds like a Mad Annie-ism. So what if it was? Fight fire with fire, and that seemed particularly appropriate at the moment

Allen stopped running and turned around, no longer afraid. The slaves slowed their pace, but kept coming. Allen brought himself to full height and began to speak. "Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth this continent a new nation," They stopped moving. The fires died down to smoldering patches. "...conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." By force of Allen's growing and Mad Annie's fading wills they began to drop their implements. Their clothes changed from torn and dusty overalls to clean clothes that they might wear to go to church in. Allen pointed behind them and they turned. He wanted to picture the most powerful incentive and clear communication to those who were under his own control. No! No, not control. Leadership. "Lead?" That sounded familiar. He could see that, in the distance, Annie was not happy at all with the changes. He could feel her reaching out to the slaves...no! Don't think of them like that. They were men and women. He wouldn't let her keep them, and he'd use his best battle cry. Allen began running towards Mad Annie, with his newfound army, yelling his loudest to spur his troops on: "DOG PILE ON THE RABBIT!"

The images began to waver. Allen saw Mad Annie hike up her skirts, turn and run. Things began to darken. The men and women turned and looked at him. Many now stood in man and woman pairings. Children stood next to paired adults. They were smiling at him. "Waving? That girl blew me a kiss. She looks (yawn) pretty nice." It was dusk. They were leaving. "That pretty one, she took another look at me and (yawn) smiled real sweet."

He opened his eyes to a different place. It was disorienting. Instead of a blue sky or clouds of smoke, there were, tiles? Lights? Peripheral vision noted wire leads, read outs, walls and people. Turn on the sound, he ordered his brain. Yes, he could hear them now. Nicely familiar.

"HE'S AWAKE! Allen, Honey, can you hear me? Are you all right? You had us so worried! Can you speak? Oh, my God! Talk to me!"

Marianne took Rachel by the shoulders. "Honey, slow down, give him some air, OK? He'll be fine, just take it easy on him."

Everyone looked at Allen, waiting, listening. Allen looked confused. He whispered, "Where did the slave girl go?" Then, "What's so funny?"

Rachel sat by her son, telling him everything that had happened. He felt good to hear her voice, after what he had been through, rain down the sweet milk of her kindness and concern. You never really outgrew that, he thought. He got quite a laugh out of the pictures.

"Where did Cumquat go?" Stupid name or not, he had come to like the nag.

"Back to the stables, most likely. I'll call and check. Gustav? Call and check."

Two eyes went to the ceiling, but a hand pulled out a SatCom and hit one of the speed connects. A minute later, "She's fine. Your shoe was still in the stirrup when she came back. They'll keep it there for you."

"Yeah, when I go back and, HOLY SHIT!"

"Now what?" was the general consensus.

"I saw her, people. I talked with Mad Annie."

Ryan grabbed the horns. This was important, especially after what he had seen come down the column earlier. "Calm down, gather your thoughts, take it from the beginning, son, and take it slow. Don't leave out any details. Now, from the top."

Allen took a deep breath, then another. He closed his eyes for a few moments and began to describe seeing Mad Annie and the pleasantness of the Homestead vision. The recounting of the slave sheds caused three of the four listening to nod, for they had done research on the whole history of the property. Same thing when the types of crops were described. Allen felt that the absence in the vision of her children or Col. Edwards wasn't too important. Ryan wasn't quite as sure but allowed that it was possible. The subtle way Mad Annie wheedled information out of Allen on the numbers of their group was certainly forgivable, since normal guards aren't up during dream states. Allen felt as though he had let the group down, but the others were emphatic that there was absolutely no reason for him to feel that way. On top of that, they openly admired that he realized what was happening in time to protect Vanessa.

Then came the dream's change from pastoral idyllic to medieval inferno. Rachel's face registered the greatest horror, Ryan's the greatest interest, Gustav's the most calculating and Marianne's the most vengeful. "My family," thought Allen.

The narrative ended and Gustav began. "There are possibilities in this to help us form a greater offense against her, if we can learn to capitalize on the sort of counter Allen managed to come up with in time. By the way, m'boy, that was some slick trick using Lincoln to turn the slaves into allies."

Ryan said that it was too late in the game to change tactics unless it could be shown that there was a reliable and quickly learned tool here. Marianne was about to add her own observations when Rachel said, "Wait."

She looked at her son, whom she raised from the time when there were no masks. She knew when he was holding something inside, and that look was upon him now. It wasn't just facial expression. It was body language, attitude, where he directed his eyes and how often he shifted his gaze. It was breathing and the color in his cheeks. Years did add much to Allen's maturity, but she could see through that.

"There's more, Allen. There's something important you are holding back. Why, Allen? Why aren't you telling us everything?"

The others saw that Rachel's intuition had hit the mark and felt chagrined that they were too busy buzzing to have noticed. Marianne sat on the bed next to Allen, thinking how wrong her friend was regarding Wonder Woman's true identity. Rachel sat on the other side. Gustav pulled up a chair and waited quietly, respectfully. Ryan did likewise.

"She said that she was now connected to me, like, like she connected to the soldiers when they were still alive. She said that if anyone were to interfere further with her punishment of the soldiers, well, the same thing that happened to them would happen to me."

There was no more to say, for that was all of it. But that short statement was probably a greater blow to their cause than every wall they had encountered to date, combined. Rachel put her hands to her face, mouthing prayers that this not be so. Marianne held Allen's hand with her left, and placed her right on Rachel's shoulder. Her eyes reached out to her best woman friend who was the mother of this fine man. Gustav and Ryan's eyes met, and burned.

Allen broke the silence. "I am not giving up. This is war. There are six of us against one of her and we have a whole goddamn Union platoon to back us up. Sending me to Australia isn't going to accomplish much. Though her dream communication is range limited, she can still reach out with her unholy voodoo anywhere."

Gustav thought and said: "You don't know that Allen. The soldiers were all pretty much from the northeast. I've heard that evil doesn't cross bodies of water. Maybe visiting the kangaroos isn't such a bad idea."

"It won't work. I did my homework. One of the men died in Canada, one in South America and one while visiting France. They were among the last to go, but they still went."

Not to be argued down, again, Gustav countered, "That still may buy us the time to get the job done in three days. Also, having her spend more of her energy trying to find you may drain and weaken her for a while, enough to tip the scales."

Eyes were on Allen. There were pro's and con's they hadn't begun to consider, and they had to consider them all if there was to be found a way out of this quagmire.

Allen had seen a lot, done a lot, and learned a lot. He wasn't perfect and he had his weaknesses (girls and coffee came to mind). "My father died helping a person in need. I don't want to die, but I won't turn my back on what Dad stood for, on those two children, on those poor soldiers, or on the team I have chosen to dedicate my life's efforts. I'm part of this team. All egos aside, take me out and the team is weaker. That puts at risk the whole project. I couldn't live with myself if I left now. Gustav, make with your legal magic and get me out of this place. We have a council of war to hold back at the suite."

"Yes sir, Boss." Gustav left. Ryan watched him go. He felt good that Allen was continuing to come into his own, but there was just a little twinge at the gradual but cumulative 'turning over the reins of power'. He would have hated a political career.

Allen turned his eyes to his mother, who was almost beyond words. Her voice sounded hoarse when she was finally able to say, "Oh, son. I lost your father, who I will love until my last breath. The thought of losing you is more than I can bear."

"Mom, I have to stay, despite the risk. We'll work out something to minimize it, but I would live the rest of my life in shame if I ran away now. What would you do if you were in my shoes?"

What could she say? The debate club president had just been pinned by her own son. Ironic, sort of. She should have been proud of Allen's courage but, for the time being, she was only afraid. Maybe later, Vanessa could add something to the discussion that would help. She checked her watch. Vanessa had turmoil of her own right now.

Mad Annie had been standing stock still on the porch with a terrible smile on her face. Vanessa could almost see a ribbon of force go from Mad Annie's countenance, arcing west and out of sight. She wanted time to stop so that these sweet children wouldn't suffer, but also to hurry so that she could find out what in God's name was going on to the west. Was Ryan all right? And the others? Then, things began to change.

First, Mad Annie grinned fiercely, like she struck a blow to an enemy. Then, barely at the edge of Vanessa's consciousness, she could hear...singing? It was ten minutes before the Union men were to arrive. Mad Annie's next expression, which she noticed in between game rounds and songs, was one of cold control, then surprise, then, terror? Mad Annie shook her head and staggered back, aware of her surroundings again.

" _Miss Vanessa, they're almost here. You have to get away, now. Please, we'll be here tomorrow. You can come back and play then. Please go, right now!"_

Another day, another nightmare. She felt numb all over as her feet stepped back only because the children willed it to be so. Nothing else would have overcome Vanessa's waxing mothering instincts. The singing was getting louder. 'Rally Round the Flag' was now audible. Didn't they know any other songs? Vanessa kept inching backwards, her hand up and forward, reaching to the children. In a minute, they disappeared.

Mad Annie seemed surprised at the singing, but more surprised that her surprise wasn't accompanied by an escape attempt. What surprised and angered her most of all was that Jed Patterson was singing along with the rest and didn't make his usual attempt on her well-being. _"How dare be not try to destroy me?"_

It took a little longer than expected to get everyone checked out of the ER. The main problem was Ralph. There was a psychiatric unit in clinical rotations with medical school interns. When interns get an interesting case, they don't let it go easily. It took a little more than the usual legal legerdemain on Gustav's part to spring the shanghaied cabbie, who didn't seem at all grateful. Ralph was about to verbally lay into the Number Two he had been so nice to earlier, when he couldn't help but notice four other people close ranks. Worse, the front troop was that lovely lady he couldn't stop thinking about since she first got in his cab.

Gustav took control of the situation, waved off the others and told them to step outside for a moment. "Ralph, m'boy, that was a pretty awful thing I did, wasn't it?"

"You expect an argument?"

"There were good reasons. First of all, I didn't want you to go away. There isn't another driver like you I've ever met."

"I would have waited, and your butter is missing the bread."

"Yes, yes, you probably would have. You are an honest type who is obviously faithful to his word. The second reason was that the mother of that young fellow you just saw was horribly distraught and I felt she needed something to take her mind off the possibility that her son be permanently brain injured or dead. You were handy and the situation presented itself. I counted on your ability to forgive an old man when he had the best of intentions."

"It's getting deep, Mac."

"Finally, I wanted to see if you had a sense of humor. As a reward for your forbearance, tell you what I'll do. There are six of us in total. Your large vehicle might get a bit cramped, but it will suffice. Suppose I arrange it so that MISS Marianne is in the middle of the front seat next to you. Might that lessen the hard feelings?"

"You're a lawyer, aren't you?"

"Why does everybody keep saying that?"

A laugh came from behind. Ralph hadn't noticed the man approach and listen in. Gustav had mentioned Ralph to Ryan, who wanted to see if Ralph's reported perceptiveness was true. He had need for perceptive people at the moment, a big need. Ralph thought the other man looked vaguely familiar.

"Gustav, you spoke true of Ralph's amazing powers of perception. Ralph, you and I are going to talk and I'll make sure this whole fiasco will be made worth your while. That'll be after we go to the hotel, of course. You will join us for a cup when we get back, won't you? I'll arrange the seating chart at the hotel restaurant, hint-hint."

"You two related?"

Ryan answered, "Soul brothers only, does that count?"

"It does now. OK, you set the hook. Now if you will just reel me into what used to be my cab and is now your personal conveyance for the duration of whatever it is you are doing, we'll be off."

Walking out the ER doors to the waiting cab, Ryan said, "Gustav, I thought he'd put up more of a fight than that."

Gustav looked at Marianne and smiled. "It's the bait."

Ryan announced that the afflicted child's 'G-cubed' ancestor and mother should sit in back with him for moral support. Gustav said that he was a little nauseous and needed the front window seat. Marianne complained that she would have to have a leg on either side of the floor console. Ralph suppressed a smile.

They didn't feel like talking shop at the moment, so Ralph took it upon himself to tell about the interesting sights and histories of the region, some of his own life's experiences and a few amusing stories. Part of his business was to make his customers happy and he had gotten pretty good at it. He kept his eyes front, but his peripheral vision naturally took in the rear view mirror, which happened to include a view of the eyes of his seat partner. He had seen the distrust in those eyes change gradually to something a little warmer. He had also seen the eyes of the mother in the back. She had been upset and terrified. Now, they were different. The new look in those eyes rose the hairs on his neck.

Inside Rachel, Angel was polishing a rusty old sword. Cat's tail was now in full battlebrush, and all her claws were scimitar shaped and fully extended. Though one form was of an angel and the other of a cat, the looks in their eyes were the same.

Once more, Vanessa walked up to the porch. This time, it was different. Mad Annie had a look that bordered between panic and rage. Her face seemed to change between the two, like it couldn't decide which was the right face. _"Mrs. Edwards?"_ Mad Annie shook her head slightly, but still couldn't break out. _"Annie?"_

That caused a more definite response. This time, Annie shook her head more strongly and blinked a couple of times. Her mouth tried to begin a sentence of response, but was stuck on repeating the 'th' sound. She looked at Vanessa with difficulty, and tried harder. _"Th-they, they tu-tu-tur-turned."_ That was all she could get out, and then turned her eyes west again, shaking her head and rubbing her hands.

" _Who turned, Annie? Was it the soldiers? They're gone now. You kept them, in your apron pocket, like you said. Was it Ryan? Did he turn? Was it because the children turned to face me when the soldiers came? Is that it? Annie?"_

Mad Annie turned and walked to one of the chairs on the porch. She looked at Vanessa, motioned to the other chair, and said, _"Please set for a spell, Vanessa."_

Vanessa walked to the chair and sat, and waited. All of the patrons had left the Homestead by the time Mad Annie could collect herself. _"I could feel the soldiers get stronger. I can't let them do that, Vanessa, for I'm not that strong. Yon don't know how much this has taken out of me. I reached out to them and found them coming as they should, but not like they should. They were, happier. What right do they have to be happy after all they have done? I wouldn't allow it and let them know it. In the back of the line, something was there. I felt it. Ryan was there with someone else, younger, a man, both riding horses."_

" _(Oh_ , _my God,_ _that's Allen, it has to be!")_

" _One was stronger and sighted. I didn't have the bravery to address him. The other was easier and I put him to sleep so I could get him connected to me, like I did the soldiers, long ago."_

("I have to go, now. No, I have to stay and find out more, but it might be, but... What do I do?")

" _I spoke to him in his mind, showed him the farm when it was young, how it was supposed to be. Tried to find out who is in Ryan's gang so I can defend myself, but he cottoned to me and I had to send my slaves after him. He turned them against me, Vanessa. How could he do that? Vanessa, I'm frightened! The Private, the one who is mad? He has always tried to take my life, each day. Thank Heavens that the children are not around to see that when it happens. That would upset them mightily. He didn't do that today. Why, Vanessa? What is happening to the world? I don't understand. Can you help me?"_

Vanessa was torn, badly. This was too much. She grieved another day for dead children dying, hated/pitied Mad Annie but loved Nighttime Annie, wanted to go immediately to Ryan to find out what happened to Allen and maybe give him the information that just might be crucial to saving Allen, maybe, or to stay and perhaps win a bloodless victory by getting closer to Mad Annie. She wanted to scream. This was an opportunity that might never present itself again. Maybe she could jump on it quickly enough to at least make an inroad, then get right back to Ryan. Grieving would have to wait till later. She wanted to shake reality into Mad Annie's mind, but felt instinctively that doing so would only lose this opening. Baby steps.

" _Annie, do you know where the men go when you send them away?"_

" _Child, I told you before. I have them in my apron pocket. What does that have to do with what I asked of you?"_

" _(Careful, baby steps.) Annie, if I'm going to help you, I've got to understand things rightly. Will you be patient with me?"_ A nod. _"Good, now, where are those men right now? If I looked in your apron pocket, would I see them?"_

Annie looked down at her torn apron. There was the pocket she had used to hold clothespins in, once. It seemed empty, and she touched the outside of it. Nothing was in it. Was she going mad? Nothing seemed to make sense, like when Vanessa asked about eating something. The creature of rage had been sated in Annie's mind and the mad portion it lived behind was now left only with confusion and disorientation. When night fell, that portion, too, would withdraw and the sane but weaker part would surface. Annie was a multiple-fractured personality, which is what Vanessa had come to suspect. She remembered reading a book about a woman with many personalities, Sybil; that it was due to horrible abuse by her mother when she was a child. That thought led her to Jason and Rebecca, but only for a moment. They were on the shelf and would have to wait their turn.

" _(Is that it, Annie? Are you a Sybil? How did that doctor deal with it, get resolution, reunification?) Annie, they're not there, are they?"_ Mad Annie slowly shook her head. _"And when the sun rises tomorrow, you will bring them back from where you put them and you have no idea how you will do that, even though you have been doing that for two hundred years. Isn't that true?"_ Mad Annie bit her lower lip, looked down in concentration, and then nodded. _"You saw your children trampled today. They're dead, aren't they?"_ Wince, nod. _"They will be back tomorrow, won't they?"_ The nodding had become continuous. Good. Stick with questions that give the positive response.

" _(Rachel, stay with me.) People who die stay dead, don't they, Annie? Your children are dead, and have been for two hundred years, haven't they? The soldiers are dead, all of them, and you helped that to happen, didn't you? One of them attacked you, when they first came, and you killed him with a kitchen knife, didn't you? He killed you too, didn't he?"_

Mad Annie stopped nodding. Her own death she couldn't accept. The mad part of her mind that was active in the daytime would not let go of her life despite the evidence to the contrary. It was the part that was emotional, powerful, but capable of denial in magnificent proportion. The night-mind was calmer, more logical, more accepting, but lacking the power it needed to remain dominant during the daytime. It was also able to be aware of, to some degree, of the presence of those parts of her mind that denied her more passive self. As Vanessa continued to weave her gentle attacks, this became more and more apparent. The sun would set soon. The Annie that Vanessa had come to love would be allowed to come out again. Perhaps that side of Annie might now have insights as to how to proceed in the team's efforts to free them all and, especially, shed light on what kind of power Mad Annie had over Allen and what could be done about it.

While Vanessa was thinking of questions to keep Mad Annie's attention, as there was another twenty minutes left before the changing of the personality guard was due, she heard, "Why Vanessa, you're here already! But, child, isn't that the sun?"

Vanessa looked at Annie. It was her! The real one! But, the sun hadn't set yet. What? _"Annie?"_

" _My dear sweet Lord, look at that sunset. I haven't seen one in so long. Sweet Jesus, but it's beautiful. Did you do this, Vanessa? Am I well?"_

She didn't know, so, _"I don't know, Annie. I was talking to your mad self and you came along early. Maybe we fixed everything, but I don't think so. I think we made a little progress. Annie, can you recall meeting anyone that seemed to be different people at different times?"_

" _You mean like me, mad and sane?"_

" _Maybe. Someone who seemed like they were two or more different people living in one body."_

Annie thought as she continued to watch the last of the sunset. Vanessa couldn't deny her that and waited patiently. _"I recall Zachary Masterson, when I was a young woman in Savannah. He was about my age. I remember his mother had died a long time before and his father raised him. I don't remember the father's first name, only called him 'Mr. Masterson'. I saw bruises on Zachary from time to time, and we all figured that his father beat him when he, his father that is, got drunk, which was about every night. Zachary was nice to people most of the time, but sometimes a fit or something took him over and he swore, grabbed women in public and even urinated on the court house rose bushes. Eventually, something would snap back and the old Zachary would come back not remembering anything about what had happened. Is that what you are talking about? Is that what happened to me?"_

" _Maybe, Annie. But if so, and since the real you came back earlier with just the little talking I did to your mad self, maybe we can do more than that. But something's not right about the whole picture. I think there are more than two of you. There's a third Annie that's separate and distinct from the other two."_

Vanessa went on to tell about how the Annie that was there after the men left didn't know about where the men were sent, or her children for that matter. Mad Annie could admit most things that were real, temporarily, but could not accept her own death. It seemed there was an 'Angry Annie' riding herd on 'Mad Annie', who was too disoriented to know who was pulling the puppet strings.

" _Child, you are over your head, aren't you?"_ It was now Vanessa's turn to wearily nod. _"Go to Ryan and your family. Tell them all that you have learned and see what they have to say. I'll try my best to do some thinking here. This may be the key that unlocks to release all our souls from this earthly Hell. Go quickly, and Vanessa?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _1 love you, child. Thank you for all that you have done. "_

" _I love you too, Annie. I'll be back."_

Chapter 21 – RALPH

Ryan, Allen, Gustav, Marianne, Rachel and Ralph were sitting at the table in the Marriott Hotel restaurant. Business was lively tonight as the hotel was packed for the upcoming weekend activities. Ryan started the ball rolling.

"Order anything you like, folks. The hotel management knows that we're part of the event that is making them bucks hand over fist this weekend, earning us a reasonable discount of 'free'. Speaking of finances, Marianne, did you draw that check I asked you for earlier?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Fine, since you're nearest to the recipient, please do the honors." Marianne took an envelope out of her purse and handed it to Ralph. Ryan noticed, as did Rachel, that Marianne held on to her side just a little longer than necessary and the smile was just a tad broader and a smidgen sweeter than her usual. Ryan and Rachel exchanged a quick glance with each other.

Ralph asked, "Should I open it, or would that be rude?"

Gustav answered, "It's part of the evening's entertainment. It would be rude not to, young man."

Ralph smiled. It was nice at forty-five to be called 'young man' by anyone, and the company was pleasant. He glanced to his left. Very pleasant. He opened the envelope and peeked at the check.

The others knew how much it was, but played dumb. All eyes were on Ralph, waiting for realization to strike. They weren't disappointed. "Whoooee! I don't make that kind of money in a week, much less one fare. Look, thanks, but..."

Marianne reached over with her right hand and pressed her index finger on Ralph's lips. She looked into his eyes, smiled and said, "Shut up and take the money. I'm not a cheap date."

"Yes ma'am, shutting up now."

While the rest were chuckling, Ralph caught the sudden diversion of Ryan's attention, then the respectful silence of the others. Ryan was focused towards the bar where patrons bided their time while waiting for a table. Ralph cast a quick glance to his left to see what had caught his host's attention, then noticed that no one else was doing that, but rather were waiting for Ryan to say something. Ryan's face showed attention, then surprise and wonderment. He said, "Three of them? As if two weren't bad enough." Ralph looked at the bar again, furrowing his brow in confusion. There were a dozen people there and five were female. There were two bartenders, not three. Something wasn't adding up right. Bringing his attention back to the table, he saw everyone's attention, except for Ryan's, was now on himself. Analysis of expressions: amusement.

"Would someone please tell me what is going on here?"

"Vanessa, how do you think we should go forward on this?"

"Who's Vanessa?"

"Him? Oh, that's Ralph, our driver. He's OK."

"Marianne, who's he talking to?"

"Why Vanessa, silly. Weren't you listening? Would you like to try one of my scallops? They're delicious."

"Who's Vanessa?"

"His wife. Mind if I steal one of your stuffed mushrooms? Oooh, those are wonderful!"

Ralph gave up on Marianne, for the moment. He looked at Gustav and mouthed, "Help."

Gustav leaned over and said, "You know, Ralph, you're not making a very good showing for yourself. You impressed me greatly in the cab, today. The reason you are here is that you have a talent in perception that we might be able to use to help a lot of good people who are in big trouble. This team is the only one who can rescue them. Now, be a good fellow and see what you can gather. Make me proud of you."

Ralph just sat there with his mouth open wanting to say something, anything, but nothing would come to mind. Marianne speared another of his mushrooms with one hand and used the other to shut Ralph's jaw.

"Was this a test," he wondered? "Of course it's a test. That's obvious. Who are these nuts that roped me into this? Why should I stick around for this insanity?" He had half a mind to get up right then and there and bail out of this loony bin.

That's when a soft voice whispered in his left ear, "Ralph, just try. You don't know how important what we are doing is. Please?" That almost did it. There followed a soft kiss on his cheek, which raised some eyebrows and smiles. That did it.

Gustav saw the clincher and spoke to Ralph. "Would you mind very much speaking your thoughts aloud? I want to see how you work things through and something you might say could spark an idea with someone else. That's how it works here."

"Sort of a think tank, you're saying? I can handle that."

"Vanessa, slow down, you're losing me."

Gustav nudged Ryan. "Mind keeping it down a little? Right, Ralph, you're on."

Ralph took in a deep breath and pursed his lips as he slowly exhaled. "Clear the mind and let it flow," he thought. "Ryan is 'Boss'. Gustav, you're 'Major Domo'. Marianne, you're 'Facilitator', smoothing the wrinkles so that things get done. You three are the core, since you've done most of the talking and interaction is smoothest with you. Rachel and Allen are new. They volunteer things, but aren't used to the flow yet. Rachel is the mother to Allen, that's obvious. The father is either out of the loop, or passed on. Judging from Rachel's face, it's the latter. I'm sorry."

"That's all right, Ralph. Go on. I'll tell you about Carl, later."

"(So, why are you wearing a ring? Remarried? If so, where is Hubby II?) I look forward to it. Rachel and Marianne are best buds, but that friendship is new, not completely comfortable and there are speed bumps."

Gustav chuckled, "Got that right. They're aliens."

"Allen is puzzling me. You might be related to Ryan. There is a vague resemblance of features, but there is more a similarity of personality, corrected for age. Uncle?"

Allen smiled. "Strike one, but no one can fault you on that one. More on that, later. By the way, color me impressed."

"You're important to this group, but you're new. You're being groomed for something, a main role of some kind. In the process, you won a trip to the ER. You're not damaged, from what I can see, but whatever happened today had and still has all of you concerned beyond just a noggin knock. The group here has heavy-duty plans and they're coming to a head soon, probably something to do with that thing this weekend. You have rooms in a hotel that has been booked solid for two months, so your plans are at least that old. The rooms you got say that you have juice in town. Your accents say you're from up north, so that says you have juice in other areas, too. The new people came in after the main plans were set in motion, so you were either picked up at random like I was, or you were recruited after being observed by Boss, Domo and/or Manager. How am I doing?"

Even Ryan had stopped talking. He was watching and listening carefully in amazement. Ralph noticed and said, "Careful Ryan. Last time I did that I lost half my plate to Marianne."

"Guy's got a decent sense of humor. I like that. Add it to the resume," thought Ryan.

"Ryan, you talk to people that aren't there and everyone else takes it as nothing special. That makes you a very rich eccentric whose nut has slipped. Trouble is, nothing else agrees with that. You guys are tight, wits quick, you mesh like a slick machine that's been finely tuned by years of working together. I can't believe where this is leading. If Ryan talks to people that aren't there and everyone is sane, there are two options. First, I'm dreaming." There was a quick motion under the table. "Ouch! Scratcheroonie on option one. Did you have to be so rough?" Marianne giggled.

Rachel said, "You think that's rough? Are you in for an eye opener."

"Anyway, am I to surmise that Boss is actually conversing with someone who has scored a granite headboard?"

No one said a word, but the pleased expressions all around were answer enough. "Hooooleeeee sh..." He was cut short by an expertly executed deposit of a stuffed mushroom into his mouth.

"They were getting cold, sweetie. Now, chew and listen."

Ralph looked at Gustav, who was laughing and shaking his head. He got an answer to his unspoken question with a single word, "Sicilian."

"Figrs," he mumphed around a mouthful of mushroom.

Ryan began to speak and everyone paid respectful attention. "First of all, Ralph, I want you to work for me. I've discerned through unscrupulous means your annual income. I am doubling it while you remain under a one-month's probationary period. If you perform as well as you have tonight, there will be a 20% raise, retroactive to the first day of employment."

"You're shitting me. Sorry, ladies, but the occasion called for it."

"The work you will be doing involves a minimal degree of personal danger. You likely took greater risks from the strangers you ferried in your cab." Ralph shot a look to Gustav. Gustav tried for 'innocent'. "...though it does get a little exciting sometimes."

Allen threw in, "Got that right." The rest added their assents.

Gustav was bit by the analytical bug. "Ralph, you remind me of the type of person often used by police, a profiler. You would be very good at it. A profiler will develop a description of someone using very sketchy evidence."

"I had thought about it, Gustav. Wrong job for me. First of all, I don't like the clientele. Second, I'm mainly good with people that are present, not drawing a personality from evidence at a crime scene."

Ryan cleared his throat. Translation: shut your traps and let Boss speak. "I can guarantee you that you will be doing things that will amaze your grandchildren, should you ever have any, or give them cause to have you committed. You're over forty and your talents are not being used to their greatest potential. You are also probably ready for a change. If we're wrong for each other, you can always go back to hacking. You have too good a reputation for your company not to grab you back in a New York heartbeat. Marianne? The second envelope, if you please. Ralph, that's an advance."

This time she took Ralph's hand in hers, placed the envelope on his palm and squeezed his fingers shut before releasing her touch. Ralph's heart rate increased for more than one reason. He knew now that they would not mind, so he peeked in the envelope at the check, then took a closer look at the numbers. "You're not shitting me."

"Ralph, if you would like to make me happy, hold the potty mouth until you're out with just the guys, OK?"

Ralph sat there, the spinning roulette wheel in his mind slowing down, rigged for the ball to land right where Gustav knew it would. "Mind introducing me to Vanessa, now?"

Back up north..."So what's your problem lady? Pull up a bed and tell Mamma Barbara all about it."

"Barb, I wore clothes today that a week ago I wouldn't have been caught dead in. I didn't spend my usual forty-five minutes doing my hair or my other twenty for make-up. I'm wearing my sneaks, since it's cold outside. So would you please explain why men are coming out of the woodwork after me? I've got so many lovesick puppies underfoot, I feel like I'm working at the SPCA."

"So what's new with that? You've been the hot ticket on campus for a year had a half, now, since you transferred in. Word's out that Allen isn't around, so that makes you primo shark bait."

That's just it. It isn't the sharks. My old crowd has excommunicated me, and, you know what? They're a bunch of stuck up, self-absorbed, dipsquats who walk around with their heads up their butts. The guys who approached me are nice, intelligent, caring, polite and honest. Where the hell were they all this time?"

"Melissa, time you learned that Barbies intimidate men, unless those men are so enamored with themselves that they feel they deserve nothing but the finest fluff. You stop dressing like a status trophy babe, you attract a different class of men. If you don't like the people you used to hang with, just remember, you were one of them."

"I was that shallow?"

"Bitch cubed arm candy."

"So how come I had Allen? He's one of the good guys."

"Because you went out and stalked him, instead of the other way around. Your looks got you part of the way because he has a weak spot for centerfolds, but your attitude sank you in the long run. All it took was for him to get out of Dodge for a day or two and get perspective on things. Looks like you both grew up some."

"Barb, would you mind mincing your words once in a while. Talking with you is like being hit by a truck."

"Hey, what are real friends for? So, you going out with any of those guys you mentioned?"

"No, I've got to get my psych paper done. It's worth a third of my grade and my average needs help big time."

"Just asking. Got any phone numbers you don't want?"

Melissa got up, leaving a pile of paper scraps with numbers on them on Barbara's bed, and went to her room to study. She booted her PC and got to work (after taking her phone off line; it wouldn't stop ringing). Two hours later, she leaned back, satisfied with the resulting paper that was being printed. She checked the icon bar.

There was one that was coded so that no one could possibly know what it meant and tied into a hidden password so no one could access it. She looked at it for a long time after the pages had finished stacking. The digit mouse was under her finger and she finally tapped it, put in the password (SNAAB) and up came the screen: NAVSTAR. Ten minutes later, she was looking up Milledgeville, GA, on the net atlas. Nothing of interest, as far as she could see. She checked the Milledgeville Chamber of Commerce web page. The main item on the agenda was some kind of Civil War re-enactment. Allen wasn't hot on the Civil War. What was he doing there? Any other young lady would have cried over her loss and gone on with her life. Melissa was not any other young lady.

Melissa whispered, "You know, psych class was getting into military mind-sets. I'll bet Professor Foy just might be convinced to give me a grade bump for some extra credit weekend work."

She tapped the event icon of the web page and read about the Edwards Homestead, the re-creation societies and the calendar of events. There was 'lodging information' and, man! Not even a campsite was available for love or money within two hours drive. The whole city seemed involved in the affair. She thought, "It would be a bear to find a person in a mess like that. Then again, it wasn't a bad setting for a person who didn't want to be seen. Hmmm."

The party had relocated to the suite. Coffee, one herb tea and dessert were ordered from room service. Everyone found a comfortable chair and settled down into little chatter groups. Allen was trying to convince his mother not to have the Homestead Main House nuked, that he felt confident things were going to work out all right and, at the first sign of trouble, they could pull the plug and launch plan B. Gustav was talking to Ryan about some of the minor remaining difficulties on the event logistics. Marianne was bringing Ralph up to speed, nutshell version, about Vanessa, the problem at the Edwards Homestead and what had happened to Allen. She had the additional difficulty of trying to explain the multiple 'grands' in Allen's family tree. By this time, Ralph had pretty well suspended conventional realities and was ready to take on leprechauns and fairies as duty partners.

Ryan cleared his throat and began. "Vanessa has relayed some interesting new developments. Allen's slave rebellion and frontal attack took Mad Annie both by storm and surprise. After the soldiers had passed though, she unloaded a lot of confusion and worry on Vanessa. Vanessa confirms that Annie's personality was splintered by the combination rape and murder, together with the stresses of her husband and children having been killed. Personality schism is not new to us in this case. However, we appear to have underestimated the numbers. There is a third Annie."

" _There is - another - Skyyywalkerrr."_

Ryan cast a brief glance to the ceiling. "Give me strength." The revelation brought on a stir of conversation, back and forth looks and a few milder expletives, since it was mixed company. The last comment of Ryan's was chalked up to yet another wisecrack from their unseen, unheard, but never-the-less beloved Vanessa.

"Nighttime Annie, as we know our favorite version, is calm, intelligent, aware, good hearted, but weak in the power department. Mad Annie has most of the power, and flies solo during 'pre' and 'post soldier arrival' daylight periods. There is a 'monkey' on Mad Annie's back between those two times that is angry as hell and somehow controls Mad's firepower. Mad Annie cannot come to grips with her own demise, despite admitting (temporarily) that everyone else she knows is deceased, including the soldiers, Vanessa and the children. The children's death status, however, is an 'on and off again' basis. More often than not, she just believes they have either just gone to bed or have not awakened yet. That is highly selective denial and hallmarks her mental fragility and dysfunction. Monkey, which is the name I'll use to describe the angrier Annie until someone else comes up with something better, is raging and unreasonable, yet more aware of what she is doing, but can be cowed as we have seen. She builds up her head of steam regardless of consequences till it climaxes from 5:07 to 5:11pm. Then, satisfied, turns off to enjoy the resonance of her deeds. That leaves Mad Annie, without the puppeteer manning the strings, to just stand there in her delusions and confusions until nightfall.

"Vanessa spoke to Mad Annie, who seemed fairly clueless on where the soldiers and her children actually go after the Union's passage, though she recalled the phrase 'in her apron pocket', which came from Monkey. When quizzed closer, she couldn't understand much of anything. Mad Annie was willing to (temporarily) accept that two centuries had passed since the first attack, and was vaguely aware of the 'distance deaths' of the Union soldiers and her role in that, and clearly confirmed details of Allen's slave revolt to Vanessa. Mad Annie is a confused woman/child being manipulated and deceived, but still can perceive things in a limited capacity. Now for the clincher. 'Our' Annie, for the first time in two hundred years, saw the sunset, today!"

Pandemonium. Ralph sat back, taking it all in. This had to be the weirdest job he had ever taken on, and that says a lot, coming from a taxi driver. The kick of it was, he was really getting into it and felt the growing desire to become a part of Ryan's machine.

"Vanessa figures that Annie is like any other multiple personality and resolution will come from re-unification. That will require therapy. Only Vanessa and myself can carry on any kind of conversation with any of the three Annies. I'm out of the question, as Mad Annie and Monkey hate me on sight. Vanessa is our only liaison. Rachel, I want you to update our research on putting splintered minds back together. I want to know about any new methods being used and how they are applied. Allen, you are the PC whiz kid. You assist her, tomorrow. I don't feel like being the Lone Ranger, so I need a Tonto..."

Eyes shifted, two by two, to the most recent team addition. "Ralph, you should have no problem with a vehicle rated at only one horsepower. Now that we're aware of what she can do, Vanessa will do her best to keep Monkey off our backs with distraction. Marianne, you will go to the Homestead. If Vanessa taps your right ear, use your SatCom speed connect to reach me. That will mean that there is a danger of Monkey making a second appearance and we will ride hell bent for leather out of there. Any questions? Good. Oh, Ralph, can you ride a horse? Forgot to ask."

"I can hold my own, but it's been a while. Sure, let's give it a go." He hadn't been on a horse in twenty years, but didn't want to appear a coward in Marianne's eyes. He mumbled covertly, "What the heck, can't be worse than driving a taxi with four screaming kids and two New Age parents."

Now that things were calming back down (this was calm?) into subgroup chat, Ralph settled into observing. The biggest thing on the menu was Rachel's skeptical looks and obvious worry about the welfare of her son. He asked Marianne why they should worry all that much about Monkey or Mad Annie when Allen was removed from the situation. Marianne filled in the blank spots concerning the Civil War raiding party death rate. "And Allen's sticking with the program? The rug rat is braver than he looks. His mother must be a real trooper to keep herself as quiet as she has been about it. That's really gotta be hell on her insides."

Marianne listened with one part of her mind, with another part thinking, "He's a very sensitive and aware man. Didn't know they made them like that anymore."

"Ralph, how's about you and me getting a nightcap? I'm tired, but wired. Then, I'm going to boot your butt home."

"It's a plan. I've had a pretty long day of it myself. Looks like tomorrow is going to be worth getting rested up for."

They excused themselves from the group, which was winding down on plots and plans, anyway. There were two more days until Saturday. For the rest of the tourists, Sunday offered tours, period craft demonstrations, sheep shearing, cotton picking, cider making/buying and visits to the Civil War re-creationist encampment located on one of the southern acres of the property, where one could make candles, brooms, clay pots and other period bric-a-brac, for a price. The Fitzgalen family wasn't interested in Sunday events.

Saturday headlined with the big battle, staged over five acres (with benches and bleachers all strategically located for the public). The last count had over three thousand, six hundred black-powder rifle-toting soldiers representing not only traditional Reb and Yank ground forces, but also members of the Buffalo Soldiers (a black regiment), elements of period Naval groups, medical personnel and even period photographers who not only role played as the first war correspondents that brought the ugliness of war to Joe Average, but doubled as purveyors of tin type souvenirs to be sold for a far heftier price than even two centuries of inflation could account for.

Ralph opened the door for Marianne. She liked that. Not all women did, but she thought it was sweet. Ralph was saying his goodbyes when he caught Gustav's evil eye. The look told him a few things that didn't need words. As he closed the suite door, he knew he had been clearly commanded to take very good care of the lady waiting at the elevator door, or else. Last time he saw a look like that, he made sure to get his seventeen-year-old date back by ten, despite her protests. It looked like Domo/Dad's trust was something he would have to earn.

On the elevator ride down and at the bar, the couple had a lively chat about where they each had come from, jobs (with a few funny episodes from both sides to tell) and general small talk. He ordered a decaf, saying that he didn't take a drop of booze if he was to be on the road within the next two hours, and that more caffeine would nix any sleep. That suited Marianne, though she ordered a house Chablis and nursed it while they continued finding out about each other. Ralph listened more than he spoke, since he was also interested in the other members of the team and Marianne was the one with the low down. The Chablis and coffee had been 'freshened' twice, when Marianne looked at the clock during a rare lull in the conversation.

"Midnight!? Ralph, no one has ever kept my attention that far away from the clock. At work, I'm the one that keeps everyone else on time and where they need to be. You may be a bad influence on me."

"Thank you. I'll try my best." Ralph got up to pay the bar tab. He could certainly afford it, in light of the two checks stashed in his shirt pocket. Ralph escorted Marianne to the elevators, pushed the buttons and bid her goodnight without riding up with her. He thought he was doing the chivalrous thing and that she would be pleased. He was sort of right, sort of not.

Marianne walked into the suite. Gustav was walking to his room in his pajamas, but stopped to say good night to Marianne. She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You evil-eyed him, didn't you?" The 'Who, me?' look on his face didn't fool anyone.

Ralph drove at a leisurely pace to his apartment just north of town. It was a nice complex that catered to single/childless people. There weren't any kids running around. Not that he didn't like kids, but they scared him in crowded areas. His younger brother had been backed over by a car in a parking lot. Thank Heaven he wasn't killed, but he had permanently lost partial use of his legs. It had taken three years of physical therapy and reconstructive surgery to get even that much achieved. The Kithcarts didn't believe in self-pity, so brother Ron made a good life for himself and his eventual family with an import/export business up north in Maryland. He could still bring to clear recollection Ron's screams. Ralph tore up grass divots trying to get to his brother's side and it made him sick to see the obvious crush injury to Ron's pelvis, the blood and the look on Ron's face that begged his brother to make it all better. It was odd that Ralph had later sought a job as a taxi driver, where he ran a higher risk of causing a similar happenstance because he drove for a living. Maybe he became a cabbie to face up to his fears, or maybe to become someone who would take the care needed to prevent another such calamity. Ralph was great at reading others, but lousy at reading himself.

He walked up to his second-floor apartment, unlocked the door and walked over to the fish tank. "Hello, Mako! Hey, guess what? Daddy's going to change jobs, make a whole lot more green stuff. I can buy you that hundred-gallon condo I've been promising. Eat all your flake and we'll talk about adding a boyfriend to that equation. Now don't look at me like that. I know I'm late. Hey, cut me some slack. I'll tell you about her, yes, there's a her, in the morning. Hey, what time should I get there?" He had forgotten to ask, due to feminine distraction, not to mention all the other crazy things tonight. He went to the phone. Maybe it wasn't too late to call. The screen showed stored messages from his father in Springfield, his brother in Maryland, the cab company (hoo boy, Mr. Pasternak is going to be pissed), and, "Hey!"

Ralph punched up the 4th message. "Hello Ralph. Thank you for your company tonight. I had a nice time and am looking forward to working with you. You have, by now, realized that no one told you what time to be here. Breakfast at the suite will be at eight sharp. Don't be late. I'll save you a couch seat. Your boss, Mr. Pasternak, will have left a message on your machine. Don't panic. Ryan bought out your contract and your previous employer is just wishing you well and that you will be welcomed back should things not work out with us. His secretary will take care of feeding Mako over the weekend. Oh, and next time? Tell Gustav to stuff it. Sleep well, stud muffin."

How in God's name was he supposed to sleep well after a message like that? Crud! Well, one shouldn't be in too much of a hurry. Women didn't want to feel rushed into things and, after previous fiascos, neither did he. He crashed and burned with Mariki, then with Helga. Perhaps he'll have better luck with the third member of the Axis. She even thought to have Mako taken care of? Whatta woman!

Vanessa told Ryan 'good night' and went back to see Annie. Neither of them slept and nights got lonely. Vanessa had Ryan to watch over and, though she didn't mind being his guardian angel, talking with Annie beat snoring for content. They went over the conversations and happenings since early evening. Annie was especially interested in what might be a blossoming romance between Ralph and Marianne.

" _She sounds like such a nice lady. Shame we can't invite her for a chat. We hobgoblins suffer from one-way conversations, don't we?"_

" _I guess I'm lucky there, with Ryan. But yes, you're right. Sometimes I wish I could sleep again. Without you, nights are long and quiet, at least those that Ryan doesn't have me searching out spook sites."_

" _I sure can understand that. All those years before you came along, it got powerful tedious. I was so pleased for the help and encouragement you and your husband have given me. Say, what's happening with that young one and his Yankee ding-a-ling back in school?"_

In all the craziness, Vanessa had quite forgotten Melissa. _"I don't know. She may be history as far as all the others are concerned. I'm not so sure. Well, whatever happens, happens. Speaking of which, about tomorrow, here's the plan. Allen will stay behind with his mother and Gustav. Ryan and Ralph will cheer on the men with a second showing of those pictures and will try to connect with Patterson. Marianne and I will be here. I'm going to try and distract you, over and above the hubbub of Friday events. If you get by me, I flick Marianne's ear and she sends the fall back call to Ryan and Ralph. I'm going to see if I can lift up your children. I can touch them, but I don't know if I can physically lift them. Annie, with your earlier arrival time yesterday, do you think you might be able to exert more influence on keeping your other selves from coming out?"_

" _Well, Dear, I'll certainly give it a try. From what you say, it's not Mad-Me that's the problem, it's Monkey-Me. My word, but it's peculiar to talk about one's self like that. But even if I can keep them bottled up all day, we still need them to raise the soldiers and my children."_

There was more girl talk for an hour or so, then they fell silent and listened to the crickets and the sound of the night breeze. Vanessa went back to an earlier topic in her mind. _"Annie, Dear, will you excuse me for a moment? You got me to thinking about something and I have to check up on it. Be right back."_

" _I'll_ _put on the pot."_ It was one of their old jokes. Both agreed that the one thing their precious time spent together lacked was something hot to sip. Well, immortality has to have some drawbacks, they supposed. Both agreed that inability to touch the ones they loved, to share a simple caress, was a much bigger disadvantage. Annie loved to hear Vanessa tell stories of what little she could do. _"Such an imp, that one. Sneaking up on her husband in the bathroom while he shaved and plucking a hair out of...there. Surprised that the poor man didn't slash his throat."_ But to even see her husband and talk to him. That, she was just short of jealous over. _"Oh Archibald, I do miss you so. The Good Book says that our marriage ended when we died. Maybe so. I still miss you and want to see and hold you again."_ Annie called out his name, as she had once done to summon him to meals when they were together. She listened, hoping that maybe this time her dear man would hear her across the gulf that separated them, that maybe he might be able to call across just loud enough for her to hear the whisper of his answer. _"Damn crickets are drowning you out, Honey. Try again later, won't you? Until then, all my love to you, my husband."_

A half a minute later, Vanessa returned with a most sly smile on her face. _"Well don't just stand there with your snake smirk. What did you do, or see, or whatever?"_

" _I stopped in to visit with Melissa Banks. Thought she might have hit the hay by now but she was up, get this, doing homework! I think she's turned herself around, Annie. Now, that's not all. She put that picture of Allen next to her bed. She hasn't given up on him. This is going to be fun."_

" _I don't understand what you mean. She's up there, he's down here. What's so fun about that?"_

" _Oh, sorry, forgot a detail. On her bed was an open backpack with clothes in it and what looks like an airline ticket next to it. Now, where do you suppose she might be thinking of going? Would it be with another man, when Allen's picture is next to her bed? I don't think so."_

" _You might just have something there, Dear. But, with all that's going to be happening in the next two days, are you sure it's wise for Allen to have a big distraction like this?"_

" _Ooof! You're right. I'll go back and hide the ticket. No, that won't stop her. She'll just have another re-issued and put a cancel on this one. Phooey! I'm not sure what to do."_

" _Don't do anything, Dear"_

" _Huh? Annie, what you just said before..."_

" _I know, I know. But things happen for a reason. This mess has been around a long time and I think He's going to take advantage of that to kill a whole flock of birds with one stone, if you get my meaning."_

" _Annie, Honey, looking at what's happened to you, those men and your children, it's hard for me to believe He's watching out for us at all."_

" _Patience, Vanessa, patience. He took good care of those children in Selma, yes? He's working on it."_

Vanessa hoped so, but still was not convinced. It was the old 'why do bad things happen to good people' beast that everyone wrestles with in their lifetimes, and sometimes well after that.

Chapter 22 – DAY 2

Marianne woke up early (as usual) and thought about the previous night. On the one hand, it was fun; he was nice, she had a good time. On the other hand, she had been pushy with that phone message and probably scared him off. Which, on the third hand, may be a good thing because she had too many other things to concentrate on without that kind of distraction. On the forth hand, she really wanted that kind of distraction. She missed it and didn't know how much until last night. Then, to make things worse, that overprotective ('I should talk') kraut lawyer saw her sneak in at such a late hour.

Marianne steeled herself for a morning of half hidden smirks. Probably be a few bouncing eyebrows, too. Well, nothing to do but to get out and start breakfast, ordering it, that is. That's the kind of kitchen she liked best, someone else's. Though no slouch at the oven, she had too many other duties to juggle.

Marianne quick-showered, threw on her sweats (she learned a long time ago that Victoria's real secret was that flannel was far more comfortable, though the other options in the catalog might be interesting..."Damn, stop that."). She opened the door, quietly so as not to disturb the sleepers and stopped cold, mouth half agape, eyes unblinking.

Everyone was up and doing things, quietly. It was like a silent movie. The breakfast tray was there, coffee cups were on second fillings (with napkins set in the saucers to prevent clinking) and she had slept through it all! She checked her watch, but it was 7AM on the nose, as planned. Rachel walked by with a read-out in her hand of some kind and executed a perfect cup relay with her coffee, just the way she liked it (sweet and light enough to qualify for liquid candy). Allen and Gustav were at the PC, no, there were two PC's now, each working at their own and comparing notes, quietly. Ryan was sitting, sipping and reviewing whatever it was that Rachel had handed him. When everyone noticed that Marianne was awake, the noise levels quadrupled as Gustav, Allen, and Rachel now began using SatComs and the hotel phone. Rachel was coming again with another readout in her left hand, a plate in her right. The latter was placed on a coffee table next to where Marianne was standing and the now free hand was used to firmly place Marianne onto the couch. The first order she was given that day was delivered. "Eat, you'll need it."

No one was saying anything to her or about her. "Of all the - ignoring me - working? - early - no one called me. What the, who the, when?"

Rachel, on her way back, gave order number two. "Stop thinking, start chewing. We need you up and running and your blood sugar is low. Move it, lady."

What was this, revenge? Culture shock wore off and here was one Sicilian who was fed up with this nonsense. The cup went down, the woman stood up. "EXCUUUUUSE MEEEE!" (silence) "That's better. Would someone please tell me what is going on here?"

With deadpan expressions, Ryan got up and walked Rachel over to the table where Gustav and Allen were sitting. The latter two rose to stand with their accomplices. Allen pushed a pre-arranged button on his PC and a clear, unwavering tone emitted. Middle C. Four voices, in harmony, sounded a preliminary 'hummmm'. Silence again, with Marianne completely baffled at what new madness was before her, which had taken the place of the old madness noted earlier. Ryan raised a spoon he had in his hand and tapped a rhythm on the rim of his coffee cup. Soprano, Alto, Tenor and Base blended with barbershop precision. "Marianne and Ralphie, sitting in a tree, Marianne and Ralphie sitting in a tree, K I S S I N Geeeeeee." They stopped, bowed and all gave the biggest brow-raised-wide-eyed smiles on cue, simultaneously.

Marianne grabbed two couch pillows and, with a Sicilian war whoop, tore divots in the carpet with mayhem on the docket. The gang of four yipped merrily and began frantic evasive maneuvers.

It was at this moment when Ralph opened the suite door to the hallway, it having been left unlocked for him. He stood transfixed as the lady who was so pleasant, articulate and warm last night had undergone a transition into something else entirely, but he wasn't exactly sure what. Whatever it was, it looked like fun. So, he walked calmly to the second couch and picked up a two and a half by four foot cushion. Allen had just evaded a throw pillow roundhouse and was making good his escape when face and body met covered foam. He made a satisfying 'wooomph', crashed and burned.

Marianne saw it and was pleased. "They are evil conspirators, Ralph! Save me!"

"Save HER?" chorused said conspirators. Seeing the odds had shifted to only a two to one numerical superiority, they dropped to their knees, asking leniency and promising to be very good from now on.

Ralph walked up to Marianne. "Dr. Cabrini, I suggest doubling their prescriptions and calling up their respective analysts."

"Concur, Dr. Kithcart. The drug cart is on its way now. Bad patients! Bad! No pudding tonight!"

Four semi-repentants begged for mercy, one of which was rubbing his nose. "I thought couch cushions would be softer than that," said he.

Ralph countered. "Nose and butt sensitivities are tuned differently, young man, unless you are attempting to get a promotion from Boss." That one did it, sending the faux-penitents rolling about on the floor. "My lady, what was it that these scoundrels did to you, anyway?"

"I'll show...um...I'll tell you later."

For some reason unknown to Ralph, the galloping giggles redoubled. Mass hysteria, if ever he had seen it. Well, it wasn't going to be dull. He went over and poured himself a cup of black, the way he and Allen liked it, and waited for the whimsy to die down. He was early, anyway. Ryan soon got that 'let's get down to business' look and things settled down again despite random snorts and sighs.

"Let's get started, folks. Vanessa wasn't here for the fun and she'll be the grumpier for it. We're going to try to get a handle on what to do when Monkey takes control of Mad Annie. Marianne, we all hope you will find it in your heart to go easy on us miscreants. Ralph, get used to it, and thanks for helping our poor defenseless damsel. Keep up the good work, m'boy.

"We actually were working early, which was decided upon while two of our number (Ralph liked the sound of that) were off getting acquainted. We've touched bases with Homestead security, just in case something goes askew today. Heaven knows what, for we sure don't.

"The Shark and the Kid put the final touches on getting all lights green with liability issues. Weather reports all look excellent for tomorrow. Let us hope the Homestead will still be in one piece for the following day's wind-down.

"Ralph, hope you wore your rawhide boxer shorts. We're leaving in an hour for the stables. Allen, you, Mamma-san and Gustav are to remain here and be ready for anything.

"Marianne, you take off with us. Ralph will drop you off at the Homestead, then he and I will head for the stables. Are we all clear on our roles? SatComs charged? OK, just enough time for us to finish breakfast, and see to it that the hotel clean up staff doesn't have kittens when they come in later to tidy up."

After the common area looked less slovenly, three left for the elevators while three set up the home base. The two PC's would monitor all SatComs. Speed dialers were already programmed for the fire department, police, all the group's SatComs and Homestead security. Now, the home base team could only wait.

Annie was on the porch. The sun was about to rise and the sky had a sleepy blush to it. Vanessa had stayed the night, talking with her friend. _"Dearest Annie, try and resist the change as long as you can. Your mad self may be weaker now. We need to know if they work together, or if Monkey takes the leash later on."_

" _We'll know soon, Dear. Very soon. In fact, I can feel her coming, pushing. You're right, she is weaker. No more talking now unless I say so. Don't distract me now."_

Vanessa stood in front of Annie offering silent support. That was all she could offer and that was what she gave, unwavering. Annie's expression was one of concentration and effort, like a student faced with a one-question-takes-all final examination. The sun peaked out from behind the mountains. Vanessa only knew it from the light on the porch, for she refused to turn her face away from her embattled friend. The focused look on Annie's face continued, with the only change being a slow motion of the jaw or tightening of the lips. Once in a while there was a slight jerk of her head, like something tried to slip by and was caught just in time. Vanessa wondered how long Annie could keep this up. The concentration, the support she was giving, reminded her of giving birth to Obediah...but this was the reverse. This time, it was to resist a 'birth' as long as possible...not encourage one.

" _I can hold, it back. It's strong, but not that, strong. Monkey-Me isn't, there, yet. Maybe she can't show, unless Mad-Me, comes first."_

Silence again. Annie was marshalling her strength, which seemed odd. Spirits normally don't tire or fatigue. This was a different kind of energy expenditure. Annie was fighting herself. Vanessa thought about something she had heard once in a sermon in Selma. Jesus was accused of being in league with the Devil. His answer, which couldn't be countered, was that He was casting out demons and therefore casting out the Devil. "A house divided against itself cannot stand." Annie was a house divided against herself. Annie was weakening herself, probably, hoping to weaken her hold on the men and the children, and on Allen.

The sun was fully up. The shadows had begun their daily creep. Nighttime Annie remembered mornings on the porch when she was alive, when she noticed landmarks of telling time by the sun's shadows. She had taught those to Vanessa, even though only Mad Annie had been daytime-conscious to witness it all these centuries. Vanessa's Annie had to wrench her focus away from her first sunrise in all that time and towards the issue at hand. Could she hold out past the time the children usually showed up and the soldiers began their march?

Ryan had once spent the time and effort to catch the men at their form-up location, at the outskirts of Annie's sphere of influence (he hoped), to make a break for it in the opposite direction. That was a worthy goal, but the effort failed. It seemed that Annie might not have a distance limit on the control, despite the limit they had recently found on the dream link. Vanessa had been there with Ryan when the appearance manifested itself. One moment there was nothing but woods and the next, there was shimmering all around them. Colors and shapes swirled, creating a sight that would turn the old Star Trek special effects techies an envious green. When the colors and shapes were fully present, though amorphous, there was a sudden snap and all soldiers and horses were intact. The soldiers' eyes were closed, but gradually fluttered and opened as if they had been asleep. A few moments later, they regained their powers of speech. She remembered the sadness in their eyes at awakening once more to their purgatory.

Those memories recalled for Vanessa the time when Ryan had spoken of 'Old Hannah'. It was a slave term, meaning the sun. "Won't you go down Old Hannah. Well, well, well. Don't you rise no more. If you come up, Old Hannah bring Judgment Day.' The sun was up, but it wasn't Judgment Day, yet. It was 8:15AM, or there about. Still no Monkey and no Mad Annie. In 40 minutes, the soldiers would normally appear. Five minutes later they would set off from Little River. In a short time after that, the children would appear.

Annie's face began to strain more, her eyes widening to the pressure that cycled in waves. No one of them were bigger than the previous ones, but there was an eroding effect of their constant, slow rhythm.

" _She's trying to, wake up. She's, asleep, I think. She knows, the sun, is up. She's blind, can't use her eyes yet, but she senses, the sun, somehow. I feel, feel, Monkey, behind her. Trying to wake, up, bottled genie, like. Mad, is, cork, in, bottle."_ Silence again. If ghosts could sweat, there'd be a puddle on the porch. _"Time?"_

OK, that was a question. Vanessa could answer it. _"Quarter to nine, hold on, Dear."_

" _Trying, getting harder. Get, coffee, going, Dear."_

" _If only I could, closest friend, if only."_ Vanessa hoped her unspoken thoughts were of some help. She wanted to do something, anything, to help cheer Annie on, but that would disrupt her concentration. All she could do was what she was doing and feel helpless.

Annie's effort was more visible now. Teeth that didn't really exist in the real world were clenched. Her brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed. Annie's head rocked slightly back and forth, like she was almost bobbing in the gentle but remorseless onslaught of Mad Annie's efforts. If it was getting harder, then Monkey was pushing at the cork. If that was true, Monkey was going to come out riding the good ship 'PMS Royal'. The bond she shared with Annie must have communicated that thought, for the same thing occurred to her a moment later.

" _Time!"_ hissed Annie.

A glance at the shadow of the porch railing. It had passed the knothole that looked like a smiley face. _"Just past nine."_

Annie smiled, but that stopped quickly. With her last ounce of strength left, _"GO!"_

It was the pre-arranged signal for Vanessa to disappear unceremoniously from direct line of sight. She had pre-chosen Ryan's location, wherever that might turn out to be. She would briefly report, then get back as though she had just arrived. She still felt like a chronic abandoner; first Selma, then the kids (daily) and now her best friend. Lousy habit, if you asked Vanessa.

Ryan and Ralph were in the middle of a conversation at the stable when Ryan stopped short and looked to his right. Ralph was a quick study, so he stopped mid-sentence and waited patiently until Ryan said, "Son of a bitch. What a woman! OK, get back, but watch yourself. Remember, you're too valuable to risk. Marianne will be there in a minute or two, after she checks in with Security. Off with you, and good luck, Love."

Ryan turned to Ralph and said, "Annie held on past the time that the soldiers appear. No telling what this might mean, yet. Keep alert. We just might hit pay dirt a day early."

"Right, or something is going to hit the fan."

"We frown on pessimism, Mr. Kithcart."

"Does that mean you won't duck when it hits?"

"No, I'll hide behind you. You have Allen's nag. She's used to the route and is pretty stable. She bolted before because of Allen meeting Monkey, not because of the troops."

"Swell. Shall we go? What's the name of my horse, by the way?" Ryan told him. "You've got to be joking."

Annie stood at ground zero. What had been regular, eroding waves trying to push her under, became a tsunami. With one last look at the sun, she dove inside and took cover, letting her mind take peace in the familiar blackness, submissive to the more powerful elements. In there, she considered what had happened, what was said and what she had accomplished. Vanessa had told her that re-unification was the key to her wholeness. From what she had heard of Monkey and Mad, she was very skeptical that she wanted to unite with them. _"My goodness, one wore 'me' and we can play bridge."_

When Mad Annie was propelled to the surface by a force not of her understanding, she was disoriented, to say the least. The beast that drove her mind to emotional extremes was furious, but confused. What could have possibly held her back? This had never happened on an awakening. It was suffocating and frightening! She/they did a rapid search of her domain to see who might be responsible for the delay. The sun was much too high. Heads were going to roll, if any would show themselves. There was more activity about the farm than yesterday. All the 'hired help' were busier than ever getting the place ready for _..."What in Sam Hill were they getting ready for?"_ Other than that, there was nothing amiss and that was all the more infuriating. There had been an obstruction almost too powerful to overcome and no donkey was visible on which to pin the tail. Monkey checked in her one 'pocket' and found the men. She checked her other 'pocket' and found the children.

Taking a few moments to calm down, Monkey reached in and sent the unconscious souls on their military way without Mad Annie being aware of the process, as usual. Then, she lovingly sent her children off to play. Fifteen minutes later, she had her favorite and only visitor. _"Good morning, Annie. How are you this fine day?"_

She was still suspicious of anything that moved. _"Right enough, I expect. You just getting here?"_

" _Why yes, Dearie, why, did something happen? Are you all right? Are the children...No, there they are, playing."_

" _Nothing happened. Everything is just, just fine. I've got something to do. Visit the children, if you like. Come back, later."_ Then she stormed into the house.

" _Well, that was abrupt,"_ Vanessa thought. Annie didn't seem confused now. She was secretive and bordering on rude. Monkey must be in charge. There was nothing more to be learned from an empty porch, so it was time to see to the children.

" _What happened, Miss Vanessa? Mamma was late in getting us up. She's never been late, until now. Did you do something?"_

" _No, Jason, I didn't. Your mother did, the one you can't see but is your real mother. She's the one that loves you more than anything else. Now, I want the two of you to talk to me. Maybe what we say this morning is not going to be important, but it might be. I'm sorry if it causes you some discomfort."_

Rebecca spoke for both of them. _"We know you are doing your best to help us, Miss Vanessa. What do you want to know?"_

" _Your mother, when her mind is not working right, sends you somewhere. Do you have any idea where?"_

Jason replied, _"No, ma'am. It's all dark there."_

That's interesting. For Jason to recall that it's dark means he's able to register seeing darkness. _"Do you and your sister hear each other when you are in this place?"_

" _We can hear each other, yes, ma'am. We can't see anything and hearing each other is different there. We can't really talk like we're doing with you right now, but we can sort of think to each other. It's different, kind of like a dream."_

" _Do you hear the soldiers?"_

" _No, ma'am. We tried a few times to call out to them, once we figured out that they didn't want to hurt us. We were scared of them for a long time, too scared to want to talk to them. We're still scared of that mean man you were talking about, the one that wants to hurt Mamma all the time."_

" _Thank you, Rebecca. Now, both of you, think hard. Did either of you feel anything different this morning, other than coming out later than usual?"_

Jason and Rebecca thought for a while. Jason scratched his chin, as he had seen his father do, so long ago. Rebecca held her chin up with her thumb and index finger, cupping that arm's elbow in her opposite hand. Vanessa had seen that posture before with Annie. Rebecca had taken on some of the mannerisms of her mother. Shame neither parent was present to appreciate that wonderful little fact.

" _VANESSA!"_

She was startled to hear Annie calling her name. That wasn't like her usual self, selves, whatever. This was getting even more complicated. Vanessa looked at Jason and Rebecca and both had worried looks on their faces. They had not heard that tone before either. It had an urgency to it, a brittleness.

Vanessa excused herself from the children and walked more calmly than she felt towards the Homestead porch. Annie stood there, looking west. The old habit of sharing gazes with the north had all but vanished. Monkey Annie's confidence of the past had been injured over the past few days. So many things that hadn't changed in so many ages were not to be trusted anymore. That had been a central part of the plan. Shaking the confidence of an opponent was a hallmark offensive goal in any conflict.

Here was the product of their handiwork. The proud but unbalanced woman before her had been indeed shaken. Rhythms in time were one of the most primal requirements on stability and sanity. Living things relied heavily on cycles. Daily cycles included the right amounts of sleep, food, hormone fluctuations, light exposure, activity and a thousand other variables. Monthly cycles, though most often thought of in the feminine realm, also applied to men. Annual cycles held seasons, migrations, celebrations, grieving and more. Such cycles were adhered to by mortals and even more so by entities for whom centuries of similarity imbued a greater reliance on sameness. For two hundred years, Mad Annie rose at dawn. That changed, though only by a small span of time. The duration of change was not as important as the fact that any change had occurred at all.

Vanessa was the only one Mad Annie could talk to. Monkey wasn't as oriented to speech as she was to action and absorbing the satisfaction that action provided. Now, both daytime entity shards were unhappy, but Monkey was the most upset, by far.

" _Yes, Annie?"_

But how could she/they communicate that energy of upset to another for help and relief? Vanessa was the only one for whom either felt a trust and was the only game in town, as the men folk were like to say. But how could one articulate one's upset when one didn't know what was going on in the first place? Even to form a question that would answer her/their qualms would direct her/their steps into areas that neither wanted (one consciously, the other instinctively) to enter. It was so frustrating that both wanted to scream.

" _Dearie, I don't feel very good."_ Monkey sensed the outreach of her mad self and exerted her influence _. "But don't worry, I don't need anyone's help. It will pass."_

Vanessa blinked. What had just happened? First a call for help, then a denial of its need. _"It has to be that the two daytime elements of Annie not working in harmony, at least for the moment."_ Wasn't that interesting? Not that she knew what use it could possibly be.

Ryan and Ralph met up with the soldiers. "You're late, Major. I thought punctuality was a military tradition." Ryan smiled and the smile was returned.

It was now Ralph's turn to be mind-gassed, as kids say. Allen warned him this would happen. The mount with the silly name he was 'saddled' with seemed content to walk the path under a different rider and didn't appear 'spooked' in the least. "Oh Lord, two puns in one sentence. I need serious therapy."

" _Ryan Fitzgalen, it would appear that you have broken the iron bond, or at least bent it a little. Well done, Sailor. Even the Navy has its uses, it would seem."_

"Yes, Sir, and so do you ground-pounders."

The Major laughed loud and long at that, roaring out the phrase that struck him as so funny. The men heard and began to join his laughter. Even the 'mad Private' added his voice and humor. The feeling that it all brought was strengthening and encouraging. Fortunately, for them, Monkey missed sensing the change as she had her hands full at the moment.

Marianne arrived and took up her station post at the northwest fence corner. Security was told that this was as it should be and to ignore her. She was given a Security armband to keep chatty tourists off her back. Official chatters wore Guide armbands. It was frustrating for Marianne to think that forces were at work here over which she had no control, forces that she could not see, hear, or influence. All she could do was to minimize the number of restroom breaks and watch people. For all she knew, all hell was breaking out around her, or everything had been resolved, or it was all status quo.

"Marianne Cabrini was not meant to sit on her duff doing nothing, no sir!"

According to Vanessa, the two children would be there in their limited play space right in front of her. She was supposed to keep as close to Vanessa as possible, yet as inconspicuous as possible to Monkey/Mad Annie and the general public. She felt like a panic alarm switch, which she was, and that was important. But there had to be something more she could do. She looked at where Jason and Rebecca were supposed to be. Well, maybe she couldn't see them, but they could see her. They could hear her, too, couldn't they?

While Vanessa was up at the porch talking to Monkey/Mad Annie, the children stood together, wondering what was going to happen. The thought that tomorrow might mark their liberation was almost too wonderful to be true. When you've been punished long enough, you come to believe that you deserve it, whether or not you ever did anything to be punished for. Both were aware of the woman standing near them, for Vanessa had told them about her being one of the team that was working to free them, the soldiers and, hopefully, Mamma.

It surprised them to hear that lady speaking, apparently to them, but obviously not seeing or hearing them in turn. It was more like a public address system, though the lady spoke softly.

"Jason and Rebecca. Jason and Rebecca. I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm going to try. I am a friend to Vanessa. She cares very deeply about you, we all do. We are all working hard to free you. I am sorry not to be able to speak with you the way I would like, but maybe someday we will be allowed to talk with each other. I've heard a lot about you two and know you are both very good and brave children. I'm asking you on behalf of all your friends on our team to trust Vanessa with all your hearts. We do. She hasn't steered us wrong yet and she isn't going to lead you astray now, either. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting a conversation between you and her, so I'll be quiet now. Be strong, have faith and know that you are loved by all of us."

" _Jason, that woman talked to us. She's so nice to do that. I wish we could speak with her, let her know we heard her."_

" _We'll tell Miss Vanessa. She'll find a way. Just like she'll find a way to help us out of here and get Mamma well again."_

" _Annie, I know you have been very strong to keep the Homestead running without your slaves all this time. Your children are lucky to have a mother like you._ That seemed to help calm her down some, which was good. It took valleys for the roller coaster pinnacles to have their maximum effect. The gates then opened and the general public streamed in. Tours were being organized.

" _Saints, but there are a lot of folks here this morning. Don't they have something else to do with their days?"_

The Edwards Homestead Preservation Society, formed by the City Council fifty-eight years ago to keep this landmark from being developed, had employed Nicole Redman for the last four years. She had her first group of twenty in tow. Early risers were traditionally docile, attentive and walked at a reasonable pace.

"The Edwards Homestead Estate Foundation was founded in 1991 to restore and reopen to the public this interesting and historically important piece of both national and local heritage. Please step lively to keep up. We're heading now to the main barn." Marianne could hear Nicole's clear voice, even from the open barn doors that had swallowed the tour group, whole. "The Edwards family raised horses as well as dairy cows on top of their agricultural enterprises. It was from this wide diversification that Col. Edwards was able to give his wife the financial security he felt she deserved. This barn was built by then Captain Edwards, and is maintained with the help of modern preservation methods. Here are the stalls for their draft horses and over here for their riding mounts. The cow barn is 500 yards south of here, which put them closer to the grazing pastures and further from the cash crops." Marianne could hear more minutia regarding the nuts and bolts of running a slave labor camp. After an overheard session of questions and answers, "Now, if we can all take a stroll over to the Main House, there will be much more to see and talk about."

Marianne watched the seamless precision with which people were assembled, assigned to a guide and sent off to one of five (she recalled) sequential sites for historical data dumps. The guides were a fair mix of men and women, some college students helping defray education costs with weekend work, some retired people supplementing their retirement income. The years of experience prompted 'magnet groupings'. Families with young children were usually funneled to one of the older guides; grandparent types that younger kids just naturally gravitated towards. Older children, who were feeling the awakenings of interest in the opposite gender, prompted the assignment of that family to someone that the youth might describe as a 'hotshot' or 'spotlight'. That usually kept their attention on the guide and their fingers off items that could be damaged from too much adolescent rambunctiousness. Nicole's group exited the barn. Marianne had seen her before and even had taken the tour with her. She was a very knowledgeable young student, personable and cute as a button. That would explain the three young men, high school age from the look of it, on her heels like so many ducklings trying to out-smile and out-cool each other. Marianne noticed how well Nicole's blue jeans fit. Yep, almost every detail of population control had been considered. Men were so easily led at this age, when their brains had migrated away from their heads and (she grinned) 'gone south'.

Ryan and Ralph rode on. Pictures were being re-reviewed, and they were up to the 'D's'.

"DELANEY, PRIVATE DENNIS"

"DIXON, PRIVATE COLE"

It was a gorgeous day for a ride. Ralph continued his musings to include wonder at the circumstances surrounding his pleasant trot in the woods. "What could possibly go wrong on a day like this?" he thought. Then he thought about some of the things his new friends had told him. Ralph Kithcart was not superstitious, but that didn't stop him from knocking on a passing tree.

" _Vanessa, I've got a feeling in my bones that something evil stalks me. Things just don't feel right."_ With that, Mad/Monkey Annie turned her eyes to the west. Vanessa watched as her eyes seemed to go out of focus.

" _(Uh-oh.) Annie, hold on for a moment!"_ The eyes refocused. _"Now just hold on there and don't jump the gun. Let's look at what's going on and see if you and I can work it out. Besides, there are so many things I would like to learn from you. Say, there's one of your hired help telling these fine folks all about your wonderful home. Why don't we listen in and you can tell me all of the things that young lady of yours doesn't get right. Please?"_

Well, a hostess does have her obligation to her guest, doesn't she? Southern hospitality remained imprinted on all of Annie's personalities, and was as natural as breathing.

" _Why, of course, Dearie. I'm so pleased that you find my family home of such interest. You know, I'm becoming quite fond of you and hope you continue to pay social calls. I'm sorry I can't return the favor. There are so many responsibilities I have here that it's just impossible to get away."_

" _(Whew.) I understand completely, Dearie."_

Chapter 23 – APRON POCKETS

Marianne watched Nicole mount the first porch step, turn, and talk to the tourists. The young boys were front row and fully attentive. Marianne thought, "And why not? She put a site of local interest right at eye level (snicker). That girl's going places. She and I are going to have to have a little girl to girl chat, someday."

"The Edwards Homestead was built by Col. Edwards' great grandfather in 1752. If you look around, you can see that we have recreated some of what we know about the place according to the pictures you will see inside. The fruit trees, cotton, black-eyed peas, squash, potatoes and corn were all well known to the occupants of this house. We are not in the agriculture business, so the crops you see are taken care of by Massey Farms, Incorporated, based in Atlanta. We have agreements that are mutually beneficial. One part is that, though their harvesting methods are more modern than when Col. Edwards resided here, the men and women who come to take care of the fields do wear period clothing. Workers back then would all have been Afro-American, but federal laws prevent our hiring only one ethnic background in a publicly-owned company or government-subsidized historic site, as it would be racially biased. I'll let you all muse on the irony of that. The rent they pay to farm the land also helps maintain this property. The slave shacks were over there, in between where the forest ends and the road. That is the apron that marks the end of arable land for the Edwards family, though it did provide wood for heating and building supplies."

Marianne's brows went up and she looked at the area Nicole had mentioned. "Apron?"

Vanessa had the same reaction. She looked at Marianne and saw that she, too, had caught that last sentence. She saw the dawning comprehension in Marianne's face as she fumbled for her SatCom. That meant... _"Oh, my!"_ She looked at Annie, whose face had a knowing, secretive smile.

"We located the slave graveyard earlier this year. The Civil War Museum in Gettysburg had a collection of diaries that escaped slaves had left behind. Keep in mind that diaries were very rare among the slave population, as slave owners prohibited literacy in their work force. For that would mean possible new ideas that the owners disagreed with could make their way into the labor force, and it would allow the spread of those rebellious ideas to other plantations. That is also why Africans were the one American sub-population to be absolutely denied its native languages. They were forced to become monolingual, while all other immigrants were only encouraged to be monolingual due to peer pressure and better opportunity availability in the work force. You may also know that this is why 'The Blues', or 'Black Blues', is the only truly American music, besides that which comes from the American Indians. There are people who would discount the latter, saying American Indian culture, including its music, was brought over from Europe by migrants crossing over the Bearing Strait. But when was the last time anyone here has heard any of the top fifty Cherokee war chants?

"English did not lend itself to the cadences of African music. So, being inventive and intelligent, they created a new form of musical self-expression. It was also through music that maps of the 'underground railroad' were passed on from slave to slave, from parent to child. 'Follow the Drinking Gourd' was said to be one such piece that carried in it many code words. The title itself was code for using the Drinking Gourd, or Big Dipper, as a constellation to guide them north as they traveled at night. The two end stars of the cup of the Big Dipper point to the North Star. The song gained popularity among music folk who liked period pieces, but it seems the song was actually written decades after the Emancipation Proclamation.

"It was accurate in that, usually, slaves left when the ground was hard, during colder weather, so that they would be more difficult to track. That was an instruction in that song: "When the moon goes down and the first quail cries out, that's a mighty good time to go." That spoke of less light to be discovered by, and the time of year to leave. It went on to sing of a river that ends between two hills, with another river on the other side. That was a minor mistake, as we have found that this 'river on the other side' was a very long and narrow lake. The atlas page you will see inside the house actually names it Slave Lake.

"The graveyard path goes behind the shacks into a younger copse of trees. This was not only where the slaves were buried, but also the final resting place of the soldier found dead with Mrs. Edwards. It was considered an insult by the locals to be buried with slaves, so they must have felt it was the only vengeance they were capable of at the time for the murderer of their beloved neighbor. The soldiers, as was reported in several diaries of soldiers under Major Covington, had buried Private Jed Patterson out by the barn before moving on. The dead Private was later disinterred and transferred to that pocket in the woods where the slaves rested their own dead. Now, if you are all ready, let's continue on with the tour inside."

"POCKET!" two minds thought together.

"Incoming message, Gustav, from Marianne."

"OK, Allen. Rachel, you may want to hear this."

The flash on Allen's PC showed that a speed contact had been dialed and was hooking up the PC communications chip to the phone line, which was connected to the high data-density satellite link the hotel maintained. There was the usual short hum, the soft clicks as relays were locked in for security. Marianne's voice came out as clear as if she were right there.

"Everyone, I know where Annie's 'apron pocket' is!"

Gustav looked quizzical. "It's not on her apron? Marianne, that was just a figure of speech that Annie used. It doesn't mean she has a pocket full of soldiers, does it?"

"Allen, pull up the schematics of the Edwards Homestead you were showing us earlier. Let me know when you've got it."

Gustav hit the signal for Ryan to patch into the circuit. Ryan got the chirp. He was busy with other matters, so he took the earplug and followed along.

"Hold on, Mother Hen. Adopted Chick is working on it. Got it. OK, go ahead."

"Take a look where the slave cabins were. It was along the road between the forest and the road."

"Bracketed. Now what?"

"Do you have anything about a graveyard behind the cabins in your data files?"

"Checking, wait. I need to do some referencing. Hold on."

Rachel looked at Gustav. "What is she on to? And why is she calling us about this when she is on emergency watch to protect Ryan, Allen and Ralph?"

Gustav was brief, as he knew Allen was flying through references and didn't want to distract him. "If Marianne thinks it's important, I will bet you a vacation in the Bahamas that the call is warranted."

Rachel thought for a second. "No bet. Sorry about that."

"I know, you're worried. It's one of your endearing qualities as one of our two M.H.'s."

"Marianne, got it. According to this article, they used ground sound equipment to locate a large graveyard behind the shacks two years ago. Looks to be about fifty by eighty yards. They located ninety-four bodies there, mostly adults, six children. Guess the Edwards family help had turnover. Wait, here's something. One body had a lot of metal, probably buttons and buckles. That wasn't standard fare for slaves, so they figure it to be a soldier. Does that figure with what you're calling about?"

"Big time, Chick Boy. That strip of property between the woods and road was just called an 'apron' by Nicole, the tour guide. That graveyard was an inset into the woods. That's the 'pocket'. Must be fairly new on the lecture docket. Nicole didn't mention this stuff the last time I took the tour." Home base jaws dropped, while Ryan almost fell off his horse.

Rachel spoke. "M.H. one, this is M.H. two. Annie's two children, would they have been buried there?"

"Not likely. Remember that the locals at the time didn't want to integrate before or after death. They have to be somewhere else."

Rachel thought a moment. "Spirits are often restricted to region. That corner you're at, if you are still there, was where Jason and Rebecca were trampled. Is that where they're buried?"

Allen pulled up another entry. "10-4 ladies. You're showing up us poor slow man types. Marianne, you are standing at their graves right now. The locals thought that the flowerbed would make a nice resting place. That isn't mentioned in the tours because it might make people too sad and not willing to come back for another paid visit. Civil War death was fascinating, but kid death required some distance. The gore associated with this particular picture was considered too high on the gut wrench scale for a family attraction. Annie is buried with the children, but she died in the main house. She isn't completely bound to the house, but she has to feel its pull on her. That's why she hardly ever leaves the porch."

"Sicilian Sweetie to Einstein. Nice one, young man. Where did you pull that up?"

"I accessed their training files. That tidbit is listed on the lecture 'no-no's. Is there any indication what the Casperettes are up to?"

"Negative. My ears are still a delightful Mediterranean tan. By the way, I made an executive decision to speak to the kids to assure them of our support and love. Any problems with that?"

Eyes turned to Gustav. He had the most years on this case under his belt. "Shark here. Probably not, but cut it off there. What good was to be done was done and additional risk of revealing yourself to Monkey and Mad Annie is not worth it."

"Copy that. That's the morning report. Any orders?"

Gustav continued: "Negative. Just do what your ethnic background has prepared you for so well."

"Color me clueless, Shark. Just which of my many sterling attributes are you referring to?"

"Silent patience, my dear."

Marianne looked at her SatCom for a moment, then smiled . "Copy that, you dear man. Sleep well tonight, for the Good Sicilian Fairy will visit you with a shallow dish of warm water. Marianne out." The connection was broken. Rachel's eyes were closed and her shoulders were bouncing up and down as she held her lips together with her free hand (the other had a cup in it that she was desperately trying not to spill). Allen had never been introduced to the evil trick and asked innocently what Marianne had intended to do with that odd tool of revenge. Gustav told him.

"My God. Would she really do that?"

"I'm locking my door tonight," was his answer.

Rachel had finally managed to get her cup back on the table, with only minor spillage, and let out a merry screech.

Ryan and Ralph were up to 'L' now. So far, so good. Ryan had caught looks from Patterson from time to time. So far, they didn't seem to have any wicked intent in them. It was more curiosity than anything else and, maybe, hope?

Ralph saw Ryan pick up his SatCom after a series of soft chirps. Ryan had kept going and used the earplug. After three more sets of soldiers had passed, there was a distinct bouncing of Ryan's shoulders that wasn't related to any horse gait.

"I can't tell you yet. Wait till we break for the Country Store. I'll fill you in.

Fair enough, Boss. Need to drain the dragon, anyway."

"Where does he get these sayings?" Ryan wondered.

" _Annie, Dearie, I don't want to follow them in right now. Would you please talk to me out here for a minute?"_

" _If you wish. You re got something on your mind, I see. Well, out with it."_

" _That stretch of land that the slave shacks were once set on, did you call that an apron, like your helper just did?"_

That narrowed Annie's eyes for a moment as mistrustful Monkey picked up on what might be intrusion into her secrets.

" _I seem to recall that word might have been used. I'm not completely sure."_

Vanessa kept smiling pleasantly, and thought, _"Bingo! Smoke screening. I don't even have to ask about 'pocket'."_

" _I was just curious, Annie. That was where you housed your slaves once. Shame they ran off like that, never to return."_

" _What makes you think that they never returned, Dearie?"_

That didn't make any sense. Was that Mad Annie or Monkey speaking? Might be nothing, or _..."I'm sorry to seem so brainless, Annie. Did your slaves return after they ran away? That must mean that they realized how good you and your husband were to them. Is that what happened?"_

" _I brought the soldiers back to pay their debts. What makes you think I couldn't do the same for my slaves? I was like a grandmother to them, knew them all by name, who was related to who. I made sure they were warm in the winter and didn't collapse from heat exhaustion during the summer. I made sure their bellies were full and kept the families together. When they got sick, I paid the doctor to see to them and they left us without so much as a thank you. What do you think about that?"_

It hit her _: "Allen's dream, those slaves. They weren't just figments. Sweet Mother Mary, they were real!"_

" _Annie, you brought them back. I can understand that. Where are they now, Annie? Are they still here? I would like to see the ones that you took such good care of."_

That hit a nerve, a very sore and raw nerve, recently wounded. Monkey had brought all the slaves back under her control, only to be recently re-released by that brat from the North. He had taken them from her. All of them! How? Even Marigold, just entering into womanhood. Annie had seen Marigold look at the wicked boy, as she herself was fleeing the rebellion. Annie had loved Marigold as a daughter, well, almost like one. She was a slave, after all.

The more she thought, the worse it got. Monkey's rage was mounting, amplified by the containment earlier that morning. The anger intensity triggered Mad Annie to submerge to Monkey Annie earlier than she usually did. The kettle boiled over. _"This is too much, this means WAR"_

Vanessa saw Annie's face become solid stone, saw her eyes begin to burn. No matter what she said, it fell on deaf ears. Mad Annie was no longer reachable. There was only Monkey and she was not approachable. Vanessa ran to Marianne and, in an instant, had focused her energy to flick one of her friend's ears, then the other.

"Ouch! Uh-oh. Ouch! Crap! Home base this is Marianne. It's hit the fan, big time! Get them out of there, NOW!"

Annie was extending her consciousness westward. The soldiers, where were they? She sensed them up ahead and raced toward prisoners, looking for enemies. Did they actually dare to come again after yesterday? If so, Annie Edwards will just see about that! Dim awareness of passing objects came and went as her mind sprinted west. The occasional tree with its sleepy life force only made a slightly greater resistance to her passage when it blocked her path, not even qualifying for a speed bump.

Monkey felt them. _"Yes, there they are. All of them. No escapees. A little behind schedule? Well, let's see about that, too."_ To the soldier's surprise, their mounts began to trot. Nothing they could do would slow them down. Their 'connection' to their saddles was hard put with this pace. Their pain was sensed by Monkey and savored. She searched with her mind to find any mortals she could recognize. There was nothing in the immediate area. Behind the soldiers there was something: two unfamiliar riders on unfamiliar mounts. They were upset, that much could be felt, but didn't feel like enemies. Well, you could never be too careful.

Vanessa desperately wanted to go to Ryan, but it had been emphasized that she had to stick with Annie, the children and Marianne, no matter what. This was a team play and personal heroics could spell the failure of the whole project. All she could do was to keep the children as calm as she could, for they sensed something big was going down, and to keep trying with Annie to break the hold Monkey had on her.

Vanessa got the children to try calling to her and that didn't do anything. _"Damn it!!!"_

Ryan got a call on his SatCom, picked it up, and then crammed it back. "SCRAMBLE!" Ryan and Ralph did a quick turn and raced back up the path. A young couple of newlyweds going in the opposite direction were nearly knocked over and yelled out a string of invectives after the reckless riders. Ryan wanted distance between them and the soldiers, quick time. A couple of minutes later, two panting horses with two heart-thumping riders stopped and turned around to watch nothing in particular.

Ryan and Ralph listened. Hoof fall. Ryan looked at Ralph, "What the hell?"

Ralph heard it, too, and mentioned it to Ryan, who responded, "If you can hear it, it's not the soldiers."

A young man and woman on mounts bore down on them, yelling at the top of their lungs. Ralph said, "Didn't mean to piss them off. Christ! They're going to ram us!"

Ralph and Ryan reined their mounts in opposite directions, diving off the path and out of harm's way. But when the riders streaked by, it was apparent that revenge was not on their minds. Both riders were trying desperately to slow their renegade steeds from a full gallop.

"Ryan, we've got to help them!" Ralph said, as he made ready to charge after the unfortunate couple.

"FORGET IT, RALPH!"

The heartlessness and force of that order caught Ralph by surprise. He was about to tender his resignation via a single finger, when Ryan followed up with common sense. "We'd never catch them. Their horses are heading full tilt back to the stables. Monkey's influence on them, if that's what it was, will diminish with distance and the horses will slow down on their own. If she is on the warpath, we have our own to protect, do you understand? That includes my Vanessa and your Marianne! GOT THAT?"

Ralph's mouth hung open and his hand was stopped halfway from it's intended mission of communication. 'His' Marianne? That's what the man said. That almost made him smile, despite the craziness of the moment. Then the full import of the statement hit. The man said 'protect'. His Marianne, in danger? He looked at Ryan and hit a wall of frustration when he was ordered to stand to. All they could do was sit and wait for orders from their command post. Ralph issued a favorite invective of their youngest member: "Crap on a Cupcake."

Ryan nodded agreement. "War sucks, don't it?"

Monkey couldn't find her expected enemies. _"Well, isn't that just too bad?"_ She knew where at least one of them could be found, regardless of distance. They were connected.

Gustav was waiting for word from someone, anyone. Rachel couldn't wait any longer to answer a caffeine side effect.

Allen felt a curious tension in his chest. He had been downing too much Columbian bean juice, too. That stuff could get to you after a while, though he had learned to pace himself in college. The tension got worse, though. That was odd.

"Hey, Gustav. You got any antacids? I'm getting heartburn."

"Sure, kid. Hang on. You really ought to switch to herb tea, by the way." He went to his room, pulled open his top drawer and got a dose of Pepticalm. It was the latest thing. Antacids of the past only encouraged more acid to be produced, causing a self-defeating cycle for the sake of short-term relief. Pepticalm absorbed acid, but also released a chemical messenger through the blood stream that told the central nervous system 'all is well, no more acid is needed, thank you very much.' It was one of the new hormonal class of over-the-counters and worked like the proverbial charm. People still called them 'antacids' as the name was so ingrained for anything that reduced gastric hyperacidity symptoms regardless of how it did it. Gustav walked back to the common room and took one look at Allen. He dropped the Pepticalm. It wouldn't have done any good.

As adrenalin kicked in, time awareness changed to dreamlike slowness. He ran to the table where Allen was leaning forward turning blue, holding on to his chest. That short trip seemed to take forever. He heard his own voice cry, "Rachel, front and center! EMERGENCY!!"

Rachel dropped the amenities of toilet paper and made it to the common room unzipped. "ALLEN!"

Gustav had been in the military, reaching the rank of drill sergeant. Old training kicked in, for it never really left you. "Rachel, emergency kit. Kitchen, next to the ultrawave, right low shelf. Move!"

There were medical emergency buttons in the bathroom and in the kitchen where most needs of immediate help seemed to happen in hotels. He didn't have time to describe to Rachel where it was, so he sprinted there and pushed it just as Rachel was pulling out the kit. Both ran back to Allen, whose lips were now absolutely blue and his fingers were following suit. Normal time passage was gradually reinstating itself, as Gustav got over the initial panic and settled into procedures ingrained in him many years ago.

"Allen, can you breathe at all? Can you tell me anything?"

Allen was panicked, but his mother and good friend gave him hope and focus. "Bubbly, suffocating." His voice came out raspy and rattling, like someone with a bad case of pneumonia.

Gustav's mind raced, as did Rachel's. His mind was the more objective at the moment, so he came up with the answer first. "It's Annie. Rachel, connect Allen to the oxygen bottle in the bag. Use the full face mask, the one with the plastic bag on the bottom, turn the oxygen to maximum flow." He pressed the speed connect on the PC. If what he thought was actually happening, they were in a race for time to prevent anything from oxygen deprivation brain damage to lethality.

Ryan picked up his SatCom and put it on audible so that Ralph could hear as well. Gustav sounded calm to anyone else. Ryan knew him well and knew in an instant that what hit the fan had missed him and struck elsewhere.

"Ryan, Monkey's here. Allen's in some kind of respiratory seizure. She's doing it. We have to break her concentration, somehow. Quickly. Medics are on their way up, but I don't know how long we're going to be able to fight this off."

"Copy. Gustav, have security clear a path to the porch. We're on our way. Out. Ralph, the only thing we have to fight with is me. Keep up if you can." With that, Ryan spurred Maribelle forward as fast as the winding path would allow. Stones and sticks rained on Ralph, whose lessons in riding were limited to nags who were over the hill. That run from the soldiers was pretty hairy for him, short though it was.

He looked down the path, then at Cumquat. "Young lady, go easy on me, you hear?" Like a western hero of old, Ralph reined his trusted steed and with a hearty "Hi Ho Cumquat! Hyah!" he spurred on his mount to well beyond the posted trail speed limit.

Marianne was on pins and needles until she finally got an indication that something was happening. The alert from home base had hit all SatComs. She had refrained from joining in the conversation, for she had nothing to add for the moment. Security personnel were heading in her direction with stands and ropes to keep the patrons out of harm's way. Guides were given the emergency cue, which was an announcement over the public address system that free coffee, soda, cookies and peach pie ala mode were now available in the main barn, first come, first serve. Each guide charged his or her flock to proceed with order first, haste second and a migratory competition suddenly took form. Vanessa saw the preparations. She still couldn't break Annie's concentration and so went to Marianne's side. She focused her energy and gave Marianne what she had given to Allen shortly after first being introduced to him. Marianne's right hand came up to her cheek and a tear came down to meet it. "Thank you, Vanessa."

" _Hurry, Ryan."_

There was no time for the leisurely side route by the Country Store. Ryan plowed through the soldiers, who were more than just a little surprised. "Major! She's got Allen! Distract her!" was all he had time to say as he raced by. Ten seconds later, a second mount raced through their ranks. This rider looked a lot less adept at horsemanship, but just as bent on his mission.

Major Covington turned to Private Cooper. "Son, Union Army help is needed!" Despite the pain caused by the more hurried pace, the Major still had a job to do and men to do it with. "SOLDIERS, Ryan's company is in peril. It is up to us to do our part to save them. They are our comrades and descendents. Mrs. Edwards wants us bent and bowed. Raise your spirits, Union men! Push the pain away! Laugh, sing, give a merry shout. Keep it up for all you're worth! It's now or never!"

The command was not the easiest they ever had. Yet now it was not just them and their plight. It was their friends and fellow fighters who had engaged the enemy on their behalf. After all these years of oppression, broken only by spurts of resistance, they had to rally. Rally they did, all of them to a man. Even Jed Patterson, who wasn't as mad as he used to be, gave what he could.. Though the process was far from completed, insanity was not incurable.

The paramedics had arrived. Allen would owe his life to the latest in IV set-up technology. The 12-guage needle/cannula split on entry into the brachial artery, with the needle aimed upstream pulling blood out, cycling it to a hyper-oxygenation chamber strapped to the victim's arm, then returning it into the downstream port. As long as the heart kept pumping, this kept the blood oxygen levels high enough to keep the patient alive, even if the lungs shut down completely. Monitors were up and running, measuring the oxygen/carbon dioxide ratio, blood pressure, capillary perfusion and refill, brain activity and cardiac function. The lungs continued to rapidly fill with fluid and, to his mother's horror, Allen stopped breathing.

Monkey had felt the distraction of the soldiers. She was trying her best to add the evil brat to her collection of wicked intruders, but the feeling of happiness in so many of her prisoners was almost more than she could bear. It was enough to decrease her focus. She knew that, but even so the child should have been dead by now. It had been a long time since she had passed the death sentence to slaves and soldiers alike. This time, she was looking for only one victim. The results should be all the faster than before, despite the lack of practice. So why was there so much resistance?

The answer was that there had not been the modern countermeasures to her handiwork back then. Technology fought furiously against paranormal rage and, for the time being, stemmed the tide. That should have been sufficient incentive for Monkey to turn up the gain and finish the job, but the soldiers were fifty thorns in her craw. She was balanced on the fine edge of indecision to fish or cut bait.

Things were spiraling rapidly downhill when the patient apparently rallied. Alert beeps softened to noises that indicated that things weren't rosy, but put a hold on the funeral arrangements. Three professionals were at Allen's side. He had been put on a couch, bolstered up to a semi-recumbent position that facilitated lung fluid drainage. The woman paramedic (name tag reading 'Jeannie Hafner') had inserted a tube into the central bronchus, which released an aerosol that encouraged fluid drainage out of the lungs via the pulmonary venous system and back to the heart for recirculation. Allen's lips were only pale blue now and the return of fluid to the vascular system was bringing the blood pressure back up. He started breathing again. So did his mother.

Paramedic Kurt Mangela asked Rachel, "Please, anything you can tell us could help. You said no allergies, no injuries, no medications, no recreational drugs, and no history of respiratory illness with Allen or anyone else in the immediate family. We don't know what we're dealing with, Mrs. Gladstone. We've stabilized him, but that can change at any moment, for all we know. Is there anything else we might go on? Anything?"

Rachel looked desperately at Gustav. She was going to spill the beans, permission or not, but she had come to look to the man as something like a father. She was asking for guidance. Gustav thought fast, nodded to Rachel, and then pulled Kurt aside. He looked at the man's nametag.

"Mr. Mangela, what I'm about to say can't go any further. You are going to have a hard time accepting what I'm about to tell you. It's going to take about three minutes to cover the basics. Can Allen be left in the care of your two helpers for that long?"

Mr. Mendelssohn, I've been doing this for nineteen years. There's nothing you can tell me I ain't heard before." Kurt Mangela took it back, three minutes later. It had to be a scam, but the situation and the people belied that. It couldn't be true, but nothing else in his experience matched what he was up against.

Gustav saw the wheels spinning. "Mr. Mangela, did you ever read Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah, so?"

"When you have eliminated all other possibilities, whatever remains, no matter how preposterous it sounds..."

"Is the truth. I heard it before. I just never had to put it into practice. OK, so the Wicked Witch of the Homestead put a whammy on your friend. Would you mind telling me what to do about it? This wasn't covered in my training."

"Look, the deaths of the soldiers are documented. You can look it up. Most of them weren't KIA's but some respiratory illness that was usually ID'd as consumption. I feel that what you've done so far has saved Allen's life, for the time being. How long can he be kept this way should our opponent get her head of steam up again?"

Kurt Mangela thought about it. "Honest truth? Can't say. My call is to get him to the hospital tout suite. He's stable, but should that change, we may need the heavy hitters."

"I think you're opinion is correct, Mr. Mangela."

"Call me Kurt."

"Gustav. The mother's name is Rachel. Use it. We're all on the same team now. We'll keep the cause under our hats unless it comes to pass that we need to do more than basic life-support for Allen. By the way, the kid's a real trooper. There's strength in him that will surprise you.

"Thanks, that'll help." Kurt walked out with Gustav. "OK people, package and roll, level two pace. Jeannie, you monitor. Shay, you and I grunt."

Gustav went to Rachel and comforted her with a hug. "Rachel, Kurt is on board, but it is to go no further than that, if possible. If things turn sour, spill everything, and I mean everything. Allen's life is the priority. Nothing else matters. Ryan is on his way to the Homestead. If anyone can break through Annie's concentration, he can. Ralph is with him and the soldiers will probably lend their hand if they can. It might be that it was they who gave us the breather. Ryan couldn't have arrived yet, not by horseback. He'll be there within the next fifteen minutes, though."

"You're not going with us, are you?"

"I've done all I can by letting Kurt in on things. I'm no medic. You can give him the only thing the medics can't and that's his mother's love. Go with him. I'll man the fort. Someone has to be here and you're too distracted to react rationally. Go on, Rachel. God speed the two of you."

Rachel flung her arms around Gustav's neck, wanting to release her tears, but there just wasn't time now. She crammed down her feelings as best she could and followed the medics, who were wheeling Allen's stretcher to the elevator. Gustav watched until the doors shut, then went back to the common room, to wait.

"County, this is Milledgeville 696, give me a frequency to the ER."

"696, you are cleared on 319.5."

"Copy that." Kurt pushed a button.

"Milledgeville Emergency, this is 696, do you copy?"

"Copy, 696. What have you got, Kurt?"

"We're bringing in that SWM21 with severe pulmonary edema. He's stable for the moment, repeat, moment. BP is 100/54, heart rate 82, respirations 20 and shallow, temp normal. IV established, Kawli tube in place in the main bronchus with a Res-Solution mist going. We are seven minutes to your door. Copy?"

"Copy, 696."

"Two more things. This is the same kid brought in on horseback yesterday. Pull his records. Second, I need a quick search on a respiratory illness, possibly contagious, historical. We may be dealing with a flare up of a virus. Be prepared for possible need of isolation."

"Copy, 696. Details on contagion?"

"Circa Civil War. Union Cavalry, an advance of Sherman's group after it passed here. It was that squad that stormed the Edwards Estate. Most of them died of a respiratory illness similar to this one."

"Uh, copy, 696. Relaying that to historical section, now."

"10-4 Milledgeville. This is 696. Out."

A 67-year-old woman looked at the mike. Those were her boys and girls out there, and they looked to her as their grandmother. Kurt could be a pistol, sometimes, but he was a good man in a storm. If he thought it was important, well...

"Records? This is Granny. Go to the 'blow-the-dust-off' files. This is a STAT situation for Kurt Mangela. Here's what my boy needs..."

Maribelle was older than Cumquat, and Ryan had a few pounds on Ralph. Between the two and despite the riding experience difference, Ralph and Ryan crossed the highway together. The meridian strip seemed a bit high. Ralph called it a 'steeple chase'. The descriptive adjective preceding the phrase to add emphasis was colorful. Both horses jumped the strip with inches to spare. Both riders hit their saddles with an 'OOF'. A quick look, a careful trot across the eastbound lane, then it was into the strip mall's lot. Ryan had been there before on foot and had the emergency path already planned. Ralph rode behind and prayed that the man he followed was only partially off his nut.

Milledgeville Mammoth Mall's largest resident (there were many smaller ones shoehorned into a very long row of connected stores) was a used furniture outlet designed to outfit any office or home at a reasonable price with free delivery and free pick-up. One man's meat and all that. The big double-doors opened automatically to the store. Nothing was unusual about that, so none of the bank of cashiers paid any attention. Hooves on tile, however, did get their attention. It was later said that the floor manager had given birth to seven kittens and a cow

Ryan and Ralph had to duck real low to get through the doors. They trotted down aisle C, passing desks, file drawers, gawking staff and customers and, finally, floor lamps. A half dozen of those were knocked over, not from the horses, but from people getting out of the way. There was a loading dock in the back and both riders made for that door. Luckily, there was a walk ramp that sidestepped the 4-foot drop onto concrete that delivery trucks backed up to for deliveries. One such truck's driver was the store's main casualty. Jack Welch looked out his left side window. The left hand was resting on the steering wheel. His right hand held a just-purchased medium Duncan Donuts coffee in a Styrofoam Go-Cup. Seeing horses exit from the delivery doors was enough to cause both hands to contract. The left hand wasn't the problem. The hand with the cup was the problem. The new lid design worked exactly as the designers had intended. It stayed on perfectly. The bottom of the cup split.

Once past the mall, the route was fairly straight and unimpeded (there was an unpaved service road that entered the Homestead property), which prompted a return to rapid transit. The horses had gotten their wind back and rode full tilt at the behest of their masters. So many years of keeping their pace down to a trot, at best, had made them long to stretch their limits, and they eagerly took full advantage of the opportunity.

Ralph had never gone much above a canter. Any faster pace he had experienced in the past had always been very bouncy. The two earlier runs were on a winding scenic path, so he couldn't open the throttle fully. He had been prepared for the worst on this last leg, but was taken aback. Though there was a heaving power under his rump, the ride was surprisingly smooth. Full speed didn't call for up and down, only forward. Anything else was wasted energy and God didn't create animals that gave something to get nothing. He felt the wind like a low force hurricane ripping through his hair and the leather reins that controlled the powerful beast grasped tight in his hands. The trees whizzing past amplified the feeling of speed and power and the sound of hooves tearing up the turf completed the wondrous sensation syndrome.

Ryan was up ahead for two reasons; otherwise Ralph would have passed him by. One, Ryan knew the terrain and Ralph didn't. Two, Ryan knew what to do when they got there and he didn't. At least, that's what Ralph thought. Truth be known, Ryan's brain was spinning in the mud.

Marianne and Vanessa both heard distant hooves, and both thanked God that their cavalry was coming. The side access road, just 100 yards up road, was where two horses burst out onto the main farm road. Most of the patrons were involved in the big barn doings and horses were around aplenty anyway, as part of the ambience. The two riders, therefore, didn't attract the attention they might otherwise have garnered.

Both high tailed it, literally, to the Main House porch that appeared empty to one of the riders. The other saw his beloved and breathed a mental sigh of relief. He couldn't breathe a real one, as he couldn't afford the distraction from trying to keep mounted during the changes of direction and velocity he was trying to maintain. Ralph saw Ryan maneuver Maribelle like he was a veteran cowboy. "Where did he learn to ride like that?"

Ryan reined in at the porch. Ralph was torn between aiming towards Marianne or Ryan. He chose the latter, though damned if he knew what good he could do. Marianne looked all right, so no knight in shining armor was needed there. However, he was just able to catch a look from her aimed right at his heart, and that was all the encouragement he needed. "Bring on the whole mother-lovin' underworld," he thought.

When Ralph dismounted, Cumquat walked over with Maribelle to munch some grass to the shady side of the house. Their part of the effort was finished and it was time to reward themselves for a job well done. Ryan bounded up the steps and mortal and spirit alike heard him.

"Mrs. Anita Edwards, there is someone here that wants to talk with you. I am your enemy, Ryan Fitzgalen. Turn your face to me and deal with me. Stop your childish toying with a mere boy. There is a real man here and he will have his way with you like that Union Private did. Do you hear me, woman? You yellow-bellied, dishonorable, Southern WHORE!"

Twelve miles away, ER personnel settled down into the routine of processing the newest emergency. The medic in charge was one well known for his many years of excellent professional service. More than a few locals and transients owed their lives to that man. This patient had pulmonary dysfunction of unknown causes. All the typical reasons for the symptoms presented (viral, bacterial, chemical) had been investigated and eliminated in the right algorithms. This was what emergency people liked the least, besides losing: dealing with a bad situation and not knowing what they were dealing with. Emergency people were well trained, but that was both blessing and curse. They worked best against problems they were trained for. While versatility and being ready for anything was part of the curriculum, it couldn't be stretched to fit all the stranger things in this world. This was just such a case. The patient was stable, but the vitals, lack of contributing history and the general picture as a whole, frankly, stank. There wasn't much they could do that hadn't already been done at this stage of intervention, though if things turned sour, the patient's arrival at the ER might just save his life. If they could just find out what it was that threatened his life.

Gustav had done his best in passing on essential information about the uniqueness of Allen's dilemma to Kurt. He had forgotten that Kurt was on duty and wouldn't remain with Allen, though releasing Rachel from her vow of confidentiality was a good failsafe. It wasn't enough for Kurt. Someone had to know the score, and there was one Doc he knew that might understand.

Marc Benoit was Jamaican by ancestry and birth. He had seen a lot of strange things in his native country that still, after all these years, held pockets of superstition and voodoo. "Hi Kurt, I hear you brought in the mystery of the week."

"Hey Doc, you and I gotta talk."

"Sure Kurt, give me a call when I get off duty."

"No, Doc, right now."

Dr. Benoit had heard Kurt say that code phrase three times in his life. It told him that nothing was more important than doing just what Kurt had asked. Titles offered advantages and the title of 'Doctor' opened doors that few others did. Mothers bent over backwards for them if their daughters might snag one, or vice versa if the genders were reversed. Waitresses rarely complained if one jumped ship when a beeper went off. Police went real easy on them if they bent the speed limits a bit. Kurt didn't have that title, but that didn't make him one iota the inferior to Dr. Benoit. They were both soldiers in the war against the collateral damage of accidents, both were professionals and both were damned good at what they did. Their teamwork demanded give and take. Time to give.

A minute later (it took a medical professional less time to give the needed data than a lay person), Dr. Benoit walked to the cubical that Allen was in. A staff member from 'Records' came in and handed Dr. Benoit the research they had been able to dig up at Kurt's request. He took a minute to read it, then muttered something in another language, one more familiar with this sort of voodoo.

Kurt bowed out from the ER, and walked to the waiting room (well named) to speak to Rachel.

"Rachel, I can't stay. I broke my word to Gustav, but I think it was called for. Dr. Benoit knows the score and he has dealt with some pretty weird stuff. He was born in Jamaica and he's seen things crazier than what your son is going through (I hope). I can't think of anyone in whose hands Allen would be better off. I gotta go, Rachel, but I'll check in later." He was about to leave when he heard his name called by a nurse who stuck her head through the doors.
"KURT! Get your butt in here! Bring the mother with you." Kurt saw Rachel's face drain of color. "Rachel, I'm sure it's all right. That's not the panic button code phrase." That didn't stop either of them from fearing the worst, or from making fast tracks to get to cubical B, bed 2. Rachel passed Kurt by. She had been here before and knew the way. Both stopped, shoulder to shoulder.

Allen was sitting up looking like his old self. He smiled, waved and said "Hi Mom!" Rachel Hawthorn Gladstone saw her son faint two days ago, when Vanessa first demonstrated her existence. The shoe was now on the other foot. Kurt caught her before she landed. Fortunately it was a quiet afternoon. Bed 1 was unoccupied, until now. As she was being checked over by a male nurse intern, Kurt came up to Dr. Benoit and said, "What did you do?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I came in here, took a look at the chart, read the research blurb you requested, walked up to the patient and he just opened his eyes and introduced himself. I about wet my scrubs! If I didn't know you better, you'd be up on professional misconduct charges for playing a prank. Look at his readings! BP is normal, oxygen/carbon dioxide is normal. We're unhooking the IV and bronchial mister now. He doesn't need any of it. There's not a goddamn thing wrong with him!"

Kurt had never, ever, seen someone go from being that bad to being that good in his life. Dr. Benoit had, once, but that particular illness wasn't listed in Taber's Medical Dictionary. There was a village medicine man back in his hometown. He made a mental note to pay the gentleman a visit, next time he went to visit his mother, and ask him whether there was a witch doctor that specialized in respiratory system voodoo.

The medical intervention was a bother. The soldiers being awakened late added to it. That it was due to her own inexplicable lateness made it even worse. Vanessa tugging at her skirts was a nuisance. But that MAN, who once spoke to her like a friend and then betrayed her. That MAN, whose scion was responsible for the second loss of her slaves, whose ancestor was part of the Army of Satan that invaded her precious South and attacked her personal honor. HE was challenging her in a manner that would offend even the lowliest Southerner. _"How dare be?!?"_

She broke the connect. Two sets of eyes saw Monkey go from unfocused to normal again, if what followed could be considered normal. No artist could have captured the feral rage that evidenced itself upon her face. Ryan saw it and feared for his life, but he held up a hand in the direction of Ralph, Marianne, and Vanessa. All saw it and reluctantly obeyed. He prayed, "Lord, put some words in my mouth that won't get me killed."

"I am a Texas-born Navy man and have a code of honor to both. You are a Southern woman who died two hundred years ago, but that does not excuse you from the attempted murder of an innocent young man, endangering the lives of two young people you don't even know or have ever met, from murdering over three score men who meant you no harm but were caught up in a war not of their own making, and then preventing them from even the opportunity of meeting with their maker, a sacred right belonging to even the lowliest of cutthroats and scoundrels. You compounded your damnation with the murder of innocent families of freed slaves. You have disgraced your husband, your state, your country, your God and yourself. You mate your soul to Beelzebub himself by daily engaging in an orgy of sin and degradation that includes your causing the terror and daily death of your own innocent children! Those men, completely by accident, ended the lives of Jason and Rebecca. That should have been it, but NO! You had to satisfy your obscene lust every day at the cost of the two innocents who call you mother. You are no mother! You are not worthy of that title and I hereby strip you of it!" His outburst surprised even Ryan, who had just said it. Those were the Heaven-sent words that were supposed to keep him alive?

The disorientation of a rapid disconnect to Allen had shaken Monkey enough, and the fury of Ryan's invective against her had kept her off balance long enough, for the full narrative to sink in. Her defenses were down and his words found their way to Nighttime Annie, grieving her sorely. To get there, they also passed the shell that was Mad Annie, shaking her to the bone. There were disjunctions in Mad Annie that were re-united and the blinding light of realization was like being suddenly revealed to a multitude of people only to find that you were naked and guilty of unspeakable crimes. That realization caused Mad Annie to slink further down. That eroded the barrier that kept her from Nighttime Annie. Thin enough that, for the first time, she could see there was another her; still apart, but closer. She looked at herself and asked, _"Who are you?"_

" _I am a part of you, a part that you left behind when we died."_

" _We're, dead? How can that be? And what Ryan said, can it possibly be, be true?"_

" _I'm_ _afraid so, Soul Sister, for that is what we are. Please do not be afraid. You and I must unite our efforts. There is a third being that is responsible for the horrible things you heard earlier. They call her Monkey and our friends are doing what they can to defeat her. Monkey is the one that has misguided you and lied to you. She has kept you from sanity. She has murdered innocents. Our friends may help us, but it is up to you and me to defeat her. If we can do that, perhaps we can earn the forgiveness of God, our children, our slaves and those poor soldiers Monkey has tortured mercilessly."_

The two could see each other clearly. It was like talking to your twin. There was a barrier between them that had been opaque and then, thanks to Ryan, became translucent like a shower door. As they spoke to each other, the barrier became still thinner, the images became clearer to each other. Through the grieving process and through self-love, which was not evil but a prelude and prerequisite to loving others, the barrier wasted away to nothing, like the last traces of winter ice on a pond under a warm sun.

It was no longer Mad Annie and Nighttime Annie. The distinctness between the two was growing fainter. Their rhythms began to synchronize, healing a very old fracture in her essence. In moments, the madness ended and Annie was made more whole. She looked up, but there was Monkey. That was organized raw power there, much more than anything they could mount more than a token resistance to, for now. Mad Annie had been the main power, but she was confused and disorganized. Monkey had aimed her like a gun, which amplified her own firepower. Annie considered the thought that, perhaps, she ought to challenge Monkey, that it would be the best thing, if she could destroy herself in order to free the others. Yet, something stopped her. Nighttime Annie alone might have gone in and risked the sacrifice of herself for her friends. Now, she was more circumspect. If she lost and that left Monkey in complete power and charge, then what? It would be best for her to wait until Monkey satisfied her lust for base satisfaction just one more time and then confer with her beloved companions. She waited.

Monkey prepared to send her rage at the impudent devil spawn in front of her, but something was wrong. She had come to rely on Mad Annie to aim her wrath. She could unleash power on her own, but it was so much easier and far more powerful when riding her insane counterpart. She searched for Mad Annie, but could not find her.

Ryan saw the look of surprise on Annie's face and took heart. He had been a man who stared into the bore of a cannon that misfired. What had happened? He didn't know, but here was one gift horse he had no intention of orally examining.

"Annie, I am very sorry to have spoken to you like that, and hope you will some day forgive me."

" _What is the silver-tongued demon up to,"_ she thought. This momentary change of pace was more welcomed than she would have liked to admit, given her sudden reduction of firepower. She needed to assess whatever it was that this man had just done to her, the man who continued to speak.

"The one you were harming is my heir. You, of all people, should know that, to defend one's descendents, one will go to great lengths and do or say things that otherwise they would never dream of doing. (Keep talking, steady monotone, like what they do to jumpers. Bore them into submission.)"

" _I do not trust you, Ryan Fitzgalen. You have joined with my enemies and are trying to defeat me. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?"_ Monkey, too, was playing for time. She wanted to know what happened to Mad Annie, how Ryan had come to be here, how things conspired to break her connection to the boy and how the boy had survived a force that had laid low everyone else to whom she had applied it to.

"I don't blame you, Annie. It is hard for you to trust anyone anymore. It must seem like everyone has turned against you and your cause. We are not against you, Annie (keep using the name, it's disarming). We are just trying to end a punishment that has come to the end of its time. Please Annie, think. Has anyone besides the mad soldier actually tried to harm you, personally? Haven't all our efforts been extended to reduce the pain and suffering of the unfortunate soldiers under your control?"

Monkey actually listened to Ryan. It was a fallback action step to her standard 'shoot first and don't bother with questions later'. Annie, from below, saw that happen and hope rose in her heart. Could it all be over?

Monkey thought about all her dealings with her 'mortal enemies' and could see the truth in Ryan's words. _"Could it be?"_ Ryan had not directly confronted her, until now. He had only kept company with the soldiers. He was freely admitting it, without seeming ashamed of it. _"This is a man from Texas?"_ There were Texans fighting under her husband Archibald, once. She then brought to mind the boy. He, too, was only riding with the soldiers. Yet, he turned the slaves against her. He incited them to take up their implements and that boy led a direct assault against her. Which meant, _"Ryan lies! They all LIE!"_

There was a moment when Ryan had hoped the war was over, but the look of contemplation on Annie's face faded suddenly. What could have she thought of that derailed her from his track? He was the one that had broken her contact with Allen, so that...Allen! That was it. He had attacked her with Annie's own slave army, didn't he? Shit! He had forgotten that. And...what was that? Hooves!

All who had the ears for it had heard it. It was almost funny that the sound be accompanied by bluegrass music, for there was a contingency plan in place had the confrontation taken longer than anticipated. There was now a full-scale barn dance with square dancers both demonstrating for and pulling tourists out of the audience. The dance was spilling out to the lawn behind the barn and there were more amusements and events starting up further away from (never closer to) the Homestead Main House. Ryan didn't know whether to be pleased or not. Annie would be forced to aim her efforts somewhere beside him due to the soldiers' arrival, but the progress he might have been able to accomplish was cut short. On the other hand, he was still breathing. That was a good thing.

Monkey looked west, then back to Ryan. _"We will finish this later, Yankee!"_ she spat out and turned her attention to the Passion Play, hoping that the loss of Mad Annie wouldn't spell disaster for her when the soldiers broke through the woods.

Ryan sprinted away from the gathering chill behind him, Ralph followed close behind. Stopping at the fence, he told Marianne and Ralph to make tracks out of there immediately. Marianne tried to argue but Ralph grabbed her hand and hauled her to greener pastures. Vanessa and Ryan looked at each other, then at the children. Ryan's heart broke.

"Kids, this is the last time. I swear before you and God above that this will be the last time."

Rebecca looked up to Ryan. _"Thank you, Mr. Ryan, sir. You too, Miss Vanessa. Oh, it's really Mrs. Vanessa, isn't it? It's time for you to go now. Jason, hold my hands, please."_

Vanessa backed away down along the fence, not taking her eyes off the children or Ryan. He couldn't touch them, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon them. Ryan recalled all those years he distanced himself from this part of the Passion Play. Now, having talked directly with the children, distance was no longer an option for him. Ryan had finally tasted the heartsick bitterness he had avoided for so long. Rebecca kept her sights on Vanessa, Jason looked up to a man who gave him a taste of having a protective father, and Ryan turned to see the surprised Union men.

Monkey witnessed the wave of horse and man. The loss of Mad Annie may have lessened Monkey's assault on mortals, but she found herself still quite capable of handling her captives, despite the silliness of that Ryan who had tried to distract her by standing with her children (what was that all about?). No one got away, but Jed's expected attack seemed little more than perfunctory. There was no rage in it. She still burned him and buried the others, as always.

Ryan turned to watch Monkey complete her ritual revenge. Disappointed over no apparent lessening of Monkey's abilities, he went to comfort and to be comforted by Vanessa. But Vanessa wasn't looking at him. She was looking behind him. He turned.

It was yet another mistake he had made that day. Monkey was staring at him, at them. She had a view of Ryan and Vanessa standing together. Ryan realized the disaster potential. Not knowing what else to do, he turned his back to Monkey and performed a credible 'Hollywood swing' at his Love, using the hand unseen by Annie to slap his own leg as his right hand met Vanessa's face. He yelled, "TRAITOR!"

Vanessa was shocked. She felt a tug as Ryan's hand went through her face. Time stopped for her as reality broke into pieces. She could only stare at him and place her hand upon her cheek through where his hand had passed. The angry look on his face didn't mesh with the soft 'shhh' that came from his lips. Then came a wink from Ryan's left eye. That was when realization sank in. All of this passed in less than three seconds, and she had the presence of mind to haul back, focus her energies and land a roundhouse, with an answering, _"YANKEE!"_ Vanessa didn't think to use Ryan's 'Hollywood swing'. The last thing Monkey did that day was smile and nod.

Marianne and Ralph were watching. All they saw was Ryan taking a swing at nothing while slapping his leg and yelling, then, moments later, he spun around as though struck by a wrecking ball. They both ran up to see what had happened, fearing that Monkey had switched her destruction goals from Allen to Ryan. When they arrived at the 'man down', things seemed even more un-right.

First, Ryan was going to have one heck of a shiner unless an ice pack was applied soon. Second, he was laughing, hysterically.

"Holy Hannah, Vanessa! You must be part mule! Oh, hi guys." He got up and walked to the porch where he chatted with the wind for half a minute. Ryan came back and announced "Good news. Mad Annie (ouch!) is no more. She (oooh!) has merged with our own Annie (yo!). More on that, later. Best of all, Monkey (oyy!) can't get at Allen anymore. He's (erk!) safe now. As a bonus, we (yo!) made progress with Jed's madness, as well. Now, let's go to the medical office and see (oh, man!) if they have an ice pack."

Having decided to eliminate all words with the 'ee' sound from his vocabulary for a while, Ryan strode off like nothing had happened. Marianne and Ralph looked at each other and just shook their heads. Ryan turned around and said, "Vanessa, see (wince) to Annie will you? Don't fret about the hit. Just call it a love tap. Ralph and Marianne, go fetch the horses, won't you? Marianne, while you're at it, call Gustav and fill him in and get the low down on Allen and Rachel."

"HOLD IT FOR ONE DAMNED MINUTE!" Marianne hollered. A family of tourists had drifted away from the ho-down, and figured that the security-lady must have stopped a bad guy. Must have done more than that! Even from a distance, they could see a seriously swollen left eye. "Vanessa did this to you? Jesus, Ryan, what did you say to her?"

Ryan replied honestly, "Nothing. I (ow!), just winked." Then he resumed walking to the infirmary to find an ice pack. He'd need both eyes functioning tomorrow.

Ralph leaned over to Marianne. "And I thought Sicilians were touchy."

A young boy asked his parents why the nice lady was chasing the two men. He was told that the lady was a member of the Homestead security team and was making sure that bad guys were sent away. "Wow, Mom, she must be very brave!"

Gustav was happy to get the good news, though he wondered why the sender was curiously out of breath. The stress of the day had given Gustav cause to take another dose of his meds. Maybe now he could get some 'west and wewaxation, huhuhuhuh.' He 'party-lined' everyone together.

Rachel took Allen's SatCom and related the miracle of Allen's recovery. They compared notes and found that Allen's improvement coincided exactly with Ryan's intervention. Allen expressed his gratitude directly to Ryan. About that time, the ER doors opened and he heard a man yelling at the top of his lungs about the two idiots on horses that were responsible for cooking his cojones in a coffee bath and someone had better call his lawyer and the police because he was going to press charges big time (all that in one breath)! The noise was loud enough to carry over the SatCom, and Ryan recalled that there had been a driver staring at them from inside that truck behind the furniture warehouse.

Allen told Gustav that he might be able to pick up a client if he got down to the ER real fast. Gustav leaned back and laughed, which felt like manna from Heaven.

Annie stood with Vanessa, watching the westering sun.

" _So you two are fully merged now? Seamless?"_

" _Yes, Dear, fully. There is such a feeling of wholeness, now."_

" _Annie, even in just your nighttime state, you were able to hold back your mad self and Monkey for a time. Now that you are one, could you do it again? Maybe longer?"_

" _Perhaps, but would that be a good thing? I still don't know how to reach my children or those soldiers."_

" _Annie, I know where the soldiers are kept."_

Annie looked into her apron pocket sadly. _"I can't see them there, Dear."_

" _Wrong apron, Annie. Look over at the slave shack area."_

Annie did. Slowly her mouth opened. _"The graveyard. That has to be it! That's the pocket in the apron, isn't it? But what good does that do?"_

" _I don't know, but I'd like to try and find out. Now that you are stronger, is there any possibility that you can go there with me?"_

Mad Annie had been off the porch to look at the people working on the gardens, but that was a long time ago and it was in the direction she was used to focusing her power. Since then, she hadn't left her porch (other than to deal with Jed). Vanessa reached out, wondering. She placed her hand on Annie's shoulder and felt it. Her hand met resistance, though she was not making any special effort at making contact. That hadn't happened before. Normally Vanessa would pass right through her and vice versa. Annie felt it and was most pleased. No one had touched her since before she died. Her hand trembled as she returned the motion and felt a friend's solid shoulder under her own hand. As always, there was no sensation of touch, but even the sense of solid resistance was a revelation. The two women stared at each other, mouths trying to say something but unable to utter the joy in their hearts. So, they held each other in their arms and wept without tears.

Finally, _"It must have been your re-union that did it, Annie. What a wonderful sign!"_

" _Is it, Dear? I'm not so sure. If I'm more together and am capable of doing more, what does that do for 'Monkey Me? Is she weaker, or did she also gain strength?"_

Vanessa thought about that. _"I don't know. I don't think Ryan will know either. That makes it all the more important for us to go."_

" _Go? Go where. Dear?"_

" _Let's go see if two slightly over-aged women can dig up a few good men, Sweetie."_ Vanessa took Annie's hand and they took one step at a time away from that cursed porch.

Allen was released under protest of the business office, but with the blessings of Dr. Benoit. Kurt, who had brought in the truck driver, stopped in to visit the miracle boy about the time that Rachel was recovering her conscious awareness. The four of them traded notes. They said that a final council of war was scheduled that night at their hotel suite and could Kurt and the Jamaican doctor be called upon to act as sounding boards, later? All answers were to the affirmative.

Rachel and Allen were informed by Gustav that Ralph would pick them up at the main doors. Sure enough he was waiting there for them, with Ryan (holding an ice pack to his face) and Marianne already on board. Allen and Rachel both wrinkled their noses on getting into the car.

Allen asked, "What in God's name is that SMELL?"

Ralph responded, "Riding horses can get you a little stinky. Lighten up little man."

Rachel took up the baton. "That's not just horse sweat I'm smelling."

Ralph snickered. "Sorry about that, lady. Cumquat took a squat when I wasn't looking. Got most of it off with the Homestead hose. I'll change after I drop you all off." Chuckling at his revenge, he apologized that his power windows had also gone on the fritz. His other two passengers had almost gotten used to it, but not quite. At least the air conditioning kept them from asphyxiation.

They were dropped off at the Marriott, gasping, and amazed that Ralph showed no signs of gag reflex. Marianne tossed in a ten-dollar bill and told him to pick up a six pack of Lysol for his taxi. "Will do, ma am, he said. "Oh, and after today, I officially believe in miracles. My friends, do all of you believe in miracles?" This seemed a little sappy coming from someone like Ralph, but it had been quite an amazing day. Everyone agreed that miracles indeed did exist and many had been witnessed that day.

"Well, I'm glad to be able to share one more with my best friends." He sat back in his seat, power rolled down all of the windows and pulled away from the guest drop-off curb. Ryan's "You son of a..." was barely caught, but he could hear Sicilian invectives for another tenth of a mile.

The elevator opened and Gustav welcomed them back home. He was so relieved to see Allen up and about. "You don't know how bad you looked young man. The sky was never so blue as your lips and fingertips were and what IS that smell?"

Ryan merely grumbled on his way to the love seat, "Ralph's revenge. That's going to cost him." Seeing the expression on Marianne's face as she claimed the recliner gave Gustav comfort. Someone else had taken his place as her primary revenge target.

Allen plopped down on the couch and sighed. "Yeah, it was pretty scary. I felt my chest tighten up more and more until I realized that it was no java attack. It was like I could feel myself rotting inside, not just with my body, but my, I don't know, soul? If that was the same thing the soldiers and slaves went through, damn!"

Ryan looked at Allen and remembered something that might cheer him up. "My boy, what do you remember most clearly about the participants of your dream encounter?"

Allen thought for a moment. "It was those poor slaves. They looked like zombies or something, no control over their own lives. Must have been what it was like to be a slave back then. Shame it's too late to do something for them."

"Not so, G cubed son. Those slaves were real."

"Excuse me?"

"Monkey didn't punish them like she did the soldiers, but she did murder them in like fashion and stored them in that apron pocket we talked about. Son, you set them free and you did it using Lincoln, the slave liberator, as your weapon. It just doesn't get any more ironic than that."

Allen remembered the faces in his mind, and the one that lingered the most was that young woman. "I wonder what her name was."

"Who are you talking about?" his mother asked.

"There was this one lady, about my age or a little younger. She smiled at me when they were leaving. Of all of their faces, hers is the only one I remember." Marianne and Rachel caught each other's eyes. They were both pleased about Allen getting over that Melissa ding-dong. Now, if he could only find himself attracted to someone with a pulse.

Ryan recalled his conversation he had with Vanessa, after he had caught his breath at the Homestead medical aid office. "Her name was Marigold. She was Annie's favorite."

Chapter 24 – RESURRECTION

Vanessa and Annie had reached the road. Annie had never strayed that far in this direction before and was nervous. The hand she held was the only thing that kept her from making a beeline back to the safety and familiarity of the porch. Well, maybe not the only thing.

" _Vanessa, I can sense her. She's down deep inside me. I can catch her muttering, sometimes, and the words aren't very nice at all. Suppose, without my Mad self, my Monkey self might just pop up anytime. You aren't safe. You had better go."_

" _Sorry lady, you're stuck with me and, unless you want North fighting South again, you'll stop thinking like that and help me. I love you dearly, but I can't do this without you and you need my support. Now, are you with me?"_

" _I'm still here, aren't I?"_ They started walking, but Annie stopped. _"Why aren't I crossing over? I'm leaving the house, aren't I?"_

Vanessa was taken aback. Cross-over hadn't even entered her mind, and it should have. Or should it have? _"Annie, we're going north. We've found that the eastern direction has a lot to do with crossing over. Monkey keeps stopping the soldiers riding to the east. I'll bet that's the way all of you have to go."_

Their steps started again. It got easier, the further away they got from the house. Vanessa smiled to think she might open up an afterlife travel agency some day. 'Come let us spirit you away' would be the slogan. She normally would pass a good one like that on her friends, but one look at Annie kept her mouth shut. This wasn't the time for that and this wasn't the person for that, either. It surprised her to think that there would be a time when she would refrain from a wisecrack. Ryan would be shocked. It would be best not to tell him. She would swear Annie to secrecy, once this was over.

They had reached the apron where the slave shacks used to stand. Annie looked around, remembering that Archibald had told her about his life on the farm when he was a boy. His father wasn't as kind to the slaves as they were. Her beloved had sworn an oath to make life better for their slaves when he came into his own. The two of them went even further in making the shacks into cabins with fireplaces inside and gave their slaves time off from farm duties so that they could work on their own homes and gardens. Yet, they still left her when push came to shove.

Monkey couldn't understand that. Annie could. She had been held down by oppressive force for too long not to understand. She regretted her participation in the enslaving of those poor people and hoped they might forgive her, but she didn't count on it. They continued into the pocket.

The pocket had trees in it, though it was not nearly as thick with them as the surrounding woods. The Homestead people were making efforts to clear it out, to make it like it once was. They walked along a cleared path, wide enough for two to walk abreast. After a hundred yards, there was an opening. There were large piles of brush and stacked wood over on the northeast corner. The remaining stumps were the only things that remotely looked graveyard-ish.

Annie spoke, respectfully _. "They always buried their dead with their heads to the west, feet to the east. I remember them saying that when the Day of Judgment came, it would come from the east and they wanted to rise up and face God from the moment they awakened. What you said earlier about God coming from the east for His Second Coming. Maybe we re supposed to meet him halfway?"_

This was no time for Gustavian esoterica. They had limited time to act. _"Are any of the slave spirits still around?"_

Annie closed her eyes and sensed for those ancient connections. _"No, that cupboard is bare. Thank God. "_

Vanessa looked deeply at her friend and smiled. _"Looks like us old dogs can learn new tricks. I'm proud of you, Soul Sister."_

" _Thank you, Dear. Now, let's go man haunting."_ Vanessa laughed to think that she was worried about using humor on Annie. Well, scratch that one. She went ahead and told her about the proposed travel agency, and was rewarded with a Southern belle ladylike chuckle. Then, it was down to business. They were at the pocket, but how did one reach into the pocket?

" _See what you can sense, Annie. I'll wait for you."_

Vanessa let go of Annie's hand, so as not to distract her with her own energies, and backed away about twenty feet. Annie closed her eyes and pictured the graveyard as it once was, when she and Archibald attended each slave interment. She could clearly see the many wooden crosses, a name and year lovingly carved into each one. Once all the details were firm, she reached out with her mind and felt what was there now. Right away, she sensed a difference. The ground was troubled. Things sort of swirled about under the surface. She could feel it, now that she had it tuned in. Annie opened her eyes, but the feeling remained and she was now more able to sense the discreteness of the disturbances. There were many of them.

" _Vanessa, I found them."_

Vanessa walked slowly up to Annie, but no distraction resulted in Annie's ability to sense the spirits of the Union Army. _"What can you feel, Annie?"_

" _They're down there, kind of drifting. They're still connected to their horses, I think. Vanessa, what do I do now?"_

" _Honey, I don't know. You can sense them, OK, let's work with that. What do you want to do, instinctively?"_

" _I want to reach out and heal them, to pull them out of the grave. But how?"_

" _Your other self didn't have directions on how to do it, she just did it because it was what she wanted to do. Don't think of how. Forget that completely. Think of it as just having been done. Maybe that way you'll naturally find the way that's inside you."_

Annie took a non-existent breath and began to search. They were all swirly sworly, yet distinct. She latched onto one set and focused on it, reached out to it and visualized horse and rider above ground, together but no longer connected. It took over twenty minutes of trial and error, and error, and more error, but then Vanessa saw it. Over the ground there were colors slowly coalescing, tiny sparkling motes that built themselves up, little by little. The form of a man on a horse became increasingly recognizable. It took another ten minutes and Annie nearly collapsed from the effort. Vanessa supported her and both of them looked at one surprised Union soldier.

Vanessa approached the soldier, as she was less likely to frighten the 'no-longer-living-daylights' out of him. _"What's your name, soldier?"_

" _Private Cole Dixon, ma'am. Are you two angels?"_

Annie and Vanessa looked at each other. Annie said _, "Working on it, Private Dixon."_

" _Holy Mother of God! You, You're Mrs. Edwards!"_ Private Cole Dixon reined back his mount, fearing the worst, but the difference in setting and the full responsiveness of his horse gave him pause enough for him to shake his head and forgo his flight. Private Dixon turned Challenger back and he looked again at the two women. There was nothing coming from either of them that evoked danger. He looked up to the sky, then back to Vanessa. _"Where's the sun?"_

' _The sun doesn't come out at night, Private."_

" _Neither do I, ma'am, as a rule. Mrs. Edwards, I know you by sight. You must be Vanessa, ma'am. Ryan told us about you and I've seen you a few times at the farm." It hit him. "Good Lord! Am I...free?"_

Annie spoke, now recovering her energy levels. _"Private Dixon, I think so. All you need do is to ride in the direction your group tries to go in each day. I won't be there to stop you this time."_

It was too good to be true. _"Mrs. Edwards, Vanessa, ma'am, would you please tell me where the other men are? I can't leave them behind without Major Covington giving the order. Rules are rules and I've been in the Army longer than most."_

" _You may choose to wait there. I am going to try and bring up more of your fellow soldiers. I'm not the same woman you saw before. That spirit is inside of me, but she's sleeping right now. If you stay, I can't guarantee she won't wake up and put you right back down there until tomorrow, or forever."_ Annie pointed to the ground where she had found the Private. He followed her finger to look at the ground, then at Annie, then east to where he could just ride off and free himself from Hell. He shook his head.

" _Thank you kindly, ma'am, but I'll just wait here. I'm as attached to my unit as I am to my saddle."_ To demonstrate his point, he tried to lift himself a little off of the saddle, gently. To Private Cole Dixon's amazement, he lifted clear off the saddle with no pain, no restriction. _"Merciful Jesus!"_

Vanessa smiled at the wide-eyed and very pleased Union man. _"Private Cole, perhaps you might be of some help. I'm assigning you the task of filling in those who we are able to bring up tonight. You may be the only one, or we may get them all. Annie, it's up to you now."_

Mrs. Anita Edwards nodded and began the process again. She found one within a minute, but wasn't able to hook onto him. She tried another and was successful. It took fifteen minutes this time to raise one young man with a moustache and his mount.

Private Dixon rode up to him. "Artemus, my old friend. Come with me over here out of the way."

Private Artemus Benson latched onto the only reality he could and that was the man who rode by him for centuries. Everything else was completely alien to him, except her. _"Cole, it's that devil..."_

" _Hush your mouth, Private. It ain't her. Well, it is, but it ain't. Look, I'll explain what little I know. It looks like there's more than one Mrs. Edwards and they both or all live in that lady you see there. I guess the bad one comes out in the daytime and this one shows up at night."_

" _I thought demons came out at night. So, what kept the good one all this time?"_

" _Ain't figured that out yet, but you want to complain? We're out, ain't we? How long has it been since you seen stars or heard crickets?"_

Private Benson looked to the sky and, for once, the cursed sun was gone. Only those pinpricks of gentle light that he had recalled only in dim memories. The sounds of the crickets were the sweet music of a time when he had a family, a cause to fight for and a belly to put food into. He looked at the woman he had heard Ryan tell about and they had seen near the children at the farm. She was beautiful at night, like his Emily was. He looked down at his horse, Willamena. For once, she was standing stock-still and not under another's control. Finally he turned his gaze to the woman that had held them prisoner for so long, who had cursed each of them, who the Major had wracked his brains on how to defeat. They were supposed to be friends now? His friend was asking for a lot from him, but this was the friend who had once pulled him off the field under a hail of lead balls and cannon shell fragments and got him to the Doc who saved his leg. So he waited, and was rewarded for his wait with a vision of a miracle. _"Well bless me, isn't that Harry Quimby?"_

" _Looks like it. Tell you something else to make you smile, old buddy. Lift yourself off the saddle."_

Artemus was about to tell his life-and-death long friend where to stick it, but there were just too many things gone loco that he was trying to accept as real. So, he tried it and nearly split his face with the smile at the result.

Private Harry Quimby was directed to his two comrades waiting at the southeast corner of the graveyard. He dumbly followed Vanessa's instructions and stopped to witness the two buffoonish grins on his friends as they both dismounted. _"Great Day in the Morning, don't that hurt?"_

Cole said, _"Ain't it time you gave Cherokee a break from your fat butt? Come on down, Harry. The water's just fine."_

The night wore on and the fainter stars to the east began to fade from sight. Annie was nearly spent. Corporal Marion Clemente was the ranking Union man among the thirty-two brought out of their prison. That left eighteen riders still down there. Vanessa and Annie couldn't take the chance on losing what they had worked for all night.

Annie Edwards gasped out, _"Corporal Clemente, you must take your men and ride out. If my other self awakes, all of our work will be for naught. I will try and bring up more, once I get my strength back, but you must leave, NOW."_

The Corporal nodded to his former nemesis. _"Mrs. Edwards, one brief moment. We are all very sorry for the loss of your children's lives and yours. Before we go, I would ask your forgiveness for me and the men."_

Annie had to lean on Vanessa, who had put her own arm around Annie's waist to support her spent Soul Sister. _"Corporal, I forgive you for everything you did only if you make two concessions."_

The Corporal nodded. _"One, you have to forgive me for the hell my other self has put you and your poor men through for so many years."_ Every man assented. _"Second, you will get your damned ugly blue butts back on your glue factory nags and ride off my property without another word!"_

Without so much as a peep, each man mounted and lined up. Corporal Clemente rode his mount in front of Annie and Vanessa, saluting as he passed. Each man followed suit, columns of two, parade-dress-right with gratitude in their eyes. The column silently went out of the graveyard to the road, turned column east and trotted happily, for once, towards where the sun would soon crest. Not one of them ever saw the sunrise.

" _It's getting on, Vanessa. I'm so tired, but I want to try for one more. Maybe if I can exhaust myself totally, it will be easier for you to deal with 'Monkey-Me'."_ Vanessa had coined that phrase earlier, harking back to an old movie and its sequel. Annie took to it. There was sort of a child-like nature to it for Annie, and it was kind of fun to say. There was still a bit of the little girl in her; one of the things that Vanessa found so endearing.

" _You'll have to hold me on this one. I can barely stand."_ Annie found one more. She was getting better at it. They had thought of just doing it this way, but time was not on their side and neither of them had the heart to tell the children that they had to die yet another time past the promised day of freedom. The brighter stars were just barely visible to Vanessa and the birds were beginning to sing sweetly. The sound encouraged Annie to give it her all and the form took shape.

" _Oh ..my..God,"_ said Vanessa, as Annie slumped over. The mad Private was staring right at them.

Morning. Ryan had slept poorly, worried about Vanessa and Annie. His dear one had never returned home, as far as he could tell. It was too late to worry about that. His feet hit the deck and, without hesitation, he went for a three-minute shower. His clothes were displayed on a hanger and Ryan put them on with a purpose. Twelve minutes after his alarm went off, Ryan David Fitzgalen walked out to the common room where others were gathering. Allen, Gustav, and Ralph were all latching the last buttons and pulling on their boots.

The ladies ooo'd and ahhh'd and insisted they all line up for a picture. Allen's PC had the best setup and, in five minutes, they were done, filling their plates and looking over the print-outs of the men in Union blue standing with their ladies fair.

The ladies looked grand themselves in petticoats and bonnets; Southern Belles, all. After a few curtsies, bows and parasol shoulder-taps, the entourage left the common room. No one was to be left behind today.

Morning. Melissa had picked up a new SatCom and downloaded the spec's and data still stored in her desk PC. There weren't any hotel rooms available within a reasonable distance, so she had opted for an early bird to Savannah. The only transportation available from the airport to the Homestead were the bus lines, and there were lines for even that despite the beefed up bus numbers to accommodate the crowds.

A motorcycle gang had parked in the terminal lot to bless the johns one more time before heading west. One of them caught sight of Melissa. Actually, they all caught sight of her, but he was the only one that had the nerve to approach a looker like that. Barry was like that and, fortunately, he didn't seem to mind rejections. To their unbelieving eyes, Barry was now walking back with a new Harley Babe. Many cursed under their breaths for not having tried for her themselves. They had a code that kept them from babe-thievery. The man who had her, kept her, until he no longer wanted her. Then the babe went back on the commodity exchange.

Melissa didn't like the looks of the geek that walked up to her, but the invitation for immediate transport to the exact place she wanted to go was irresistible. Barry, however, was very resistible.

The pack took off, with less than pleased men comparing the new chick to their own partners, and more displeased women whose leather didn't hid their broad family backgrounds well enough. The men thought, "Why is it that the ones in the biker magazines almost never quite looked like the ones in real life? And how come our resident screwball now had a chick that could have come off a mag cover, were she willing to change into something a bit skimpier?"

Melissa wore a helmet that Barry had bought two years ago for just such an occasion. She sniffed it before putting it on, not wanting to guess what might have lived on the heads of previous users. She was surprised to find that it smelled like it had never been worn. Barry turned and smiled at her, telling her to hang on to his belly, tight! She wasn't surprised, anymore.

As the pack rode west down the Interstate, Melissa tasted what it was that attracted people to riding on two over-powered gyroscopes. There was a freedom sensation that enclosed metal and glass packages of humanity couldn't experience. Although Harleys didn't roar like lions as they used to, manufacturers made sure that at least their products didn't purr like kittens. She looked at the leader of the pack. He had to be the leader, guessing by the size of him.

"What's his name?" she yelled into Barry's ear, pointing to the moose in the lead.

"Hammer." Seemed like a silly macho name to her. Well, after this trip was history, so were all of these losers. She planned never to lay eyes on them again.

"How did he hurt his face?" The giant had a bandage that hid what little skin his facial hair had left exposed.

"Tried to pick up Spic Chick and her Blondie friend at a bar. Spic turned black belt on him." Melissa thought it served the ogre right. You hang around bars, you get into trouble.

Morning. Private Jed Patterson rode slowly up to Vanessa and Annie. He stopped halfway and shook his head to clear it. Jed looked around and saw that this was not what always was. That shook him. Then, something didn't feel right, or wrong, depending on how you looked at it. He rose up in the saddle, pain free, then looked back to the women. There she was, helpless and powerless. Here he was, free and powerful.

The time had come to settle scores. Jed nudged his mount forward again, never taking his eyes off his goal. The coal black horse stopped five feet from the terrified woman.

" _May I be of some service, Mrs. Fitzgalen, ma'am?"_

" _Excuse me?"_

" _You're Ryan's lady. He's been wonderful good to us. Showed me pictures of my kin, told us all about Mrs. Edwards. I got a debt to square with that woman. What do you want me to do?"_

She looked at the man, then at the form at her side that had nothing and no one functioning, at the moment. The sun was due up at any second. Spirit form or not, Annie was feeling heavy. Actually, Annie's depleted energy state was seeking alternative sources for renewal, and Vanessa happened to be a handy source of force.

" _Private Patterson?"_ He nodded _. "Would you be so kind as to ferry my dearest friend back to the porch?"_

" _It will be my honor."_ He dismounted; pleased at the difference from the last time he had tried that task. _"You first, ma'am. I'll lift her up to you."_

Vanessa approached Coaljack. The animal was huge! She had never gone horseback riding. Her mother had thought it very unladylike. Recalling how others she had seen would mount such a beast, she had to almost shove her knee into her chin to get her foot up high enough to reach the stirrup. Jed was holding Annie with one arm and wanted to help Vanessa with the other. He just couldn't figure out how to do it and not embarrass himself. Not to mention Mrs. Fitzgalen. With several bounces and a grunt or two, she made it. Now, she could sit on the horse as if she was a little girl at the county fair again. _"What is it that makes ectoplasmic equines so solid?"_ she thought. The view from the height of Coaljack's back was dizzying. _"Private, how did you avoid getting smacked by tree branches?"_

" _I didn't always miss them, ma'am. Kind of an occupational hazard. They don't bother me so much, now."_

Vanessa had to forgo the ladylike sidesaddle riding posture if she was to keep herself and Annie from going 'arse over teakettle' (Jed respectfully turned his head away as Vanessa negotiated the pommel and Coaljack's neck with her left leg). Jed effortlessly raised Annie into Vanessa's arms. He shortened the stirrups to fit a woman's stature, took the reins in his hand and walked out of the graveyard, after asking which way to go.

Vanessa thought, _"A man who asks directions. Ryan could learn something from this fellow. He was able to hold Annie. All those years of conflict between them. Is that why they can touch each other? If that was true, why couldn't Ryan and she share more substance between them? The rules were different between two spirits than between a spirit and a mortal it would seem."_

Sitting on the horse, holding Annie was more manageable. That gave Vanessa more freedom to speak to the Private, and she had to do just that. Once again, it was a whole new ballgame.

" _Private Patterson, forgive my asking, but why didn't you attack Annie? I'm very happy you didn't, mind you, but I need to know who our friends are today."_

" _Ma'am,"_ said Jed as he walked his horse and burden to the Homestead's main road. _"...I recollect a story I heard once in Sunday school, when I was a boy. There was this man named Saul and he gave the Christians a pretty hard time of it. He was kind of angry and off his nut, like me, when you get down to it. The Man Upstairs met him going down the road and got his attention. My Pastor named it the 'call of the two-by-four.' Most of us don't hear Him all too good, so he has to get our attention the hard way. Saul was blinded and he had to learn to see again and, this time, he saw things different like. Your man, Ryan? He was my wake up call. This whole mess is my fault, when you get down to it. Maybe Mrs. Edwards would have forgiven us the loss of her children. God knows too many of them died in the war. But what I did, well, I need a whole lot of pardon. Time I started earning it. What do you want me to do?"_

The sun was going to be up any moment. She just didn't know what was going to happen. Too much had changed since plans were made yesterday. She had to get word to Ryan, she had to stick with Annie and she had to somehow make use of Jed as planned, but no longer in the way that they had planned. This was no time for mental constipation. Like Ryan said so many times, even a bad plan was better than no plan. They arrived at the porch.

" _Jed, help Annie down. I may have only moments left before Annie's angry self rises again. This one's too tired to raise any more of your soldiers."_ Jed carefully took Annie from Vanessa and brought her gently onto one of the porch chairs. Vanessa managed to slide down Coaljack's side. The warhorse turned his huge head around, looked at the lady who rode him just now and approved. He nuzzled Vanessa as she walked by, though his idea of 'gentle' knocked Vanessa off to the side by several feet. Jed looked upset.

" _Mrs. Fitzgalen, ma'am, I'm so sorry! COALJACK! What you be thinking? What? Wait a minute. She raised others? You mean, besides me?"_

" _Private, it's all right. I just didn't expect it, that's all."_ Vanessa approached Coaljack and petted his muzzle. The nicker she was rewarded with sent a pleasant chill up her back. _"There are only seventeen more in the ground back there. That's where she was keeping you all. Your Major is still there, and so is Private Cooper. Corporal Clemente took off with the rest and, as far as I can see, they're gone for good. If you go east, you'll leave as well. Go back to where the graveyard is, but don't stay in it. Move off to where you can see. If Annie raises the men, I'll get back to you afterwards. You have to pick up the children and get them to safety by riding them east. I'll hand them off to you if I can. If I have to confront Annie, it'll be up to you to get them yourself. The other men will do what they can to divert Annie's attention from you, Jason and Rebecca until you're clear. Don't stop for anything. Annie is powerful and I don't know how long we can hold her back. There's going to be a lot of activity here, a lot of confusion. You have to stay focused on your task. Can you do all that?"_

" _Will she forgive me if I do?"_

" _Guaranteed, soldier."_

Jed got back on his horse and gave a smart two-fingered salute to Vanessa and cast one last look at Annie, now flopped over on one of the front porch chairs. Coaljack seemed a little annoyed at going back to the old burden. He preferred the lighter one. Jed reined hard left and galloped for the tree line. Vanessa watched him disappear into the forest. The sun peaked over the hills. Annie moaned. Vanessa rushed to her side and helped her up into a sitting position. Annie opened her eyes and removed any doubt in Vanessa's mind as to which 'Annie' was up and running.

Three of the four new recruits into the Union Army took a limo to the stables. Gustav was to take Ralph's precious taxi from the stables to the reserved lot at the Homestead. Ralph looked pretty uncomfortable about someone else handling his baby and began telling Gustav the idiosyncrasies the Green Machine was known for (Allen had coined the phrase, Ralph thought it was catchy).

"Back off, hot shot. I've been driving since before you were a gleam in your father's eye." Gustav shut the door and made to drive off.

"Who told you about my father's sloppy tooth-brushing habits?" Ralph fired back as his best mechanical friend, gently, pulled out without him. He heard the women break up on that one, which helped ease his troubled heart.

Before they were out of earshot, he heard Gustav raise his voice above the din and say, "It wasn't THAT funny!"

Ryan and Allen stood next to their new member, each with a hand on his shoulder. "Good one, Ralph. Mom liked that one. So did Marianne. I didn't get it."

"Yeah, Ralph. Take it from someone who's been there. You get to a man's heart through his stomach and his eyes. For a woman, it's the funny bone. Allen, Gleem was a toothpaste brand that went by the wayside a few years after you were born."

Ralph smiled. He was good at keeping them laughing and he had the tip-generated savings account to prove it. One man he once ferried owned a nightclub and had made him a generous offer. He turned it down. Ralph's forte was an audience of one to four, not in facing a large group where he had to compete with prowling wolves, belches and clinking glasses. They got into the limo. Allen and Ryan noticed that Ralph preferred to be in control of the car he was in. Well, he'd have to get used to riding instead of driving once in a while.

It only took fifteen minutes to get to the stables. Three horses were already saddled, cinched and bridled, thanks to mega-manager Marianne. She had left specific orders from Ryan as to which horses to have ready. They had to have every ace in the hole they could muster for today. There were just too many unknowns on this one despite the long preparations that had gone on before.

Ryan got his favorite: Maribelle. He had grown accustomed to her gait, and she to his pocketful of carrots. Allen was happy to let Ralph take the steed with the stupid name. The new horse that awaited him was promised to be 'like riding on air'. That suited him just fine. His butt was still a little sore from the last couple of rides. Besides, his filly had a cooler name: 'Thunder'.

The three Blue Bellies, as the attendants jokingly called them, headed down the path. The order was Ryan first, Ralph second, Allen last. Ryan took great pains to look serious, just before heading out, while explaining the necessity for the line-up. Ryan was in front to keep a sharp eye out for an approaching Monkey. Ralph was new to Monkey, and so provided a buffer of unfamiliarity to further protect Allen. Ryan said that Allen may attract a new connect with Monkey, since she may be drawn to a repeat customer, and since Ryan's idea that Monkey could no longer connect to mortals was not guaranteed. That was sufficient for Allen to accept a day of staring at two horse's tails. Ryan had not told Allen how Thunder got her name. He found that out, soon enough.

"KEEEERISTE, what do they feed this nag?" he moaned, as Thunder putt-putted down the path. Ralph had been let in on the secret earlier on when Allen was visiting the john. Allen saw two sets of shoulders bobbing up and down more than could be explained by their mounts' walking rhythms. "Looks like I'll be staring at four horse's tails today," Allen muttered, though he was having a hard time to keep from cracking up himself. In fact, conversation was nearly impossible until they finally reached their rendezvous point. One of them would be halfway through a sentence and Thunder would put in her two scents worth. Halfway there, the three of them were having trouble seeing the path clearly for all the tear wiping.

" _RYAN, WHY!?"_ Allen had managed to get out a two-word sentence before Thunder realized it was her cue again.

It was a full minute before Ryan was able to fire back, before Thunder back-fired, "Annie hates laughing soldiers."

"Ralph, trade?"

"NO WAY! Stay downwind!"

" _Vanessa, Dearie, what brings you here so early?"_

Suspicion was clearly in her eyes. _"Well,"_ Vanessa thought, _"..here goes."_ She would have to use every half-truth and misdirection device ever used in her less scrupulous moments.

" _Why, Annie, Honey, I wanted to be the first to tell you the wonderful news. The war is over!"_

The look on Monkey's face was one for the books. _"What do you mean, the war is over?"_

" _Why, Dearie, which part of that sentence did you not understand? The war has ended! Lee and Grant should arrive to your very own home to sign the treaty. Just look around you!"_

Monkey did just that, mouth open in case something decided to come out. If yesterday was busy, today was frantic. People were everywhere, and almost all of them dressed normal, like she used to know. Vanessa pointed her in the direction where there was a group of people dressed as Union soldiery. The Southern spirit almost jumped out of the skin she no longer had when she saw another group walking towards them, in Confederate gray! Surely there was going to be a battle right then, but the men of the two sides greeted each other like old friends and began shaking hands. _"Oh, my stars!"_

How could this possibly be? Monkey knew that the war had been over for a long time, a very long time, but here were men and women in numbers far, far in excess of anything she had seen before, dressed in her time frame. To do that would take far more funds than that bastard Ryan was capable of. The war had to be over; it WAS over. But she couldn't deny what was before her eyes. But, but, but.

Vanessa watched very carefully. At least this part of the battle plan was working. Monkey was floored. She had to beat a hasty retreat and get word to Ryan.

" _Annie, Honey, I've got to visit the powder room. I'll be back in just a bitsy. Why don't you just set yourself down on this here chair? You look a little tired. Didn't you sleep well last night?"_

" _Didn't I?"_ To herself: _"I actually DO feel tired. How can that be? And what's going on with all these people? I'm so confused. Could it be me who is mad? Was it all a dream? A nightmare?"_

To Vanessa: _"Yes, Dearie, I'll do just that. You run along. There is so much to, do? (Do what? What do I do now? It's too early to raise the Union swine, or get Jason and Rebecca up. Nothing to do but watch and rest, I guess.)"_

Vanessa strolled out of sight and then made a beeline for where she sensed Ryan was. There, next to Ralph and Allen. _"(Oh Lord, he gave him Thunder.) Ryan, I've got to tell you something!"_

As usual, the men waited while their leader engaged in conversation with the unseen. Ralph leaned back and whispered to Allen, "How long until you get over the feeling that this is all one big wool-puller?"

Allen saw that Ryan had picked up on the whisper. Allen backed his horse further away. "You'll be sooooorrreeeee", he sang, as the distance grew greater between them.

Ralph saw Ryan tilt his head towards him. The next thing he knew, his right rear cheek suffered a significant pinch pain. "Yeeeoow- www! OK, OK! I guess it's for real, already." It must not have sounded sincere enough, because Ralph involuntarily turned the other cheek to similar fate. "AIIIIEEE! Hallelujah and Saints be praised! I believe!!! Man, that's going to be bruised for sure."

Allen sidled back up to standard following distance from Ralph, who was now trying to find a more comfortable position on the saddle. "Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, travel mug, key chain and baseball cap."

By then, Ryan had finished his conversation with the Dober-woman Pincher. "Funny you should mention baseball, Allen."

"Don't tell me. New ballgame?"

"Big time. Let's go over the new line-up. Oh, Ralph, did we learn our lesson today about lady spooks?"

"I already knew where the female of the species caused pain, but Vanessa perfected the art for sure. Sparky spook, isn't she?" Ralph asked Ryan.

"You have no idea."

It was time to pull the rats out of their holes. Monkey reached out to the Graveyard, to her 'apron pocket'. She was still short her mad counterpart and still pretty upset about it. She was in the middle of what appeared to be a peace negotiation between the North and the South that couldn't be and she was upset about that, too. In less than a minute, there was something that topped the other two, put together.

Mad Annie reached out and down, expecting fifty men plus nags and found fewer, far fewer. Carefully, her mind probed the yard, then beyond the yard. Fortunately for Jed, her attention was below the ground. He could feel her searching energies under his feet (he had been enjoying the incredibly exciting pass-time of standing on the ground next to his horse for a change and, to be fair, Coaljack wasn't minding the break in the least). Jed froze, lest his movement attract unwanted attention. He didn't even dare think, forcing himself to look at the world from the perspective of a six-foot-three-inch blue-jacketed rock.

Frustration for Monkey was nearing the ignition point, but she knew that blowing up wouldn't accomplish anything and so forced herself to calm down. The only thing to do was send the rats she could find on their way and worry about the rest later.

Major Covington opened his eyes, as usual, to the place he always saw on awakening. It was all the same and he sighed because of it, but halfway through the sigh he stopped. He quickly counted heads as sixteen of his surprised Union soldiers were going through the same reaction and action. Heads were turning back and forth while fingers pointed, accompanied by a muttered medley of numbers ranging from one to sixteen, with the occasional _"...and me!"_ thrown in.

Annie could still reach out to feel those soldiers, their formation, their surprise, and their great joy. _"Bastards are probably yelling their heads off."_ She wished she could make their horses trot again to inflict more suffering for the fewer in number, but they were back on the correct time schedule. A faster pace would bring them to the Estate too early. How could this have happened? She was the only one with the power and the knowledge to use it. Vanessa? No, she didn't have the power or the skill. She felt sure of that, somehow. Who then, or what? Maybe, in all the hullabaloo, she accidentally destroyed two thirds of her prisoners? Now there was a pleasant thought. Well, better to focus on what she had to work with than worry about spilt milk.

Melissa was beginning to enjoy the trip. These guys weren't all that bad. She sensed a commonality among them that was enjoyable and friendly. They were a bit rough around the edges, but she had seen worse at RPI frat parties. "How come you guys got up so early?" she called into Barry's ear.

"The pack wanted to scram before the motel knew we were gone. I don't like that sort of thing, but I'm not the leader. We'll slip into the Milledgeville crowds. No one is going to trace us there!"

Of course, she could be wrong. The geeks. Then she realized that if they were caught, she would be part of the group. "What would daddy say?" came to mind, as the 'oh, shit' factor kicked in.

She thought about options, which were slim. "Not a good idea to bail on Barry at this speed. Have to get to that Homestead thing. I feel it. Something's wrong, besides Barry's need for a breath mint. What would Barbara think of me now? Biker Babe Barbie, S&M accessories sold separately! Try saying that five times fast."

"Barry, how long till we get to Milledgeville?"

"At this rate, one hour, fifty three minutes."

Her eyes went to the blue, partly cloudy skies. "Great, a savant."

The gates would open in fifteen minutes. Already busses filled up their reserved spaces. There were groups from thirty-nine states and individuals from all but one of the rest. Alaska was not represented, for some reason, but having tourists from twenty-one different countries made up for the forty-ninth state's absence.

Gustav and Allen had reviewed the groups. Many were retirement clubs. There was a fair sprinkling of Civil War buff clubs. A lot of schools had baked a lot of cookies, sold a lot of candy, washed a lot of cars and heaven knows what else school kids did nowadays to raise money for trips. Luckily, matching funds were often available, since this was a lot more educational than a theme park.

Theme parks knew their stuff, though, and the management of the Edwards' Homestead was not above taking lessons. Parks were penultimate people pleasers, feeders and movers. Gustav strolled about with the ladies at his arms, telling them about some of the tricks of the trade. A park might hire athletic ex-cons to watch the parking lot for bobbing heads. That would be a daddy, disbelieving that he had just locked his keys in the car while Mom and kids would wax eloquent on paternal idiocy. The ex-con would have to reach them in forty-five seconds or less, and say, "Oh, the keys got locked in the car. We'll take care of that in a jiffy." Never would they say that HE locked HIS keys in his car. Then they would Slim-Jimmy the door or use a universal E-lock descrambler, hand Daddy his keys, lock and close the door and all that within an additional minute. They would then conclude with a "Have a wonderful day!"

Rachel looked out and over to the auto lots. Letting half of the north forty go fallow for the year had created the needed additional parking spaces. "How many?"

Gustav waxed pedantic. "The Homestead hired seven, one for each lot. Good pay, free housing, food and a good mark on their resumes. Not bad for just a weekend's work. Two of them are on work release from prison. The Homestead will still make a mint despite expenses. The long-range benefit is incredible name recognition for the city, the Estate, the Civil War interest groups and more. What do you want to bet, two out of five of the next hit movies will feature the mid-1800's?

"OK, ladies, the swarm hits in ten minutes. It'll be at least seven hours before the boys are in range of the com-links. Until then, we rely on the SatComs for them, com-links for us. Let's go enjoy ourselves, but keep alert for anything we can use this afternoon."

The gates opened and, in the first half hour, the roving team members watched humanity, in massed variety, pass by the main gates to the tune of one hundred and twenty people per minute. There were two auxiliary gates, which combined to equal that number again. The pace didn't diminish for the first hour. By noon, the Edwards Homestead confines had within its borders forty-thousand-plus people, not including the three and a half thousand staff and re-creationist volunteers. After the first half hour of visitor influx, Vanessa returned to find one stunned Monkey.

" _Vanessa! What IS this? Who are all these people? There are so MANY! Where did they all COME from?"_

" _Why, Dearie, I'd say they're all probably here to witness the signing of the treaty to end the war. Why, surely such an event would attract a passel of people."_ Just then a tour group from Mainland China walked up to the porch, led by a specially hired tour guide. Monkey heard gibberish, saw short dark haired people looking everywhere at once and saw E-cam's flashing like the 4th of July. _"Some of them must have come from quite a distance."_

" _It would seem so,"_ said Monkey, as she could only watch the group go by. Almost hypnotized, she followed them. Vanessa fell in step. The guide (many previous ones had been recalled, and many new ones were quick-trained, just for this occasion) chattered on as all the others in the past did. But Monkey could only stare in dumb fascination as the lecture she had come to memorize became syllables of singsong sound that made no sense. None of this made sense. Why would people, who should be out somewhere laying railroad ties or running laundry services, be dressed up and visiting her home? The tour of the house for that particular group was almost over when Monkey looked at the sun shadow through the front porch door, which was open and letting in the flies, much to her annoyance. She realized with a shock that the time was just past when she usually got her children up. Would she EVER get back on schedule again? What was it all coming to?

Monkey Annie hurried out the front door to get her other morning chore done and stopped 'dead'. In the short time she was inside the house, the numbers outside seemed to have doubled.

" _My stars and garters! Well, can't do nothing about that. Have to move!"_

Vanessa had watched her Annie get the soldiers up and now she watched closely to see if raising the children was similar. She would have liked to be present at the soldier's final reveille earlier. Monkey looked deeply at the flowerbed near the corner of the fence where the children always played. She was at first afraid that she might not be able to find them, as she had failed at doing with most of the soldiers. Her children were there. Gently and carefully, she raised them from their graves to walk and die once more in the sunlight. The process seemed the same to Vanessa as raising the soldiers. Maybe easier, as the children didn't ride horses.

Vanessa could have kicked herself. Had her Annie raised the children instead of a few extra horsemen, they could have been ridden out and be gone by now. That would have nixed the need for final confrontation, or would it? Monkey might have put the soldiers right back into the ground until she could find out what had happened to the kids and done so in a way that might not be un-doable. Go with the game plan. There was no other choice that made sense.

The bikers arrived. They massed behind the long lines for the Homestead parking lots and made their plans. A rendezvous point was chosen. Then, with a muted roar, the pack split into ones and twos. Traffic directors were taken by surprise as Harleys seemed to weave from every which way past them. By the time they recovered their wits, it was too late. The bikers were in the lots reserved for same and they all seemed to look alike.

Melissa saw her transportation needs come to a close as they whizzed by crawling cars with inches to spare. Whatever else bikers were, they were experts at precision maneuvering that would outshine a Shriner biker. She cinched her helmet chinstrap tighter, not sure if the thing she was about to do might possibly crack her skull. Hundreds of hours of step aerobics paid off. Melissa balanced her weight on the foot pegs as the bike leaned to the left, she took in a deep breath, and jumped. The biker thought he had hit a serious speed bump, but there was no time to check. He had to get to the rendezvous point. At the lot, Stoker asked him where the babe went. Barry looked back and saw nothing but parking lot. "Hit a wicked speed bump, man. Bummer. She must be in orbit."

"Mom, when are we going to get there?" Freddie was thirteen and sat in the back of his parent's convertible, re-reading his twenty-two comic books, purchased to keep him occupied. Parents really should examine what their children were interested in, for, by this time, the witty comic book dialog had paled and Freddie was paying more attention to feminine pictures of heroic proportions. Truly the decades and the gods had been kind to Wonder Woman's daughter, 'Dancer the Avenger'. Her Dad was the Flash. So, besides being an adolescent superhero, she had the additional sad reputation of being a 'fast girl'. Since the comic book company still marketed Dancer under the umbrella of 'The Justice League', parents were more easily whiled (a.k.a. 'whined and fined') into the purchase of their product. Freddie was appreciating a particularly graceful Dancer pose when Melissa landed headfirst in the back seat, jamming her head, shoulders and arms in the foot well. Both parents turned to see two denim-covered legs sticking up out of the back and into the air. Freddie had a better vantage point on the less visible half of their visitor, not to mention witnessing gravity's effect on shirts when a body is turned upside down. His eyes did a 'Kermit the Frog', and his smile would have put Howdy Doody to shame. "Thank you, GOD!"

"FREDDIE!" His mother knew how wild biker women were and no son of hers was about to be influenced by a flying Dixie tart. She had read all about them in Readers Digest. "You there, you get yourself out of this car this instant! Freddie! Put your eyes right back in your head. Jack, you just turn yourself around and watch where you're driving. NEVERMIND that the line isn't moving! Face front, you."

Melissa managed to finally extricate her upper half from the foot-well, reverse course, lower her shirt and put her feet on solid ground. "My apologies, folks. Those horrible bikers kidnapped me. How can I ever thank you for saving me?"

Well, that was a horse of a different color. "Freddie, get up front, now!" Freddie's mom got in back. "Missy, you get back in here with me. Jack, put the top up and hit the A/C. If one of those nasty bikers comes looking for you, we'll hide you. Now, you tell Mamma Estelle all about it."

Melissa made up a credible story with the practiced ease of anyone who has been adolescent and had normal desires to push their luck with parental units. Meanwhile, Freddie and Jack forlornly bonded with a sad shake of their heads. Jack leaned over, keeping his eye on the bumper ahead of him, and whispered, "The Lord giveth..." Freddie put his hand on his father's shoulder and whispered his half of the code phrase, "...the Mommy taketh away."

Gustav and the ladies each had fitted to them, as did the mounted contingent, com-link gear with a four-mile clear-tone range (ten miles, with static). With Rachel and Marianne, their hair concealed the micro-ear plug, while, with Gustav, people would assume he had a hearing aid on board. The plug was wired into the main send/receive unit, well hidden by women who are supplied with natural assets for such subterfuge. A voice condenser was also on board, looking for all the world like a beauty mark that had chosen two lovely necks to rest upon (the optimum location was just over the hyoid bone, which afforded the best vibration conduction and thereby the best voice quality, so sayeth the instruction book). Here, the wire was camouflaged with the lace neck and chest coverings that these dresses were selected for. The 'on demand' function stretched out the life of the power packs to allow ten hours non-stop chat. It took a little practice to get used to different sounds in each ear.

Jason and Rebecca looked around at the crowds. _"Brother, did you ever see so many people in all of your born life?"_

" _Never! Mrs. Vanessa was speaking the truth. Rebecca, it's our day!"_

Out of the crowd and right on cue, _"Hello kids. No, don't go yelling and attract Mamma's attention to what we're saying. That's better. Now, there have been some really good things happening."_

Vanessa spoke to her little ones (she truly felt a motherly responsibility to them) all about the things that had come to pass since yesterday. When she told them there were only eighteen soldiers left, and the one she was going to hand them off to was waiting right now in the woods, their eyes lit up like stars. Vanessa had decided at that point that, even if everything went sour, she would either remain at their sides or attempt to carry them herself. She would not abandon them again unless to let go of their hands as they crossed over. Vanessa thought for a moment. It was entirely possible that she might, today, hold hands and cross over with them. She bit her lip. _"Ryan."_

The soldiers met up with three new recruits. _"Well met. I've been searching for you, Private Ryan. Seems I lost my First Corporal, two Sergeants and a scattering of Privates this morning. Might you hare some idea as to where I misplaced them?"_

"Major Covington, it would seem that our Mrs. Edwards works nights. Can you work with a skeleton crew?"

" _I may have to stage an impromptu recruiting drive. You three seem already dressed for the part."_

"They are MY army, Major. No touchee."

There was some laughter in the ranks. Major Covington turned to see what the matter was. _"Oh no, you didn't give poor Allen Thunder?"_

"Major, keeping the men's spirits up is part of the plan. Besides, at least you and your men don't have the sense of smell we poor mortals are cursed with. I left orders yesterday to give Thunder a special helping of radishes."

As if on cue, Thunder gave an especially embarrassing backfire. Allen's ears and cheeks turned bright red, much to the delighted amusement of the column. If it was the last thing he would ever do, Allen swore he would not get even with Ryan. He would get ahead and stay there. In the meantime, he had his hands full just staying in the saddle.

"Major, I notice that Private Patterson isn't here."

" _Yes Ryan, that changes our plans a little. Elijah had volunteered before to take Jed's place if he didn't work out."_

"Not necessary. Jed is still here," the major's eyes widened, "...and he's cured."

" _The devil you say!"_

Ryan related what Vanessa had told him earlier about the last rider to be raised, going into detail on the changed demeanor. "Major, how do I know that this isn't just a ruse? Can I trust this man?"

The Major rode in deep thought, bringing every shred of memory of Private Jed to mind. So often in life, he had been called upon to take sketchy information and make a life or death decision based upon it. After ten minutes, he had an answer and he prayed it was right.

" _I believe this news is trustworthy. In all the many scores of years, Private Patterson may have been mad, muttering, and isolated from the others, but he never hid where he stood on things. Here now is a new stance. He has never shown sufficient guile to hide his true feelings. For all else that he is or was, Jed is a simple man. I believe this to be on the level, Ryan. Jed is sane and wanting redemption for his sins. This is excellent news indeed, excellent."_

"Great. That's what I had hoped you would say. Now, here's the deal..."

Once inside the property and having excused herself from her benefactors, Melissa went to an outdoor snack stand for some refreshment. She chose a table, partially sheltered by a potted palm. The helmet she had borrowed was deposited into a 'lost and found' bin with Barry's name and a thank you note attached. Punching up the SatCom and 'sinning again', she looked at the readouts. "Not here? What is he doing way out there?" She punched up 'map mode' and watched for a while. "It looks like he's coming in this direction, but slowly. Why?"

She spotted Hammer walking by with a couple of his protégé's and edged further behind the palm. She had to make herself less conspicuous, but how? In her event program, Melissa found opportunity knocking in an advertisement. There was the answer, a mere four-minute walk from there. She waited until the coast was clear and slipped out with her nose into the tourist map that she wasn't looking at.

Vanessa was dividing her time between the children and Monkey Annie. She had hoped that her submerged Annie could pick up on what was being said as she had managed to do when Ryan broke Mad's concentration and saved Allen, but it was impossible to be sure of that. She could only hope it was so.

When she was with the children, they played games and told stories of their past lives. Jason and Rebecca repeated some of their most significant stories, as they hadn't lived quite as long as Vanessa, but she didn't mind one bit. They got a big hoot out of poor Ralph's bun pinching and poor Allen's horse handicap. Jason doubled over laughing on that one, though Rebecca was far too much a little lady to yield to laughter over such a base subject. That just wasn't refined. Vanessa's eyes glowed with pride.

It was time for a little experiment. _"Rebecca, how would you like a better view of everything?"_ Both children seemed confused at the request. _"Here, let me boost you onto this fence rail. You can steady yourself by keeping your hands on my shoulder."_ No child created by God ever refused elevation by a trusted adult, as far as Vanessa knew (Obediah being a prime example. It was a miracle that Ryan had any shoulders left at all.). Rebecca seemed reluctant, but Vanessa was someone she had complete trust in and the chance may never come again, hopefully.

" _OK, Mrs. Vanessa, I'll give it a try."_

There was absolutely nothing to it. Rebecca balanced both feet on the fence rail and stood balanced with her hands on Vanessa's shoulders. She looked around at a whole new perspective of the world that surrounded her tiny patch of a playground. It was almost like being an adult. Jason was not to be left out and, being taller than Rebecca, Vanessa hardly had to bend to lift him up. Brother and sister stood side by side, each steadied by a shoulder of the best friend they ever had. _"I wish Ryan could see this."_

Monkey appeared to be getting her sea legs back. It was just past one o'clock and they had to maintain cycles of befuddlement all day, if possible. Vanessa was just about to get the kids back down, then pop off to get Ryan to give the signal for the next hoodwink when her eye was attracted to a familiar face.

Southern Belles were everywhere, be they paid staff or paying customers. It was getting so that someone not in some kind of regalia stood out from the crowd. It wasn't the outfit, then. Who was she? Vanessa stared at the lady as she walked by her, and then covered her mouth with both hands. _"Oh my gosh! Ryan will have to hear about this, too!"_

The soldiers were getting a real chuckle out of mortal efforts to stay upwind, a task complicated by the capricious breeze directions. That was fine with Ryan. Always keep your audience happy. He overheard one soldier snicker to another, _"To air is human."_

Allen and Ralph caught the usual change that meant Vanessa was on board. Both wished more than ever to hear both sides of the conversation. This one was particularly cryptic.

" _Monkey is recovering her wits. I think it's time for the belles to ding-a-ling."_

"Agreed, we'll get that one rolling right away. Anything else?"

" _Melissa's here."_

"WHAT?"

That got everyone's attention. The soldiers had heard about their 'blind' companion's lady worries. Ryan talked about a lot of things to keep their spirits up and Allen was a prime subject. All Allen and Ralph could do was look at each other and get a little closer.

" _I didn't recognize her at first; she was so out of place. Melissa's dolled up in full Civil War socialite regalia, complete with parasol."_

Keeping the lid on, Ryan limited his vocabulary. "Recommendations?"

" _Do you think this might be a 'Monkey wench' in the works?"_

"Is there a time when you don't make a joke? Maybe. What's your take?"

" _Ryan, she's different, now. She's unbitched her wagon."_

"You sure about that?"

" _Women know women. There are signs we look for that even we don't know what they are. Impressions. She's not walking like the Queen of the May, for one. I heard her asking for information from a staffer. She was polite and even said 'thank you very much'."_

"Are you sure of ID?"

" _Checked and double checked. Are you going to tell Allen?"_

"Not yet. I'll think on that one. Get going on 'Petticoat Junction'."

" _Roger and out."_ Vanessa winked out and Ryan made the prearranged signal with his SatCom. Time passed. No one except Thunder spilled any beans.

"Yo, Ryan, the Kid and I are waiting for your wisdom, oh wise one."

"Huh? Oh, sorry Ralph. We're going on with Rachel and Marianne's op."

Allen asked, "So what does that have to do with checking identification?"

"Nothing."

It wasn't like Ryan to be so closed lipped, but they got the hint to let go of it. "What's going on?" they both thought.

Melissa was about to enter the Homestead Main House when she looked down the stone walkway that lead to it and saw them coming. "Cripes! S'cuse me, pardon me, ladies room emergency, pardon me." Melissa managed to cut past the two dozen tourists in line in front of her and, to keep up appearances, she went right to the powder room. As it was, the fright she had experienced kept her from lying about the need.

Once that was taken care of ('Damn dresses, how did they handle outhouses?'), she slipped back to the front of the house and looked out the windows of the main drawing room. There they were, smiling and talking to each other. Melissa wondered what they were talking about.

She couldn't go out on the porch, however there was a small settee right in front of the window nearest the door. The house had a lot of little sitting stations for rest stops, for people of all ages and physical description had passed through these rooms. A young man studying a roster of events, times and locations, occupied this strategic settee. In the bygone era being promoted today, a gentleman should give up his chair for a lady. It was worth a try.

Melissa walked up to the young man. On closer inspection, he was about her age and not bad looking. He was no Allen, but not bad. Well, no time for subtlety.

"EEYOOOW!"

The lad jumped out of his seat (was it chivalry or just a startle reaction?) and she plopped her backsides down after half a second's vacancy. "Oh, thank you, kind suh! Y'all is a gentleman, true. Ah has twisted mah ankle a bit."

Kevin McLane heard opportunity knocking. Maybe this weekend with his new stepfather (trying to play 'dad') wouldn't be a total wash. "Well, hello there, my sweet Georgia peach. My name is McLane, Kevin McLane."

("Bond, James Bond. Why do guys do that?") "Why Kevin, what a lovely name! 'McLane, Millicent McLane'. That name would suit me jes fine in mah current predicament."

"(Huh?) And just what kind of predicament could a lovely lady like you have gotten herself into that I might be of help with?"

"Well, you see, suh, ah just had an ultrasound and have twins on board two months along. Ah can't rightly locate the father and so ah'm in the market for a strong, handsome young man, like you, to support us'ns. So, would you please jes get me an ice pack from over at the medical station? Then we'll just trot up to the Justice of the Peace around the corner and tie ourselves a knot."

She tried her best not to laugh at the look on 'McLane, Kevin McLane's' face. His eyes had opened large enough to see the whites completely around the iris; the 'Hoo-Dat' sign.

"Right, Miss, uh, I'll get you that ice pack. You just stay right here, don't move, for at least half an hour." Kevin made a hasty retreat. It was time for him and his stepfather to get to know each other better, on the other side of the Homestead property, or the other side of the Peach State. Kevin wasn't a bad young man. Fifteen minutes later a staffer brought an icepack to Melissa with a short note of apology about an emergency having come up and wishing her good luck with the twins.

She could hear one familiar voice behind her and one not so familiar. It was hard to catch what they were saying, so she reached up casually behind her and gently opened the window up a foot, making a show of fanning herself as if over warm. Yes, she could hear much better.

Vanessa caught the window's motion and gave a glance through the rippled glass. There was a seated young lady behind that window. No harm in that. " _Wait. That dress, that hair style."_ Vanessa didn't bother with the door, not wanting Monkey to notice her moving away. So, she just turned sideways and leaned to her right for an undistorted view. If Melissa could have seen what Ryan would have seen, were he sitting on that settee, she would have jumped out of her skin. As it was, a smiling Vanessa went back to standing behind a panicked Monkey. Melissa's coming today might have been coincidence. Eavesdropping when and where Marianne and Allen's mother were talking outside wasn't coincidence. _"Well, well, well."_

Chapter 25 – COUNTDOWN

"I tell you Mary Jane, this is the biggest thing to happen ever! Just imagine, Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant finally meeting to put an end to this horrible war!" said Rachel.

"No doubt, Julie Ann, no doubt. You know, maybe we can get our pictures taken with the two of them if we play our cards right, if you know what I mean."

Vanessa saw the two 'ladies' give knowing winks and sly smiles, and Annie's look of horror at such immorality. She just couldn't think of her as Monkey anymore. Even the bad part was part of her friend. It was degrading to the whole to hate the part that, despite problems, still retained a sense of dignity and right versus wrong and that was worth something. _"Do NOT ask me to repeat that."_ Monkey Annie wasn't so much evil as mentally ill, with a fractured ability to understand and accept.

"Julie Ann, I do believe Daddy might just be interested in purchasing this little shack for a winter retreat from those awful northern winters."

"Well, that sounds just fine to me. How about we tear down that old barn and put up a sleazy little hotel for the local red light ladies? It would be a real business opportunity for two young and 'able' ladies." (cue: wicked laughter).

"That sounds great, Julie Ann. Let's go over to the main office and see what they want for this dump." The 'ladies' strolled away, smiling and pointing as they walked along.

If Annie was indignant before, she was mortified now. _"Sell Homestead? My family home? For a BROTHEL? Vanessa! Did you hear that? Holy Mother; what kind of wickedness is this? This is TERRIBLE! Can you stop those ladies? PLEASE!"_

" _Dearie, I'll see what I can do. You just stay here for a minute. Vanessa will take care of everything, or at least I'll try. I'm sure there isn't a thing to worry about, I think."_

Vanessa found a satisfactory display of panic, worry and confusion all competing for center stage. So far, so good. She strode off in the direction taken by 'Julie Ann and Mary Jane'. First stop, Ryan.

"Three more hours to go before show time. Still plenty of time for hot dogs, popcorn and soda." thought Ryan. The men were getting anxious and running out of things to keep their minds busy. Vanessa came just in time. She hailed the men, saying that there was good news.

" _We've got Annie not knowing if she's or coming or going. Now she's afraid our two ladies of questionable virtue are going to turn her family home into a bordello. The kids are excited, hopeful and trusting. We can't let them down now! Melissa is at the house. She listened in on the conversation between Marianne and Rachel. Call Gustav and pass the word on that the ruse was a resounding success. I'm going to check on Jed Patterson. If something is amiss, I'll come right back. Good luck men. May this be jour last ride! God Speed, every one of you!"_

A great hurrah arose from seventeen soldiers of the North, despite their diminished numbers. This visit gave them courage, not to mention a few more discussion topics to pass the time with. It was a shame Vanessa couldn't stay to give a few more details on this Melissa lass. Well, there was always Ryan and he just might be persuaded to get Allen to spill some beans. Men like to gossip just as much as women, but they called it 'catching up on the latest news'.

Ryan could lean back and relax. There was fodder for morale boosting here to last the rest of the trip. He made no sign to his own men that Vanessa had even been there. His mind had begun to lock on to the end goal and he really didn't want distractions at the moment.

Annie laid low, keeping silent. She could 'see' Monkey above, like a dolphin might see a whale in slightly murky water. It seemed so unfair that such a warped part of her mind should wield such great power to cause so much misery. There was a barrier between them, much as the one that once separated Nighttime Annie from Mad Annie. It was translucent and, as long as she didn't get close, there was little chance that she would be noticed.

However, the more confused Monkey got, the thinner the barrier appeared. She thought about how Monkey had gotten Mad Annie to do her bidding. Part of her sensed that Monkey somehow attached herself behind Mad Annie without actually becoming united with her. Could she do the same? Could she do better? She carefully, softly and very silently edged toward the barrier as far from Monkey's peripheral field of vision as possible.

" _Jed? Private Jed Patterson? Are you there? It's me, Vanessa."_

" _I'm over here, ma'am. Thank you for coming. I was getting lonely."_

" _You're welcome, Jed. I guess you've been alone for a long time. Having you regain your wits was one of the best extra bonuses any of us could have wished for."_

" _Also pleased to put my feet on the ground. Been passing the time trying to remember some of the dance steps I learned back at Bolton Landing on Saturday nights. Not the same without a young lady though, but I'm not complaining."_

Vanessa felt so sorry for Jed. She knew the feeling of a life denied by the fruits of another's wickedness. Maybe she could do something for the man.

" _Jed, I want to check on something. It's important that you can make good contact with the children. Some spirits can touch, others can't."_

It hadn't occurred to Jed that the children he wanted to save might just pass through his strong arms. He looked horrified at the prospect. _"Mrs. Fitzgalen, what can I do?"_

" _I don't do well with mathematics, Jed. But Ryan taught we something that just might help. If I can hold the children, which I can, and you can hold me, then you can hold them. Do you see?"_

Jed scratched his beard and gazed at the ground. _"You're saying that, even if I can't directly see if I can carry the children, that if I can carry you and you can carry them, then I should be able to carry them, too?"_

" _(Not bad, Jed. If only events could have turned out differently for you, perhaps you might have been one hell of a man instead of one man in a Hell.) Private, I think you've got it. Now, I've a little time to spare. How's about you teach we one of those dance steps?"_

Jed balked. Private Jed Patterson, it turns out, was 'powerful shy'. He had been to Saturday night barn dances all right, with his sisters. Pretty ladies scared the life out of him, even though he would have given anything to be able to dance with one, once upon a time.

There was no time for being coy. Vanessa walked right up to Jed. Her eyes came to his chest pocket buttons. Now that he was off his horse and they were toe to toe, she was given a fuller appreciation of just how BIG this man was. Her left hand reached out and clasped his right hand. Jed gasped. The hand size comparison was not far from that of hers compared to Rebecca's. She took his left arm and put it around her waist and began to hum a slightly up-tempo version of 'Union Maid', leading him in a simple box step. The look of wonder on Jed's face was one that you might see on a child at Christmas. He took the greatest of care so as not to bruise such a flower, feeling clumsy and oafish. But with only a minute of practice, some of the old rhythms came back. Vanessa had expected flattened toes, but nothing of the sort was forthcoming.

The grace of this man! There was a waltz she had once been fond of, describing just such large men hired by logging companies to ride great logs down rapid waters. In fact, she could actually catch strains of the tune in the air. Vanessa began to sing. Her voice was a sweet rainfall to the parched heart of a very sad and remorseful man.

" _If you ask any girl in the village around,_

What pleases her most from her head to her toes?

She will say, 'I'm not sure if it's business of yours,

But I like to waltz with my log driver.'

Yes they go burling down, down the white waters.

That's where the log drivers learn to step lightly.

Burling down, down the white waters.

The log driver's waltz pleases girls completely."

All too soon, Vanessa had to bring it to a close. He wanted it to go on, but knew it couldn't. Duty called, as it always had in his life. Duty seemed to forever block his heart's desires. Jed Patterson wasn't a complainer though. He took what he had and made the best of it. The Union soldier took a step backward, bowed and dared a kiss to the hand of the wonderful lady that had made a very old man's dream come true.

" _Thank you most kindly, Mrs. Vanessa Fitzgalen. I will never forget you. If it all works out, perhaps you would allow me to teach you a few steps in Heaven, if the good Lord is willing to have me."_

" _Jed, you were sick. Now, you are well. I have to go now, but you keep in mind who it was that God's Son sought out. Wasn't it the sick, the blind, the lame? Wasn't it also the tax collectors, prostitutes and other riff-raff? Weren't they still His children? You're back in the fold now, Jed. Somewhere, your family is celebrating with angels. They're all waiting for you to come home."_

Vanessa walked back to the Homestead's Main House, leaving a very thoughtful spirit of a man. _"Lord bless you, Mrs. Vanessa Fitzgalen, for He certainly blessed me with you."_

"What the heck was that all about? Grant and Lee? Building a whorehouse? Phony names?" Melissa was perplexed. There was hardly anyone listening to either Mrs. Gladstone or that Spanish lady, so they weren't part of any show. Maybe they were rehearsing or something? But, that didn't seem right. And why was Allen still not around when his mother was here? He still showed up on the NAVSTAR circuit, traveling slow enough not to be in a car, too fast for a walk, too slow for a bike. What? A horse? Nice day for a ride, she supposed. But what did all of this have to do with all that hullabaloo that went on back up in New York?

Gustav had enjoyed listening via com-link to all the baloney they had fed Monkey. "Hope it gave her indigestion!" he thought, having been plagued with more of it recently. He listened to the band playing 'Union Maid'. It was far enough away from Vanessa that she hadn't realized that it was the faint strains of this band that inspired her to hum along.

He looked at the pocket watch he had bought at the TimeLine Souvenir Shop. It was three-thirty. One and a half hours till it all came together. This was the calm before the storm. He was feeling less calm by the minute, but noticed that the band had struck up a different ditty. "What is that song? Doesn't sound the least familiar. Kind of nice, though."

Sitting wasn't getting her anywhere, so, keeping her parasol over her left shoulder and her fan strategically fanning, she walked out. So far, no one she knew was in sight as she scanned the crowd. Wait. She spied a familiar bulk about a hundred plus feet to the northeast.

"Hammer? Is he everywhere?" Where there was Hammer, there were others like (ugh) Barry. Why are bikers here, of all people? Maybe they liked the muskets and cannons. Men liked things that banged. She stopped, snickered, and then went back to watching. He was preoccupied with, what? She squinted, putting her fan up to shade her eyes from the sun's glare. It looked like the fart head was talking to some women. Squint. "Uh-oh." She had better get closer if she saw what she thought she saw. The scene was lost in the crowd as she got off the porch but, soon enough, Melissa closed the distance to see a lively conversation going on between Allen's mother, her friend and Hammer. What's her name didn't seem pleased about the interchange. "Wait a minute. 'Spic Chic and Blondie'?"

"Well, well, well. We meet again, ladies."

Rachel and Marianne turned around after having purchased walkaway sundaes. The sudden shade had given them a moment's warning before the pest began his wittiest speech today.

Marianne smiled and in her nicest voice said, "Why, what a surprise to meet you here. Now, be a good little Godzilla and move on before we call security."

"Just a moment, now. There's no need to be snippy to old Hammer. He doesn't mean you no harm. We just started off on the wrong foot, that's all."

"My wrong foot will knock two balls into the side pocket. Move along!" she said, a little more strongly this time. Other patrons began to give them room. This wasn't part of the planned entertainment and no one wanted to be collateral damage. As it happens with group dynamics, it was hard for any one person in a crowd to take decisive action in offering assistance. What happened next took moments to transpire. The boom TV crew happened to be in just the right position, and had been panning the crowd for human-interest shots. It would have headlined the evening news, had not other events overshadowed this interesting vignette.

Rachel felt she had been a major wimp at The Inn. Payback time had arrived. She shoved her open parasol in his face. Hammer reflexively grabbed the parasol and Rachel let it go with no argument. That freed up her left hand to grab his belt, pull back and cram her sundae down the gap. Sadly, Hammer was not in the habit of wearing underwear. He roared his displeasure in a forward bent posture, eye to eye with Rachel. Between the volume level and the smell of his beer breath, Rachel backed up too quickly, tripped on her skirt of her dress and fell, unladylike, to the ground with a screech.

Marianne was caught by surprise by Rachel's audacity, but jumped in to play catch-up. However, she, too, was foiled by southern dressmakers. Ruffles and petticoats slowed her snap kick so that Hammer caught her foot easily. He had been in countless fights and size wasn't the only thing that made Hammer a biker legend. He had a fighter's instincts.

Unfortunately, he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. Hammer flipped the leg up, sending Marianne yowling backwards to land on top of Rachel, her sundae sailing over the crowd. Hammer's right leg went forward and he had every intention of taking another step.

Melissa had the presence of mind to hike up her skirts before slipping in between two tourists and drop kicking the inverted 'V' between Hammer's lead and trailing leg. She heard and felt the ice cream 'squish' and quickly faded back into the crowd. The cameraman caught the dairy queen slam-dunk, the mouth that roared, two flying females, the Bruce Lee can-can and the fall of the roaming empire. Security arrived half a minute after the Belle bolted. The ranking officer ordered the other two to secure the man who was rolling on the ground, mumbling and moaning, "Not again!"

Seeing the camera crew, the ranking security officer asked if they got any of what happened. Rachel wanted out of there, but Marianne said she wanted to know who chopped down the tree. Cat perked up her ears. Mysteries were fun.

Gustav came huffing up to the site. He had heard the conflict on com-link, but there was no direction provided as to where it was taking place. He had called security only to have two hundred and eighty pairs of eyes looking all over the place for a commotion. Three security people had found the right location, but things had happened so fast that the team was only halfway there when the boom camera crew witnessed the event's end. The boom equipment sported an expanded replay screen. Heads crowded to see it all, first in real time. That took eighteen seconds, counting from parasol parry to 'whump'.

"Again," said Rachel. "Half speed, but back it off first." The perspective backed off to include more of the crowd.

"STOP. Now, tenth speed." Rachel and the others saw a birds eye view of the intrusion of a young blond woman between an older man and a heavy-set woman. She wore a period dress and her hair was up in a stylish knot with wisps of hair trailing down. They watched as her hands hiked up the multiple skirts of her dress.

"STOP. Frame by frame, half second intervals." The system was excellent. There was no blurring due to motion, but no doubt that the foot now visible was traveling at a nasty speed.

Impact. The faces of men scrunched in sympathy. "Freeze that. Now focus on that woman, full frame." The view showed the forehead, hair, nose, and... "Stick to the face, frame by frame, until we get a view of it and crop the cleavage, Clyde." A red faced technician complied. The face of the unknown heroine was finally caught during her attempt to blend back into the crowd. "Freeze it! Can you get me a print?"

The security chief asked Rachel if she recognized the woman. Rachel shook her head no, but kept the print in case they met later so that the woman could be properly thanked. The security head knew full well that she had just lied through her teeth. He didn't make his rank by being gullible. But the lady had her reasons and authority here as well. After she left, he ordered a copy of the disc for his personal records, which would be played tonight to the tune of pizza and beer before all of his security buds. This was going to make them howl.

Rachel got away from the crowd, which wasn't easy, and speed connected her SatCom. The horse riders' com-links weren't turned on yet. "Ryan! Melissa's here! Were you aware of that?"

"I had heard that from Vanessa. Hoped it to be a coincidence. Lot of college kids here today. What happened?"

"Next time your Vanessa tells my son to 'ditch the bitch', point me at her so I can tell her where to stick it. Melissa just saved our backsides from that big bad biker man we told you about from The Inn. We Southern Belles tried to take him on and got knocked on our cans. TV cameraman caught it all. We slow-mo'd it and got a clear picture of Melissa. She dropkicked the moose as he was beginning his final charge, then blended back into the crowd. Ryan, Allen needs to know this. We don't need him being distracted by a surprise meeting."

"Agreed. Sorry not to have informed you about Melissa. I honestly didn't think it was important. My mistake. Places everyone. Soldier com-links will go active in twenty minutes. Ryan out."

"Ryan, did I hear you say the name of my ex-girlfriend just now?"

"Allen, if you have an ounce of common sense in that gifted brain of yours, I would unburn any bridges you have regarding Melissa. Gather round everyone, Fitzgalen has a tale to tell."

Everyone did just that, despite the ongoing backfires of Thunder. The story was worth it, spirits soared and tongues wagged. Allen just rode along, silently taking it all in and thinking, until Thunder perfectly punctuated the fall of Hammer. No one, mortal or spirit, could see straight after that.

"Ladies and gentlemen. It is with deep regret that we inform all of you good visitors that there has been a failure in the peace agreement between the North and the South. Despite desperate 11th hour efforts at 'round the clock' peace talks, it looks like there is going to be one more conflict.

"Both sides have agreed to the safety of non-combatants. If you good people would proceed to the areas marked off for your viewing pleasure, the battle will begin at precisely four-thirty."

The administration had wanted to add a disclaimer that this would only be a mock battle and that no one would actually get hurt. 'War of the Worlds' had proven that some people will believe almost anything they see or hear no matter how many times you tell them 'It Ain't Necessarily So'. However, their largest financial supporter and very long-time board member had insisted on keeping that part out of the announcements. He had insisted on notification through the advertising, the flyer schedules, signs at each roped off public safety area, and with the security and guide personnel who were stationed at each of those areas. The people were to have all the realism possible, und dat vas an order.

" _Vanessa, did I hear what I just heard? It's starting again? The war? Here? That's impossible! The war was over long ago. Viewing PLEASURE?!"_

" _Annie, I had always understood that there were pockets of resistance to the war's end that never surrendered the fight. There are rumored to be fourteen states that have never since spoken to each other, cutting off all trade agreements. Unity has been a sticking point with Congress all these years."_

" _But those ladies said that Grant and Lee were coming to sign the treaty. They CAN'T still be alive."_

" _The ladies, or Grant and Lee?"_

" _You nitwit, Grant and Lee, of course!"_

" _Sounds hard to believe, I know. Army commanders take on the names of those leaders, kind of like the Pope takes on a different name when he ascends to the Vatican or a nun will change her name when she takes vows."_

" _But, Vanessa, how can fighting between anyone last that long? They'd have killed each other off long ago. There can't be anyone left!"_

" _You'd think not, but many wars are multi-generational; Southeast Asia, Africa, Eastern Europe. Some of those areas have been under war conditions so long that no one can conceive of it being any other way. As for dying off, well people make babies, don't you know, and babies grow up (if allowed to)."_

In Annie's mental state, Vanessa's answers sounded almost reasonable. Certainly the sights before her fit what she had heard. Vanessa had made every effort to appear both air-headed and respectfully solemn at the gravity of this development. Inside, Vanessa was recalling an old program she used to like, long ago. _("What a Mission Impossible episode this would have made.")_

Jed heard the announcement. _"Well, Coaljack, here it comes. The riders will be by shortly. Whatever happens, old friend,"_ he said while patting the horse's neck, _"...we'll see it out together. One last ride and then May God have mercy on our souls."_

Jed got up on Coaljack, not liking the sound of that last thought. Seemed too much like something you would hear at a hanging. Steeling himself, he looked down the exit path from the graveyard. _"Mrs. Edwards, I hope you can only kill a man once. Let's go, Coaljack."_

Allen, Ryan and Ralph were coming up on the last leg of the journey. They could now hear through the com-links what everyone was saying. The announcer looked at his watch. 3... 2... 1...

The noise of three-thousand voices raised in battle cry punctuated by two-hundred and four authentically reproduced and strategically located cannons, followed by thousands of black powder guns going off was enough to wake the dead. In this case, it sure got their attention. Annie, down deep, heard it clearly. The barrier between her and her remaining self went away, completely. She moved slowly, quietly, and positioned herself behind her other self, then would not move again until she knew it was time to.

Monkey was wonderfully shocked. The war had never come to her door, not like this. There were so many sounds and sights. Dust and smoke were everywhere. There was yelling, shooting, screaming. Foolish parents who brought toddlers and infants added to the mix with juvenile screeching and their frightened calls for the battle to stop. That only served to make it especially realistic. Parents who insisted on the educational experience for their wee ones had to sign a waiver for any emotional trauma that might result. Gustav had made sure of that. Bugles were heard from a dozen different directions, which made it impossible to lock onto any one of them. That many participants made for a scope of battle action to where no one watching was denied the experience of a lifetime. Skirmishes were everywhere. One thousand two hundred of the men were mounted and the cavalry charges were sights no one would likely ever forget.

The 'mortal' men of the ghost platoon were also shocked. All three ripped out the earphones that were not designed for that kind of volume of transmitted sound. The automatic sound dampening circuits weren't capable of handling this kind of load. That capacity only came with the models used by the military. It was one of the many planning mistakes, and was by no means the worst one.

No one was prepared for the scope of what they had created as it took on a life force of its own. The men who took part in its performance were caught up in the adrenalin rush of war and, despite precautions, there were injuries (powder burns, ankle sprains, a lot of laryngitis cases, corneal abrasions from dirt/dust/powder flashbacks, a dozen fractures, mostly due to falling over 'dead' or falling over the 'dead', and a whole lot of bruises). Some cries of the 'wounded' sounded awfully real, because they were.

Major Covington was no stranger to such sounds and Ryan had to do some quick legwork to keep him from charging into battle. The Major looked sheepish and shook his head. _"Old soldiers never die completely, do they Private Ryan?"_

"We're proof of that, Major."

Ryan, too, was an old soldier, though with none of the battle experience of the type suffered by the men around him. His battles were different, but it was enough that the bond between him and the Major was very real and deep. They both nodded slightly to each other in full mutual understanding, then rode on to battle.

Vanessa was with the children. They were told by her many times what to expect, but how could they ever conceive of something like this? Dead or not, they were terrified and needed comforting. Monkey Annie watched as another woman succored her children, aching to go and do likewise and frustrated all the more that something in her being was keeping her from doing so. _"What is wrong with me? Those are my children. They are MY responsibility. Why can't I leave this porch?!"_ Those thoughts were temporarily put on hold. Riding down the road was a cavalry troop of two hundred, complete with caissons and artillery. They wore Union blue. The memories that this brought back washed away all other thoughts, including those controlling the spirits of the real Union Army soon to make the scene. It was an unexpected advantage in the balance of the whims of war.

Melissa had taken up shelter in the women's powder room. It wouldn't do to be seen by Allen's new friends (choke). She had no business being there and it seemed stupid now to ever have come. She had been able to get into the Main House by complaining her eyes were getting irritated, and she didn't have to put on an act this time. Melissa was crying her eyes out.

Jed joined the Union Army, again, though his new comrades ignored him, not because of any madness. They just couldn't see him. They were in no hurry at all, which suited Jed just fine. This was the tricky part. He would soon be fully exposed to the woman who had every capability and desire to crush him. _"Lord? Sure could use your helping hand here. I'd be much obliged."_

Timing was crucial. In all the other skirmishes, there were fudge factors. Not here. One hundred and twenty members of 'Johnny Reb' and 'Stars and Bars' chapters of the Timeline Civil War groups came around the barn and spotted the 'Northern Light Brigade' invading Southern soil. The 'Rebel Yell' was, according to old documentaries, something like you might hear from the bowels of Hell itself. It had never since been reproduced because it took the rush of war to bring it out, until now. The passion of the moment, though choreographed, was real, salted by echoes of old and hidden animosities that never really died in the South. The intensity and downright scariness even took the Union men by surprise, regardless of their previous military experience. The only thing that had ever come close to it in real battle situations were bagpipes but, despite arguments to the contrary, bagpipes were tuned, timed and musical. Not this. It was pure emotion in raw form. The Yell was the prelude to a volley of fire that was now at close range to the players of a far greater drama. It was all everyone could do to keep to the plan.

Monkey Annie's eyes were drawn away from her children in favor of the gallant Southern Army. The sight of 'her boys' was one that would have brought tears to her eyes, if she had tears to shed. She yelled and waved her encouragements to them, having now bought the deception hook, line, and fishing pole. _"Get them boys! Drive Sherman back to Hell! Hurrah, Hurrah! God save Jefferson Davis!"_

Vanessa had made it back to the children, but could still catch a glimpse the wild look on Annie's face. Now was the time to act, or never. She looked behind her, holding onto Jason and Rebecca who were clinging tightly to her. Jed caught her signal and walked up to them, holding Coaljack's reins in his left hand.

" _Hello, I'm Jed. You must be Jason and Rebecca. Kids, its time to leave this place."_

For Jason and Rebecca, time stopped and the outside racket became distant. This was the man their dearest friend had kept telling them about, the one who was going to take them away from their daily horror, yet he was the man who had killed their mother and had been killed by her. Vanessa saw their conflict, despite all her best efforts, and didn't know what to do. When nothing else came to mind, she took Jed's free right hand and held it in her own.

" _You have to trust him children. I do. Your mother was helpless before him this morning and he carried her to the porch with love in his heart. This is not the man that was. He has changed, as we hope to have your mother change. We can't do that without your help. Please, you have to trust us."_

Rebecca was loath to let go of Vanessa's skirt, but Jason took the bull by the horns. _"Very well, Private Patterson. Let's saddle up and move out."_ Jed saluted the young man and got up on his horse. Jason returned the salute. Vanessa handed the children to Jed, Jason first, and he held them at his left side as he leaned a bit to the right. He had to block them from Monkey Annie's view as best he could.

Vanessa wanted desperately to look back, but that might prove disastrous. She went straight to Annie, who was still cheering on the boys in gray, to add her own Reb encouragements to the chorus. To her horror, she saw Annie turn her gaze to the Union men who were returning fire, but there were so many of them that she didn't recognize Jed riding on the far side of a group that was spurring their mounts forward in a flanking maneuver.

Melissa couldn't help but have her depression rattled by the noise. She left the powder room to stand by the settee she had previously occupied. Looking through the window was like viewing a war zone through a time portal. "Holy!" There wasn't an expletive noun to tie into sufficient to what was before her. She knew there was going to be a mock battle, but this was more than that. The glass was vibrating and pieces of reproduced vintage plaster were falling down. It was one of the details that had escaped event planners. Melissa went to the open door and was met with an even greater battle panorama. She searched for another expletive, but none seemed sufficient for the task.

There was a young woman leaning on the porch banister also taken up with the horrible grandeur. Melissa walked up to her, and the girl turned around. They had to yell to each other to be heard.

"You made it! Eyes better? I'm Nicole."

"Melissa. Thanks. Did you expect it to be like this?"

"No one did. Isn't it amazing?"

"I've never seen anything like this, ever. Are we OK here?"

"Yeah, this is a safe zone. Kind of like home base for 'tag'. Don't leave the porch."

"Didn't enter my mind, but thanks."

Vanessa never caught the exchange, being occupied with keeping Annie's attention on the soldiers in gray. Neither young woman saw the three people watching them from inside the Homestead Main House. They had entered by the back door and spotted Nicole and Melissa on the front porch. Melissa had stepped back a bit when two Union men fell right in front of them, 'felled' by a Southern volley. Realism was high priority in this one area. The players were told that it was for the documentary being filmed by the crews on top of the house and on the nearby boom camera.

The two that fell activated small pouches of red latex, which burst out from vents placed in their jacket fronts. They did a commendable job of passing away and playing possum. Nicole didn't move back, having been better briefed on what was to occur. That left Melissa backing up out of Nicole's line of sight and that was what the three watchers were waiting for. Melissa had zero warning of the male hands that had simultaneously covered her mouth and pulled her back into the house. Nicole noted her absence half a minute later, but figured Melissa went back to the powder room. After all, her eyes were still pretty red.

Vanessa had all she could do to keep Annie's attention directed at the combatants. They had one last ace in the hole, just in case. The flanking Union Cavalry had lost half their riders. In the interest of safety, none of them fell to the ground. They just slumped over and kept going forward and out of the combat arena (only to show up in another assigned combat area). It still looked real enough, more so than in past enactments (re-enactments had planned outcomes, while enactment results were up for grabs). They used to have problems getting soldiers to die off, because none of them wanted to stop playing the game. Now, laser devices on the guns and warning devices on the soldiers actually told who was killed, wounded, or still alive and well. Random aiming fudge factors were embedded into the software, reproducing even the inaccuracies of the firearms of the period.

Jed kept riding, now with the children seated in front of him. The angles of sight now favored that position to keep them out of their mothers view. He wasn't sure how far he had to ride to reach the point of no return, but he knew that to rush it was to attract attention. He tried to slump forward as much as possible to imitate the other soldiers, but not crush the kids.

"Keep your mouth shut, Melissa, and it will be alright. For God's sake, don't make a noise."

Melissa felt the hands that held her slowly release. She fearfully and slowly turned around and faced Gustav, flanked by Rachel and Marianne. Rachel put her finger up to her own lips in a universal 'hush' sign, not that normal conversation would ever penetrate the din outside. Gustav closed the door, Marianne closed the window that had been opened earlier by Melissa.

Rachel began. "Dear Melissa, do you know this person?" She handed her the picture, revealing Melissa's failure to remain covert earlier, and Melissa nodded sheepishly. "Marianne and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts. There is something going on here that is too complicated for us to explain. You may stay here with us and watch for now. That's all we can really do for the moment. This is a staging area for something about to happen that's bigger than what you see out there. You're in no danger, so there's nothing to worry about."

She was wrong.

Despite Vanessa's best efforts, the inevitable happened. When the ghost squad of real Union Cavalry began to arrive, Monkey Annie's attention was wrenched away from the enactment. She looked west, then northwest. Nothing that had happened could compare with her incredulity of seeing the space reserved for her children now only showing smoke and dust. It was difficult to tell, at first, for there was carefully planned running back and forth of Union ground troops confusing the view, but they couldn't block it entirely without risking Monkey Annie feeling the need to check on her children personally. It took Monkey Annie ten seconds of desperate searching for her to realize that they were gone. They could not have gone under their own power, someone else had to have taken them. She turned and looked hard at Vanessa.

Vanessa saw the fire rage in Annie's eyes, and it was aimed right at her. She couldn't run now. _"Annie, Honey, what is it? What's troubling you? You look awful!"_

" _WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN!? YOU were the last one to see them, the last one with them. What did you DO with them?"_

" _Oh my God, Annie, they were right there when I left them!"_ True. It wouldn't have done to have Vanessa reveal the body language of lying to a most observant opponent, which was why she had to turn her back on the kids once they were in Jed's care. _"I honestly don't know where they are!"_ Also true, but she did know who they were with.

Monkey Annie could detect no falsehood, which was difficult to do at best given the level of insanity that was all around. Where could she direct her anger? She turned west again and got her answer.

Major Covington, Private Elijah Cooper and Ryan Fitzgalen came out of the woods side by side. Behind the Major rode Ralph (who gauged his distance from the Major only by the one rider that he could see) flanked by two more soldiers. The next row had Allen, likewise flanked. There were three more rows of three behind them, and one more row of two. The first thing they saw, to their astonishment and great joy, was that there were no children in their path. Their steeds, no longer registering the targets Monkey had programmed deep in their minds, were now fully under their riders' control.

Vanessa saw her friend's alter ego's hair bristle and felt what she could only describe as a chill. That was unusual for someone who could stand in an arctic snowstorm and feel no different than if she were lounging in Death Valley at noon. An angry spirit was gathering for the storm, like an impending tsunami will draw waters from shorelines. Vanessa saw, through the Main House front porch window, four people inside the house, looking confused and worried. She could see the mists of their breathing.

Private Jed Patterson was a hundred feet from the house. Jason bit his lip, but was able to remain faced forward. He held onto Rebecca, who did not have that kind of will power when it came to her mother. She looked back.

Nicole felt the chill to her bones and fled the porch (against the rules). When she was thirty feet from the porch, the feeling stopped. The panes of glass condensed the moisture from the air in growing intricate patterns of frost. Activity of the fighters within the energy gathering field stopped as they, too, wondered. Monkey Annie saw little of this, but what she did see happen raised her level of hate another notch. The soldiers that 'died' in the line of duty got up, rubbing their arms and looking frightened.

" _So it was all a grand trick to get my children. And the grandest trickster of them all was the one I called friend, the only one I felt I could trust. "Vanessa!"_ she snarled, and then turned the malevolence she had intended for the soldiers full force at the traitor.

Vanessa saw it coming. She couldn't leave her post without endangering the chances of the children. She closed her eyes and thought of them and the ones she had come to love during her great many years on the earth. She instinctively raised her arms up in front of her in a reflex attempt to ward off the bolt that was sure to come from her best friend.

Ryan saw it too; the build-up, the moist breath, the clapping of arms. He saw the look on Monkey's face change with the raising of the 'dead' and realized how horribly he had miscalculated. There was one last ace in the hole in the form of a speed connect on his SatCom. He pressed it, initiating his greatest miscalculation of all.

Cannons continued to roar all along, as did muskets firing and men yelling. The climax was a hundred carefully placed charges all around the property, which would give the appearance of cannonballs landing and exploding. They began going off. It bought time, but precious little of it.

The sound stopped Jed in his tracks, one hundred and twenty feet from the Main House. He reined in Coaljack off to the side of the main road and turned to look in wonder as the countryside erupted in geysers of smoke and dirt. The Main House itself was near several 'hits' and he could see the dirt landing on the house and yard. It was a huge error. Rebecca and Jason both screamed out to their mother. She heard them, and turned.

Jed realized his mistake and did what he could to make up for it. Coaljack was spurred on for all the speed he could muster, but it was like swimming against a raging current. Monkey Annie reached out and held Coaljack, despite the horse's valiant efforts to pound its way to freedom for himself and his master. The spiritual air was split by Coaljack's fierce war whinny blending with Jed's rallying cry to his beloved mount.

The personality shard now called Monkey had indeed been taken by surprise by the explosions, smoke and dirt, but by now, she had seen so much insanity that she had grown numb to it all. The image of cannon destruction of her beloved Homestead only fueled the fires of hatred against anyone that had betrayed her, and that was everyone. There was no one to be careful about anymore, not with her children abducted. It didn't matter who was destroyed. The nearest would do. That would be: Vanessa.

The power of the bolt of hatred was visible to mortal eye. Even to the least sighted, Monkey Annie was highlighted now by the bolt's glow as a specter straight from where nightmares come from. Men and women, confused over the weather change and disoriented by the explosions, had their attention drawn to the Homestead house. What they saw then was frightening. What followed on the porch terrified them.

Knowing she was about to wink out of existence, a split moment decision by Vanessa opened her eyes. She saw Monkey Annie glow, then release complete destruction at her. She saw her own arms extended and her left wrist flash like a magnesium flare. The bolt was deflected in a hundred different directions, including straight back. The windows of the house imploded into a fine dust, shingles from the porch roof flew up as if firecrackers had been placed under them, men and women felt darts of heat strike and leave random second-degree burns. The camera crew on top of the house saw their equipment rendered useless as electronic components smoldered. Monkey Annie herself felt the backlash of her own power, a taste of her own medicine. She didn't like it one bit. The backlash weakened her and that was what her counterpart was waiting for.

From behind, Vanessa's best friend grasped her angry counterpart and hung on for all she was worth. It was like trying to remove a burr from the middle of your back. However, Annie was not able to do much to influence the rage of her other half, yet. This was a 'learn as you go' situation.

From the outside, it looked like Monkey Annie was having a seizure. Her eyes were rolled up, teeth clenched and lips pulled back to release a raging snarl. She would shake her shoulders as if trying to break a grip from behind, which was exactly what was happening inside. When Monkey Annie found that her rider couldn't control her, she decided to deal with Vanessa first and her other self later.

The first strike was a spectacular failure. So, Monkey Annie reached out her right hand (her left hand was preoccupied with Coaljack), all fingers spread, and from it came a force less intense, but more constant. Vanessa instinctively did the same, her left hand forward, the bracelet glowing. Between the combatants a corona of greenish gold light began to glow. Vanessa's beloved enemy upped the gain and the resistance from Vanessa followed suit to match it. Check and counter check. The glow brightened. As force and counterforce grew, once again the wavelengths given off by the entities were spread over a wider spectrum. Some of that was perceptible by human eyes and recording devices.

The boom camera crew that had first spotted Melissa was now focused on the disturbance. "Christ, will you take a look at that! Is this part of the program?" Their camera had been left on the front of the Main House, having been told that it would be the site of some pretty real looking fighting. But this?

Monkey Annie had plenty of practice extending her influence to bend others to her will. Vanessa didn't and, even with the help of the bracelet to focus her resistance, began to stagger back.

" _I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, Annie. Please, let it go. Follow your children and cross over to where you belong."_

In a voice completely bereft of pity, _"Be silent, Dearie. Save your strength, not that it will do you any good."_

The four in the house were staring through what used to be a paned window. They could see the clear outlines of Monkey and Vanessa. What was more, their voices could be heard; distant, discernable, and with growing clarity, especially since local noise had died down. The cannon fire was to be both the climax of the evening and the signal for combatants to lay down their arms and come to terms.

Jed was still held in thrall, but strained with Coaljack none-the- less. If nothing else, he could at least help drain some of Mrs. Edward's energy away from those who fought her on the front lines.

Major Covington was about to ride to the aid of Vanessa when Ryan stopped him.

" _Ryan, I have never shirked my duty to a battle yet and I am not about to start now!"_

"Major, you fought your war! If you ride Annie Edwards down now you may destroy what we have worked too long and too hard for. The best thing you can do is to lead your men away from her and help Jed and the children. That is your objective Major and I claim the right to command it. That is an ORDER, Ben, and a plea from a friend! Ride now! The effort will further distract Annie and we'll have a better chance to save her! Give Jed a hand with the children! Go, Ben! NOW!"

The Major let out a cry of command and sixteen men added their voices as the ghost army spurred forward towards Jed and the children. Monkey Annie felt them passing and was, for a moment, undecided on what to do, then let the Union men go. She was managing to hold Patterson and her children and that should be her priority, but this witch before her that had so coldly betrayed her was just too satisfying a target to lighten up on. In the end, she tried to have both. She turned up the power even more. She couldn't do that forever, but she wouldn't have to. That pitiful apprentice witch couldn't withstand her much longer.

Vanessa stepped back again, wearing down. Rachel and Marianne were on the porch now and could see her plainly from behind. Both instinctively reached forward at the same time to keep Vanessa from falling backwards. Their hands caught her shoulders and arms and they got her back upright in preparation to pull her back.

" _DONT PULL ME AWAY!"_

Both women looked at each other, then back at Vanessa. There was just too much going on too fast to allow them even a moment to be amazed at the physical contact just accomplished between spirit and mortal. There was also too much distraction for both women to realize that there were eighteen more mounted soldiers in clear view than there had been a moment before. Rachel called out to her. "We can see and hear you Vanessa! What is it you want us to do?"

" _Keep your hands where they are. I think I can draw power from you. I don't feel so weak anymore. Wait a minute. I'm sensing, something. I need, what?"_

Vanessa closed her eyes and saw possibilities, like she was being directed or guided in what to do. She saw the three of them and Annie as points on a plane and it felt incomplete. She didn't need a triangle. She needed, a diamond. With the two assisting her, she could balance Annie's onslaught for the time being, but already she felt her opponent waxing more powerful. It was only a matter of time.

" _I need someone as a bridge between you two."_ She thought about it, quickly. There was something about it that was just, beyond _..."Female! It has to be female. The diamond has to be in harmony."_

Ryan had gotten to the porch moments before, but knew better than to interfere at this point. They were dealing with unknown rules now and a mistake could spell disaster. This sucked woodpecker eggs.

Marianne called out, "Melissa! We need your help! Put a hand on each of our shoulders and hold on!"

Melissa didn't know Marianne well at all, but she had a healthy respect for Allen's mother. The fact that she was Allen's mother then kicked in. "Why not?" Her hands made contact with the two other women's shoulders and the circuit locked in. Melissa felt her hands pulled magnetically onto both contacts. It seemed like it would be difficult for her to pull them away even if she chose to. She had no intention of trying.

Allen now stood at Ryan's right side. "Ryan, I can see her, them, both of them. What's going on?" That saved Ralph from asking the same question as he took position on Ryan's left. Gustav was in the doorway. All felt the floorboards as they trembled in resonance to the power being wielded.

"It's a stand-off. Monkey is trying to get at Vanessa. The spirit of that girl she tried to rescue just before she died somehow altered that bracelet of hers. It's channeling Vanessa's energy into a defense screen of sorts. Vanessa is using the women as power booster packs and configuration makes a difference. I don't have a clue as to how she knows where to put whom. Maybe that's being channeled into her by that bracelet as well. We can't do anything until we're told to or we risk upsetting the balance."

Ralph asked "What about help? How about our Annie, or the soldiers? Are they gone?"

"Our Annie is trying to help, I think. Monkey had some sort of seizure a minute ago. I think that was a confrontation from the inside. She still tries to shake it off every minute or so. I think we need to weaken her further, but how? I don't know! Monkey has Jed, Coaljack and the kids in her clutches and they can't cross over. The other soldiers are trying to help, but they don't know how."

The forth part of the diamond made a tremendous difference. The balance in symmetry gave a grace to Vanessa's defense. Monkey Annie's power draw was now divided between the women in front of her, keeping her children and Patterson from leaving, and trying to keep that gnat from burrowing any deeper into her back. She could do it, but it was wearing. _"More power."_

Coaljack began to slowly lose ground. Jed's comrades didn't know how to help him other than by shouting encouragement. They were still stuck to their saddles and that severely limited their ability to lend a hand. They carried no ropes or tethers of any kind for them to use. Taking the children now was too risky. Jed didn't know if any of the other men could make physical contact with them strong enough to keep them out of Monkey's paws. Jed was doing fine there and it seemed the wrong thing to do to try and change it. Major Covington gave orders, for any plan beat no plan, no matter how stupid it sounded.

" _York! Berdsley! Grab onto Coaljack's harness leather and pull! Raskoskie! Lorriman! In the back, get your mounts against Coaljack's rump and push! The rest of you, cheer on your comrade. He's one of us now, by God!"_

And cheer they did. Like the weary runner whose loved ones are there at the finish line for him, Jed took heart from his return to the brotherhood of soldiery. Coaljack felt the renewed strength from his master and gave it all he had. His losing ground stopped and he once again began to go back upstream, inch by hard-won inch.

Monkey Annie felt the change. Another decision. Vanessa and her team had stymied her efforts, but she felt sure she could overcome them. If she diverted her attention from that battle, the delicate balance might shift the tide against her. She may not be able to stop the snowball once it started. _"Let the Union boys struggle. The South has risen. There's still time to have them all back in my apron pocket. More power."_

Vanessa closed her eyes again. She could use the available force better with time, but time was limited. She needed amps. She needed brawn.

" _Man-power! Ryan, hold on to Melissa's shoulders, both of them."_

Ryan had been waiting for this. It made sense. She was going to power link them like in-line generators. Symmetry was the key here. He already had the magnetic alignment to be the gun barrel. Next, she was going to ask for...

" _Allen, Ralph, repeat what Rachel and Marianne did, now!"_

Both men bolted forward and latched their hands onto Ryan. The power raised another level. Monkey Annie was now forced to a decision. Something had to give. If she dropped her offense, it would leave her open to destruction. Then all would be lost anyway. There was only one way left for her by the machinations of that Northern tart.

So be it. _"Goodbye, my children. Ask God to forgive me for my sins."_

Private Jed Patterson shot forward as though he had just left the starting gate at the races, barely managing to keep his hold on the children. The two men whose hands had grasped Coaljack's harness leather felt themselves spun around by the sudden force. The other men yelled their joy and took off after him. Private Cooper took up the rear guard, for the men had thrown caution to the wind and the Major was in the lead heading them east. He watched as Patterson and the children winked out, then fifteen more, led by the Major. He felt his own self beginning to cross, but hard-reined a full stop when an angelic-looking figure blocked his path. It was...a black woman? The figure spoke no word to him, but raised a robed arm and pointed to the west. Elijah turned to look.

The glow of the pitched battle had risen. His eyes went back to where his comrades had gone. Private Elijah Cooper had done his duty to them and his Commanding Officer. He looked at the figure, again. This time, she spoke. _"Missy Vanessa needs your help."_

" _Turn around, Freedom. We have one more duty to perform."_

Both protagonists now were clearly visible to any unsighted eye. The level of power from the corona between them must have finally reached far enough, for the boom crew's equipment malfunctioned. All the light bulbs in the house had long since exploded and anything glass had been hit with so many harmonics that a million dollars of antique glasswork was now vacuum bag filler. Anyone who had ever shivered from a ghost story had long since left, and that was everyone except the Fitzgalen Family. The unknown was man's greatest fear monger and it just didn't get much more unknown than this. About the closest anyone would get was a tenth of a mile down the main road behind trees and bushes, and those were the brave few. The rest were still running, for few thought to invest the time to go searching for their cars.

Without Jed to distract her, Monkey Annie could devote all of her attention to the job at hand. Her other self seemed to have eased her annoying digging into her back. Hopefully, she was too pooped to do any more. There was still the occasional twinge, but that was all. Perhaps that part of her died off. No big loss. The force she still wielded was considerable, and she still drew from the surrounding area. The region of cold now extended over a hundred feet. There was a cost, though: she was getting more brittle. _"More power."_

Vanessa felt Monkey Annie raise the stakes. She matched it, barely. The men had added a lot to the circuit. Could they do more? She closed her eyes, but didn't get a feel for what to do, other than what had been done already.

Monkey Annie felt her own power matched. It was a stalemate unless she could up it one more time. It had helped that all that blasted noise had stopped. Even the birds had sought friendlier climes and the bugs had burrowed for cover. Now, one more time. She could do it. _"More (gasp) power!"_

Gustav had been watching. Vanessa hadn't called him in yet. Why? Should he wait? The glow got just a tad brighter and he saw his side weakening. There was a leak in the dike. It would just get bigger if unchecked. The little Dutch boy walked forward.

Elijah Cooper felt his skin tingle from the emanations of the strangest skirmish he had ever witnessed. Mrs. Edwards must have completely released him from her power, for Freedom was responsive to him even at this close range. Between that and the energy corona he was being subjected to, something else happened to his great pleasure and relief.

Annie had burrowed inside her other self. There had once been a great strength reserve here, but it was becoming depleted and brittle. That vast reservoir was now almost a hollow chamber that relied on the outside forces she was channeling into. She stepped into the power, carefully, so as not to make so much as a ripple. She felt the exhaustion from her night's labors recede. Still, she kept covert. It wasn't time yet, she knew.

Gustav placed one hand on each of his good friend's shoulders, not knowing what else to do. He felt power surge from hand to hand through his body like he was hooked up to a generator.

Vanessa felt the change, then closed her eyes and saw the answer. That's what the answer was! Something in her had blocked that part of the equation. Why? It was obvious. Double diamond, grace in front, force behind. She saw it in her mind and saw that parts of it were not in synch. It had to balance like a laser or lose most of its potential. She molded the field that the double diamond was set in, tuning it. Now, _"MORE POWER!"_

Monkey Annie was taken by surprise. She had seen the old man take his place in line, but he was too elderly to make a difference. She had sensed his frailness, shored up with witch doctor lotions and potions. It wasn't his strength that had caused this much of a change. What was it? She didn't know and began to panic. So close to victory, so close to the edge. There was only enough left for a short burst. She reached deep for all she had left, and then...

" _Pardon me, ma'am, but would you please direct this poor Union soldier to the little boy's room?"_ Private Cooper had happily left his horse, Freedom, crept up behind Mrs. Edwards and dropped in what he had hoped would be enough distraction for his friends to make the final stroke decisive.

This was the time for which Annie was waiting. She saw the weak point in what had become a house of cards and pushed with all her might. Monkey shattered like the glass in her home.

The corona of force evaporated as though someone pulled the plug. Vanessa's force had been completely defensive, fortunately. Had it been offensive, Annie would have ceased to exist as a coherent force of any kind and joined the universe as little more than solar static. Annie fell backwards onto one of the porch chairs. The double-diamond team felt the connection not only cease, but felt their hands repelled from each others' shoulders as if someone had switched the polarities of touching magnets. Fatigue took the helm and all either held onto a banister or a doorway. One fell over the side porch railing and landed on the shrubbery.

Chapter 26 – GOODBYE

" _Annie? Are you all right? Is it you?"_

" _Yes, Dear, I'm alright. It's nice of you to ask. How are you doing?"_

" _Tired, very tired, but OK, I think. Ryan?"_

"I need a week in Jamaica, starting yesterday. Role call, minus the ghost vote, since they seem to be feeling reasonably chipper. Allen?"

"Piece of cake, G cubed. Hoo man, but I'm dizzy though."

"Marianne?"

"I want a raise, two months vacation and a company car."

"Your usual resilient self. Ralph?"

"You didn't tell me about the fine print."

"Hacks, never satisfied. Rachel?"

"Was it good for you, too?"

"MOTHER!"

"Oops."

"You'll be back on your feet soon too, I see. Melissa?"

"Does it count against me that I can't think of something witty?"

"That will come in time. Being a wise ass is a requirement here, but you have wonderful role models. Gustav?"

" _I feel pretty good, Chief, better than ever in fact. But there's a small, um, complication."_

The weary smiles dropped. Everyone turned and looked at Gustav. He was standing on the side of the porch near the door next to the side railing. There was a most peculiar look on his face, and he was back in his three-piece suit. Gustav looked at them and pointed down over the side of the porch. Allen was nearest and, since he was also the youngest (or was until Melissa showed up), he was defacto elected to see what it was Gustav was pointing at.

"Crap on a cupcake!"

That perked Ralph's curiosity enough to haul himself up and look. "Holy shit!"

Melissa was next to arrive. "Oh my God, Allen!" She held onto him tightly. Marianne and Rachel both held onto Ralph and, for once, didn't say a thing. Gustav had walked over to Ryan, Vanessa, Elijah and Annie. The five at the porch's edge slowly turned and looked at the other five.

Ryan asked, "Will someone please tell me what is going on here before the Guard arrives?" As it turned out, lead elements of that august group were only about fifteen minutes away. Police units had cordoned off the property and were funneling the refugees out and keeping the curious from getting in.

When Allen managed to get a word out of his mouth, all he could say was, "He's dead."

Ryan did a quick body count, and came up with the expected number. "Who's dead?"

" _My dear Mr. Fitzgalen, it would appear that I am."_ With that, Gustav turned and walked through the wall, then back out again the same way _. "I always wanted to do that. Vanessa, Mrs. Edwards, and you must be Private Elijah Cooper. It's a high price to pay to be able to finally see you, but I'm pleased."_

Marianne was in tears. "GUSTAV! For God's sake, we all can see them. Stop being so bloody cheerful, will you?"

" _You can all see them? Well that's a bit of a disappointment. Too late to return the price of admission, I take it? Yes, all sales are final."_

Ryan could only look at one more friend he had to say goodbye to. It was always that way, but that didn't make it any the less sad. Gustav had been his closest friend. "I'll miss you, you old shark fart."

Marianne was standing, mainly because Ralph was propping her up. "Gustav! Oh, God. What am I going to do without you?"

" _My dear lady, you will go on taking care of my family as you have done all along. A Mother Hen doesn't cease her duties just because one of her chicks has left the nest."_

Allen stepped forward of Melissa, who was resistant to approaching ghosts, for some reason. "Hey, think Heaven will make an exception and let a lawyer in? I'll send along a great reference letter if you think it will help."

" _Master Allen, before you and your mother came along, this was the Fitzgalen team. I am pleased to leave the Fitzgalen Family in your capable hands. As for Heaven letting me in, I can only hope for my day in court."_

Rachel walked up to Allen's side, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Gustav. I've known you for only a little while, but you've become like a father to me. I'll miss you, too."

Rachel Hawthorn Gladstone. You are the one I grieve about leaving the most. You have so much unfinished business that I might have assisted with. Still, I've no doubt that the rest of my children will help you stumble through it. You have two families, dear one, and hard decisions to make, soon. I will pray for you."

Vanessa was silent, sitting with her friend as she recovered her strength. She knew Gustav would now move on. To say anything now would put her too close to saying her own goodbyes. She wanted to hold off on that as long as possible.

Elijah spoke up. _"Friends, as the last survivor of XX Corps, I thank each of you for saving us. Great Grandson, you have made me proud. Allen, I won't try to figure out all the 'greats' between us, but I'm proud of you as well. To the rest of you, thanks, and Godspeed all of you on your journey. Lord willing, we will shake hands on the other side. The time has come for me to leave. I'll walk, but Gustav, would you do me the honor of riding Freedom to the other side?"_

" _Private, it would be my honor. Would Freedom accept this old German butt on his back?"_

" _With pride, Gustav. Hop up."_ With a military salute, Elijah paid his respects to his saviors and turned away. Gustav mounted, smiled and waved. Death wasn't so bad. His last blessing on earth was to get in the last speech; a 'gotcha last'.

" _Farewell my friends. I have loved you as my own children. Allen, take care of that wonderful young lady."_ Fifty feet.

" _Ralph, take care of my Marianne. She was both a mother and a daughter to me."_ Ralph and Marianne held each other and sobbed together. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Gustav was loving it. One hundred feet.

" _Ryan, your work is not yet done. Many still need your help. God has sent you my replacements to see that you do continue. You might notice it took three younger people to replace your resident old man. Rachel, settle your feelings with Frank. Until that is resolved, you will not be able to grow to your fullest potential and that would be a crime. You have so much to offer."_ One hundred fifty feet.

" _Vanessa I don't know what your fate will be. Follow me if you can or should. Annie, I know in my heart that all is forgiven, that you are whole and that there is a place for you on the other side. God bless and welcome you both."_

Private Elijah Cooper began to glow, then winked out. Gustav waved one final time. Freedom began to glow and then winked out. Gustav hovered above the ground for a moment and fell to the dirt. Everyone was surprised, to say the least.

"Vanessa, can you make out what he's saying?" asked Ryan.

" _I think he's cussing in German, Dear. Any clues?_

Ryan thought, while they watched Gustav get up and run around looking for a portal to cross through and cursing up a storm. Ryan went over each step of what had happened, going as far back as the Navy experiment. By the time Gustav had given up his attempts, wet-hen-mad that he was walking back after such a wonderful farewell speech, Ryan thought he had gotten the main points down.

" _You, flag pole man, mind telling me why my passport won't work at the bridge?"_ The sirens were getting louder and some loudspeaker voices could be heard. There was still some time.

"It was Vanessa's doing."

Vanessa didn't see that one coming. _"Excuse me?"_

"Not on purpose, I assure you. Honey, you did fine, better than fine. That configuration to counter Monkey's power was a masterstroke. Annie, you pushed the button at just the right moment, but you weren't part of Vanessa's field of defense. Private Cooper wasn't in it long enough. Each of us, though, got 'tuned into it', kind of like what happened to me back in the Navy. Melissa, Allen will explain all this to you later, in private (look at them blush!).

"My take on things is that Vanessa was, at first, stuck on earth because of her fugue state. She bonded to me in that Navy experiment. That bond between us kept her here despite the partial self-awareness she had attained. The full revelation of your identity should have turned the trick for your bridging, but it didn't. You found in your heart that there was unfinished business in the form of the Selma church members needing your help, specifically, the Cherub Choir kids. Natalie corrected that belief, and it was the belief that Jason and Rebecca needed your help continued to bless us all with your presence.

"Natalie also told you to stay away from Annie, and I think I know why she said that. The bracelet blessing was a fallback in case you couldn't comply. Our conflict with Annie just now has re-validated your earthly visa. I sense that you won't cross until I do, for we're bonded even more closely than before. Now, things are a little more complicated."

Time for Melissa to get a word in edgewise. "Ryan, may I call you that?" A nod. "Thank you. If I may, how in the world could this craziness get any more complicated?"

Rachel moved next to Melissa, letting go of Ralph. "Dear, get a good grip. You have just boarded Ryan's roller coaster. By the way, thanks, from all of us." The others joined in to welcome their newest friend and comrade. Ryan got a little miffed over him no longer being the center of attention.

"AHEM!"

"Sorry. You were saying? _Please continue_. Yes, Ryan? _I'm listening, Dear._ "

"That's better. I strongly suspect that no one will cross until we ALL kick the bucket. Sort of a group thing. The forces of confrontation and the process of attunement felt familiar to me. Allen, you said that the subconscious never sleeps. It appears to me that my subconscious was fully awake that day back in Pearl Harbor. I feel certain that we all went through a similar process today, which endowed all participants with clairvoyance as it once did me. The forces were different, though, and the results are all of us having to put up with each other for a long time to come."

Rachel said, "Sort of spiritual Siamese bonding."

Marianne added, "Since we're all hooked together, wouldn't it make sense that we all stay together? No reason to break up the team, is there, just because the Union men are gone?" She looked up, as did the others, to see several green helicopters circling overhead.

Ralph said, "I'm in."

Allen looked at Melissa, and they tossed two more hats into the ring.

Rachel walked over and around the side of the porch. She bowed her head for a moment, then knelt quietly. When she rose, she had Gustav's SatCom in her hand. They saw her dial a connect, wait, and then talk into it for a minute. They also heard engines coming, big ones. Rachel thumbed the off switch, looked at the SatCom for a moment, then hooked it to her dress sash and returned. There were tears in her eyes as she said, "Count me in, full time." Allen and Melissa went to her, holding her as she softly wept.

" _You always have my vote, Love."_

Ryan looked over at his oldest friend. "Well? I still need you on the team. What do you say?"

" _Well, it's either this or ghost writing. Very well, sign me up for another hitch. Say Vanessa, if I can find a brain dead movie star..."_

" _No problem, Dear. I hear one of Lassie's descendents blew its mind chasing a parked car."_

" _Is THIS what I'm going to have to put up with? Can I take back my vote?"_

"NO!" Everyone chorused.

Annie was sitting calmly on the porch taking it all in and recovering the little pieces of herself that were still consolidating gradually but cumulatively. _("What nice folks. Shame I can't stick around. Soon as I got to where that nice young Private Cooper went, I'd cross over too."_ ) She wondered when to start that last journey. _("In good time. I'd like to hear the crickets once more without fearing the sunrise.")_

Up the road and over the fields came military transports and even a couple of tanks. Five helicopters landed in the fields to unload two platoons of crack troops. The Fitzgalen family sat on the porch and watched yet another show, courtesy of the Edwards Historical Estate. Gustav looked over the porch railing at himself and shook his head.

" _Was I really that old?"_

EPILOGUE

Vanessa and Annie sat on the porch chairs, Gustav on the rail. It was the wee hours. The stars and crickets were out.

The ex-lawyer mused, _"You know, one of the nicest things about today was leaving the legal mess for someone else to clean up, for once."_

Vanessa smiled. _"Everyone is going to have to lay low for a while. The TV cameras got everybody before the equipment failed. Allen said that we made world coverage."_

" _Dears, all will work out in time. It did for me, didn't it? Besides, wouldn't this be a perfect opportunity for you to put some real meat on your bones again? You're much too skinny, you know."_

Being dead didn't stop Gustav from ruminating and calculating. It would take more than a heart attack to stop that. _"I suppose we are all stuck for the duration, at least until the others shuffle off their respective mortal coils. I'm a bit concerned about something, though."_

Vanessa tilted her head and gave a curious smile. _"Yes, Dear Gustav? What might that be?"_

" _Did the 'alignment' that now has rendered greater sight and spiritual bonding to all of the mortal members of the Fitzgalen Family also endow them with similar longevity as Ryan currently enjoys?"_

Annie raised her brows and exclaimed, _"Oh my stars! I was hoping to have you come for a visit soon. I'll tell the soldiers not to wait up supper."_

" _Gustav! Could that really be? Are we here for generations' worth of time?"_

" _I suspect so, my lady. The power of the field in that Navy experiment wasn't all of what turned the time trick for Ryan back at Pearl Harbor. It was you and your own natural talents. Lord, the money I could have made with you in Hollywood! Ah, well. Guess we'll be together for a while."_

" _Vanessa, does he talk like that all the time?"_

" _Sadly, yes."_ Vanessa leaned back on the chair. Annie took her hand, half in sympathy, half in amusement, and in whole appreciation of sensing physical contact with another entity. Vanessa smiled again. _"Look, Annie, the sun is rising."_

It was a beautiful last sunrise for Annie. All three watched the colors change and enjoyed the songs of the birds that had dared to return to the Homestead (Jays, mostly). The light revealed the torn up ground due to both planted charges and military hardware. There were to be no tourists coming in today. Something about it being a crime scene, though no one knew exactly what crime had been committed. The forensics people hadn't arrived yet, and the officials were keeping the scene as untouched as possible. Just as well, for the three spirits wanted the peace and quiet.

" _Well, I guess I'd better stir my stumps. My children are waiting for me. Part of me hasn't seen them in a very long time and misses them sorely. Besides, I'd like a long talk with Private Jed Patterson. I hear he dances nice."_ Annie winked at Gustav and Vanessa. They left the porch and began to walk east.

" _Why, you little tease, you. What about Archibald?"_

" _Not to worry, Dear. I've no idea what the other side is going to be like. I want to see everyone: the soldiers, Archibald, Jason and Rebecca, my folks, my slaves...No, those nice people who worked for us once. I was just pulling your leg, Soul Sister. Jed has mended all fences, as far as I'm concerned. Now it's my turn to do the same with him._ One hundred feet.

Gustav groused, " _We'll pass on your goodbyes to all of the others. The lazy butts are probably still sleeping."_

" _Annie, please find Natalie for me and thank her for all she did. She made all the difference yesterday. Oh yes, tell her I apologize for not following her directions on making contact with you. She'll understand. By the way, Natalie's the only spirit I've ever seen that came back once she crossed over. Might you talk to her about how she did that? Dearest friend, I am going to miss our chats terribly. You don't know how much yon have helped me, or how many times."_ One hundred fifty feet.

" _You children listen to this old lady. Your Family is the most precious thing you have. Now it has the two of you as their guardian angels. If I can be of any help, like Natalie was and if the Lord allows it, you will see me again on this side of the Pearly Gates. Until then, Vanessa, Gustav, I love you both, with all my heart."_

Two spirits continued to walk down the road. "You know, Gustav, I preferred you in that Union uniform." Vanessa blinked. Gustav was now wearing the uniform he had died in. _"Son of a BITCH! How did you do that?"_

Gustav looked down. _"I don't know, just sort of pictured myself as I looked decorating the shrubbery yesterday."_

" _Do you mean to tell me that I've been wearing the same damned dress for decades and decades and you come along being able to change outfits on a whim? PARDON ME? You tell me right now and I mean now, buster, how you did that! Don't give ME that smirky look. How would you like to walk all the way back to the hotel?"_

Gustav hadn't thought about that. _"Very well, my dear. I'll tell you what. I'll figure out what I just did and teach it to you. Now, how do you do that instant travel thing?"_

" _First things first. I want to impress Ryan tonight. Think we can walk into town and pick through a Frederick's catalog?"_

MEMBERS OF THE TALE (alphabetical)

Melissa Valerie Banks (2020-still living). Born and raised in Hunter, NY, to parents Charles and Ursula Banks. She learned to enjoy skiing at an early age and spent weekends as a part time instructor at Killington Ski Lodge. Melissa started a Liberal Arts education at Ulster Community College in NY, then transferred after the first semester to RPI (Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute) in Troy, NY. Though her grades didn't quite meet RPI standards, a generous donation to the college cleared the hurdles for her entry.

Dr. Marc Benoit, specialist in emergency medicine at Milledgeville Hospital.

Vanessa Mary Blankenship (1906-1930, 1944-2016). Born in Fort Myers, Florida to Homer and Anne Blankenship. Homer was the city comptroller, Anne the Women's Guild president of the Ft. Myers Holy Mother Catholic Church. Vanessa graduated from the Women's University of Jacksonville with her degree in Elementary Education, and took a job with the City of Selma, Alabama, to teach at the Grace Community School. Married to Ryan David Fitzgalen during her second life, she gave birth to her only child: Obediah Geoffrey Fitzgalen.

Marianne Castalano Cabrini (2009-still living). Born in Highland, NY, to parents Gerolomo and Carol Castalano (Sicilian and German respectively). Her father emigrated and got his citizenship by marrying a US citizen. They ran a German/Italian restaurant in High Falls, NY. Marianne attended SUNY New Paltz for paralegal training and certification. She was hired as a legal secretary to Gustav Mendelssohn at age 21, was married at 23 to Michael Anthony Cabrini, but widowed at 26 before they had any children.

Private Elijah Cooper (1841-1864). Born in Newburgh, NY, to Michael and Delores Cooper. His father delivered milk for the Hudson Dairy Company. Elijah joined the Army when hostilities broke out, two months after he had married his childhood sweetheart, Henrietta Jensen. His son, Walther Thaddeus Cooper was born eight months after Elijah left and never saw him, except in pictures. Walther married Jayne Elise Payman and they had three children: Victor, Mark, and Burdette. Burdette married Erin Patrick Fitzgalen and they moved to Galveston, Texas, so that he could join his father's beef cattle business. Their first child was Ryan David Fitzgalen. There was a second child, Margaret, who became a missionary to Mexico and was subsequently never heard from.

Major Benjamin Covington (1819-1865). Born in Brooklyn, NY, son of Col. Edward G. Covington, US Army, and Annabelle Lucille Sweetwater. When Benjamin was five, his father transferred to Boston, both for better schools and to be nearer to Annabelle's parents who lived in Farmington, MA. After being graduated from military school, he went on to the Army Academy and accepted a lieutenant commission in 1838. He rose to Captain during his stay at Fort Laramie during the westward expansion. He was recalled to die east coast when the Civil War broke out and earned a field commission to Major during the battle of Shiloh. He never married and died of pneumonia.

Anita "Annie" Brady Edwards (1837-1864). Born in Atlanta, Georgia, to Joshua and Pearl Brady. Her father ran a horse breeding business and her mother inherited a 50% partnership in Carson-McBride Exports (cotton and sugar). She met her husband, at that time Captain Archibald Everett Edwards, when she was sixteen and while accompanying her parents on her return to boarding school in Atlanta. They were married in 1855. Their son, Jason, was born the following year and their daughter, Rebecca, was born in 1857. All three died during the Civil War in November of 1864.

Obediah Geoffrey Fitzgalen (1946-2021). Born in St. Louis, MO, son of Ryan David and Vanessa Fitzgalen. He married Carol Scorci and moved to Rochester, NY, to work with Eastman Kodak. Their children were Abigail and James Lee. James left to join the USMC and all contact was lost.

Ryan David Fitzgalen (1919-still living). Born in Galveston, Texas. Son of Erin Patrick and Burdette Fitzgalen. Served at the age of 22 in the USN at the U. S. Naval base located in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

Frank Samuel Gladstone (2000-still living). Born in Cambridge, England while his parents (US. citizens) were visiting relatives. Son of Artemus and Henrietta Gladstone. Double citizenship. Was graduated from Penn State in 2025 with an advanced degree in electrical engineering. Took an offer with Rotron Industries in Kingston, NY, as Jr. VP in charge of research and development. Married his 1st wife, Elizabeth, in 2030. They had two children: Jerry in 2031, and Janet in 2033. Divorced in 2039 for irreconcilable differences and was awarded primary custody by mutual agreement. Remarried Rachel Hawthorn in 2042.

Rachel Louise Hawthorn Gladstone (2003-still living). Born in Charleston, NC, daughter of Peter and Penelope Longstreet. Mother of Allen Hawthorn, widow of Carl Hawthorn, wife of Frank Gladstone. Was graduated from Tampa University 2024 with a liberal arts degree. President of the Tampa U. Debate Society. While touring NYC and attending Radio City Music Hall, she thought she had met her future husband by accident. Carl had fallen for her from first sight and managed to arrange the 'chance' meeting. She was married at age 22 and gave birth to their son Allen the following year. Widowed at 27, she worked part time at Bailey Middle School (clerical) in Kingston, NY, more for personal fulfillment than to supplement the death benefit from Carl's life insurance plus shares of stock from the company which had employed her husband. She was remarried at age 39 to Frank Samuel Gladstone.

Abigail Fitzgalen Hawthorn (1974-still living). Born in Rochester, NY, at Strong Memorial Hospital, daughter of Obediah and Carol Fitzgalen. A surgical nurse at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis, MO, she retired in 2024. Married to Maxwell Hawthorn in 1996, gave birth to Carl and Belinda Hawthorn. Belinda had Down's Syndrome and continued to live with them until she developed heart problems and passed away at age 39. Fatigue and stress from taking care of Belinda wore Abigail down and she and her husband moved to Florida to live the remainder of their days in Jacksonville, FL, in a retirement village.

Allen Carl Hawthorn (2026-still living). Born at Samaritan Hospital in Troy, NY, as the only child of Carl and Rachel Hawthorn. Allen lost his father to an auto accident when he was 4 years old. Moved to Hurley, NY, at age 5 and attended Myer's Elementary School. He went on to attend St. Joseph's Middle School, Coleman Catholic High School (dean's list), and moved back to Troy, NY, in 2044 to attend Rennselear Polytechnic Institute with dual majors in physics and business, and a minor in computer science. CEO Hawthorn Enterprises as of 09/27/2047.

Carl Allen Hawthorn (1998-2030). Born at Vassar Hospital in Poughkeepsie, NY, son of Maxwell and Abigail Hawthorn. Was graduated from RPI in 2020 with dual majors in business and engineering and was hired by Custom Properties, Inc. Was married to Rachel Louise Longstreet in 2025. Took final paramedic training in 2026 and joined a volunteer squad in Troy, NY. Carl died in an auto accident.

Barney 'Hammer' Jenkins, pack leader of 'The Harriers', an outlaw motorcycle club.

Ralph Henry Kithcart (2006-still living). Born and raised in Milledgeville, GA, son of Henry and Millicent Kithcart. He took on a job as a taxi cab driver in Milledgeville against his parent's wishes. They had wanted him to go on to college to further his education, but eventually accepted Ralph's decision as he seemed very happy in his profession and made a good living at it. Never married, he had lived successively with two women (two years and three years respectively). Neither relationship lasted.

Kurt Mangela, paramedic with Milledgeville Ambulance, Inc.

Barbara Meissner, RPI student and friend to Melissa Banks.

Gustav Mendelssohn (1978-2047). Born in Snow Shoe, PA, to parents Bernhardt and Marlies Mendelssohn. His father was a radiologist, and his mother a respiratory therapist. Graduated cum laude from Cornell Law School, part of Cornell University at Ithaca, NY. He moved to Poughkeepsie, NY, to join the law firm of Higgens, Hanks & Greenbaum in 2003, immediately upon graduation. Hanks died of a heart attack the following year, which gave Gustav the opportunity to focus on the business law part of the practice. Higgens and Greenbaum dissolved their partnership due to personal differences. Gustav remained with Greenbaum as a partner and the practice was moved to the Ulster County historical seat located in Kingston, NY. He first did work for Carl Hawthorn in 2020, chief executive officer for Custom Properties, Inc. Divorced twice, no surviving children. First child Garrison died at age 9 of leukemia. The death destroyed his first marriage with Martha Scholldorf, and his second wife, Valerie Knudson, did not want children. The second marriage ended after two years due to personal differences. Hired full time by Custom Properties, Inc. in 2035.

Dr. Joseph Barnard Morrison (1899-1941). Born in Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin. His father, Ezra Quincy Morrison, was a laborer and his mother, Winona Mackey Morrison, died birthing him primarily due to poor medical care. This played a role in his eventual decision of becoming a doctor. He was the first black MD to be graduated from Washington University Medical School in St. Louis, MO, which was the only medical school that would accept his application. He joined the Navy with a Lieutenant's rank. He met and married Viola Parker in 1931. Due to uterine fibroids, they were unable to have children, and opted instead to adopt a male child, Bradley. Dr. Morrison died during the attack on Pearl Harbor by Japanese forces.

Private Jedediah Patterson (1839-1864). Born in Bolton Landing, MA, to Chester and Cassandra Patterson. His father was a fisherman for Three Brothers Seafood. Jed dropped out of school after seventh grade to help his father provide for their family. When he was thirteen, his father died at sea in a storm when his boat went down and all hands aboard were lost. Jed continued his work with Three Brothers, being the primary support for his family. His mother, Cassandra, took in laundry and babysat to help make ends meet. She exhausted herself and died of consumption when Jed was fifteen. The two younger sisters, Roberta and Judith, were sent to an orphanage, but he decided to keep working and Three Brothers continued his employment for almost two years when Jed's tendency to get into fights after drinking made him a liability. Jed joined the Massachusetts Militia the following year. He died in Milledgeville, GA, during General Sherman's 'March to the Sea', under the command of Major Benjamin Covington.

Mary Kitterick Safford (1915-1944). Born in Alton, IL, to Preston Charles and Johanna Jenson Kitterick. She married to John Safford in 1934, and gave birth to twin girls in 1937, Penny and Patricia. She was a full time RN at the John Cochran VA Hospital in St. Louis, MO. Records ascribe her death to an anesthesia reaction and that she was cremated. Her ashes were reported to have been placed into the flowerbeds at the St. Louis Zoo, where she was known to spend much of her time.

MEET THE AUTHOR

David Lee Howells, born to Earl and Siddie Howells in Savannah, Georgia, March 19th, 1954.

Doctor of Chiropractic in Kingston, NY since 1984.

Nuclear Medicine Technologist 1976-1981.

EMT and volunteer for the Hurley Fire and Rescue Department

Folk Musician, "sound man" for the Hudson Valley Folk Guild

Member of the Society for Creative Anachronism (chirurgeon, archer, fighter, volunteer mead sampler)

Member Kiwanis Club of Kingston

Other Books to Read (All are being processed for publication)

VANESSA: FAMILY TREE – Sequel to VANESSA. The battle was over at the Edwards Estate. The Fitzgalen Family regroups to pursue their mission of saving souls stuck on the Earth plane. What happens when an underground spirit desperately hiding from judgment beneath the ground doesn't want to be found, and is ready to strike anyone who tries?

VANESSA: ALL HEAVEN BREAKS LOOSE – Sequel to Vanessa: Family Tree. Ever since humans began to wonder of the world's miracles, knowledge of death and what comes after was precious and elusive. The Fitzgalen Family appears to have new authority in this awareness. That unwanted notoriety has a way of creating devotees, and very powerful enemies.

VANESSA: MENDED HARPS – Sequel to Vanessa: All Heaven Breaks Loose. When a human spirit merged its energies with an ancient oak tree during the Battle of the Rhinebeck Cemetery, a new species was born. Amidst legal entanglements that hamstring the growing Fitzgalen Family's efforts to pursue its holy mission of spirit liberation, a greater question arises; how do you deal with an emerging competitive species?

VANESSA: FALLEN COLORS – Sequel to Vanessa: Mended Harps. Conclusion of the VANESSA series. The world's religions have witnessed great changes, miracles, and proof that the dead walk the earth. Earth feels poised on the brink of a great change. The one who has a hope of leading the world away from cataclysmic holy wars of dominance is an autistic child, who is guarded by a being of great power...an Angel, Avenger Class.

TIME SNAP – "In The Beginning" are the first words of Genesis, and they tell us that the first thing to be created was Time. When the machinery of Time fractures, all animal life on Earth freezes except those near enough to Heaven's observation portals. While Heaven races to repair the machinery of Time, Host watch over Humans wandering through frozen life seeking other survivors, while watching out for Opposition Host.

HELL RISE - The sequel to Time Snap. Hell is not what it used to be, as the Fallen Host radically change how they manage Human souls. One of Lucifer's leading Angels wants Moriah back in Hell and will stop at nothing to either bring her back, or destroy her.

"Thank you for your honoring me with your attention. I hope what you received in turn was worth your time and effort. I invite you to further pursue the human and ghost friends you've made here as the scope of their adventure expands to new levels in the sequel, 'Family Tree'.

"You are also invited to download the first in the TIME SNAP series of e-books. Fear not...there will be a ghost or two there for your amusement. Here, though, I would draw your attention to Angels.

"Would you do me the honor of leaving your evaluation of these works with your e-book distributor resource? Thanks.

"Dr. David."

Contact the Author with Comments and Questions

https://www.facebook.com/david.l.howells.3
