

# Grim Island

Legacy of Terror Book One

Wayne R. Tripp

This book has been refreshed

Published by Wayne R. Tripp at Smashwords

# Copyright Page

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locals, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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.

An _Original_ work of Wayne R. Tripp

_Grim Island_ Copyright 2013 by Wayne R. Tripp

Author Contact:

Email: AuthorWayneTripp@yahoo.com

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/authorwaynetripp>

# Dedication

No good book gives birth to itself unless perhaps it's on _Grim Island_. This book has been brought into our world by the efforts of many; it's covered with countless fingerprints and I'd like to express my thanks and dedicate this book to their unwavering encouragement. Thanks to my parents, Richmond and Caroline, for letting me explore the maze of my imagination while making sure I had both feet firmly planted in this world; and especially for showing me how to love, by example. To my loving wife, Robin, for letting me run wild and always providing a loving smile and a soft shoulder when I fell on my face. To my daughters; Heather for the ominous yet beautiful cover, and Jen, for her tireless efforts to see that this book and its siblings do come into the world alive and kicking. Now, slam the door so the monsters don't get out, and read. Read as though your life depended on it!

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

The Blackest Heart, Legacy of Terror Book 2

# Chapter 1

High in the early morning sky, a Herring gull soared over the uneasy sleepers of Grim Island, and banked east toward the lonely lighthouse on the Lost Hope cliffs, looking for a place to dump its last meal of cracked crab and mussels. Most of the locals still struggled in the clutches of vivid nightmares, while a few brave souls lurched around their homes preparing for their boring daylong battles. Far below, two large metallic creatures with flashing lights sprinted along a narrow finger of rocky coast squashed between the frigid North Atlantic and the park's bottomless salt pond. Intrigued, the gull dropped lower, finally committing to a bombing run. A chalky glob splattered onto a puddingstone outcropping just as the second police vehicle sped by.

* * * *

"Dammit, MacLeod, it's another one. Middle-aged woman this time, though it's hard to tell with most of her body fluids and muscle mass gone. Soft body tissue too; probably those damned seagulls. Stuff like that is the first thing they gobble." The African American cop rose slowly, feeling the weight of the previous night's beer still wobbling around. Close to losing his morning coffee and bagel.

# Chapter 2

She came awake a couple minutes before her alarm chirped, and gently eased her son from her breast. Following their daily ritual, she laid his cherubic head on the pillow, brushing the shock of blond curls from his forehead. Wiping a line of drool from his pouting bottom lip, she kissed his forehead and eased herself away from the rapidly cooling bed. Pulling the covers up over her son, she felt a sudden chill on her breast and gazed at its rigid nipple. A wide splotch of spittle matching her son's drool stained her chest. No doubt, a steady dribble of her milk had contributed to her soaked night gown. He'd been trying to suckle again. She wondered if she should be talking to someone about Brian. _No way. Their relationship was nobody's business._ However, she really did need to start weaning Brian off her boob. _Maybe tomorrow._

Cramming herself into their tiny bathroom, she twisted the stubborn shower handles on before she reached for her tooth brush. The air trapped in the old copper pipes only clanked for a few minutes that morning. Maybe by the time she finished brushing, she'd actually have hot water. _Dream on._ As she put away her toothbrush, and gathered her towel and shampoo, the shared bathroom wall began a rhythmic vibration. The Cabrals were going at it again. Normally she wouldn't mind, she was all for morning sex, but the Cabral couple had to be at least in their forties. _Yuck!_

Finishing her shower, she wiped the steam off the mirror and stood a moment scrutinizing herself. Not too bad for a single mom with a kid, down on her luck. She couldn't do anything about her big green eyes, insignificant nose, or even the short red hair she struggled to make presentable. Gift of her Celtic heritage, just as her generous boobs came from her Italian grandmother. Her left breast had stung a bit when she soaped it up in the shower. Examining herself, she saw a rash of little red marks dotting her pale flesh, clustered around her nipple. Bed bugs, maybe fleas? She'd have to complain to the landlord, and get the cheap wad to spray. What if they started biting Brian? She'd better call the prick landlord that morning.

Applying her mascara and lip-gloss, she stuck her tongue out at the young face staring back out of the cracked mirror. _Why was she worried? Males always seemed to find her pretty. There'd never been a shortage of free drinks or sex if she wanted it. Was that it? She was too easy?_ Hardly. Maybe she was no prudish ice princess, but she always used protection, and she was good at saying no. _She'd only fucked up once._

Look what she'd gotten as a prize for enduring that horrid night with Brad. Her beautiful son. _As for that piece of shit father. Well, hopefully, she'd managed to ditch him once and for all._

She might not be able to do anything to change her looks, but her name was a different story. She'd been careful not to reveal her full name, Kathleen Bridget O'Hara, insisting the other officers just call her Kat. She could imagine the ball-busting she'd take if they knew her name was Kathleen. How "Irish cop" can you get?

Buttoning up her uniform blouse and slipping the knotted tie over her head, she glanced at her watch. _Where was Abigail?_ Running late again. Probably waiting for her geeky brother to get out of the shower. She'd better hurry up. Kat looked at her watch again, willing the time to stop. She was already running late. One more time being late and DeCosta would ream her out good. She knew she was just this year's rookie, and had to pay her dues, but filing and making coffee just wasn't cutting it. She needed _action_. DeCosta needed to put her back on patrol. She'd been over the flu for a week and was bored out of her skull. Her lackluster smile wasn't about not being pretty enough or how draining it was to be a single mom with a grueling job. She was bored. Nothing ever happened on Grim Island.

* * * *

A tentative knock on the door, the chief's gruff command to enter, and a pretty red-haired woman, her face pale with nervousness, entered MacLeod's everyday world. Chief DeCosta did the introductions. _So she was Irish–MacLeod could have guessed that by the peaches and cream complexion and red hair–damn, she had a pretty face. Why hadn't he noticed her before? Some detective you are, MacLeod._ What was DeCosta saying anyway? _Day-dreaming again, MacLeod? Oh yeah, the case. Weird!_

"So, O'Hara, I'm putting you back in the game. Heard you're feeling better–got rid of that flu bug. Good. Jump right in with both feet and hit the ground running. Impress me. Help us stop this bathroom butcher–quick!" He looked directly at O'Hara, putting on his ill-fitting fatherly face. "You did real well on your test. Pretty smart cookie. I hear you want to be like MacLeod here. You know, Grim Island's so small; he doubles as our one and only resident detective. We don't even make him wear his uniform except to impress the ladies. Normally not much need for his special skills anyhow. Until now. Give him a hand catching this bastard, and maybe we'll see if we can make your partnership permanent. Give MacLeod your best. That's it kiddies. Dismissed. Move on out there and catch this beast!"

* * * *

"Detective MacLeod, I'm ready to go. If you'll just tell me where to begin?" God _, he was a hunk. Just look at that insufferably sexy grin. With that unruly lock of dirty blond hair brushing his tanned forehead, he was Mr. Bad Boy personified. Why couldn't she bring home somebody like him_? She couldn't help wondering if he was seeing anyone. _Did he find her attractive?"_ Just MacLeod. You ready to go?"

"Lead the way, detective. I know I've got a lot to learn, and from what I've heard, you're just the guy to teach me."

* * * *

By day's end O'Hara was ready to tumble into bed. Unfortunately, alone. Her day had been hectic, and at times annoyingly frustrating. MacLeod spent a good part of the morning calling her Kathleen. He thought it was a pretty name, like her, he said. _She hated it._ It was something her father insisted on calling her. To think of it coming from dear old dad's lips, from _that_ disgusting drunk, made her cringe. They'd gotten nowhere on the case, though she did get to take notes during two interviews. She'd made coffee, and filed the interview reports. _Exciting._ He managed to wheedle out of her that she lived in a dilapidated tenement between the abandoned Murphy mill and one of the town's oldest neighborhoods. She shrugged, admitting that as a single mom, it was all she could afford. He lived right on the coast in his own home, alone. _Unmarried._ He revealed little else about his personal life until lunch. MacLeod did buy her that, but they were joined by his girlfriend, Miss Rodriguez, a sixth grade teacher at Constance Paine Elementary. She seemed nice, beautiful _and_ sweet. They'd been going out for about five months, so she couldn't be all _that_ prim and proper. She had to be putting out; Kat couldn't picture a hunk like Jamie waiting around forever _. Damn! Why were all the good guys taken?_ Still, it was her most exciting day on the force so far, and she was exhausted. Abigail had run downstairs to start supper as soon as she'd dragged herself home, so Kat paid her geeky brother, Eric, asking how Brian had been. He looked at her funny, and then turned to go; insisting Brian had been no trouble at all. She'd walked across her kitchen to get his money, sensing him watching her ass as she moved. Coming back, she'd paid him, flashing a warm smile as a bonus. She was kind of flattered that this nice kid found her hot. Again, she wondered about MacLeod. She tumbled into her own bed as soon as she brushed her teeth. Maybe she'd have some sexy fantasies about her new partner while she slept. Within minutes, Kat was snoring her way through dreamland.

* * * *

Around 3 in the morning, Kat woke. _Someone was in the room._ Kat laid corpse still, trying not to let her intruder know she was awake. Her service revolver was under her freshly laundered uniform, holstered with the safety on. Loaded, but being over there it might as well be on Mars. _There it was again._ Pressure on the bed, tightening the blankets she'd wrapped around herself, as though someone had decided to sit on the bed beside her. Unconsciously, Kat stiffened, getting ready to run. Holding her breath, she waited.

The pregnant silence shattered as her phone rang. She was out of her bed, answering her cell; subtle pressures, and touching intruders completely forgotten. At first there was just heavy breathing on the phone, followed quickly by a nasally voice she'd hoped never to hear again crooning her name. Brad. She slammed the cell shut, severing the connection, wondering how the bastard had found her this time. Although she swore she'd not sleep another wink, within twenty minutes, she did. She didn't notice any further disturbances that night, though in the morning, her gown was wet again. There were fresh stinging red marks. In her usual rush, she paid no attention to their subtle pattern.

# Chapter 3

MacLeod was already late. Hitting the Ford's concealed police lights; he began to weave his way through the snarled traffic of what the local islanders jokingly referred to as downtown. A young soccer mom in a new Durango chose the wrong moment to back out of her parking space, and Jamie expertly swerved around the red Dodge, narrowly avoiding clipping her rear end. A quick sideward glance assured him the neatly wrapped bouquet of deep purple irises were still safely nestled in the passenger seat. Long out of season and having to be ferried in from the mainland, they'd cost him a king's ransom, but then, the woman in the flower shop had remained open an extra twenty minutes waiting for him. Late as he was, he might just need a pricey peace offering. Hitting the edge of town, he kicked his speed up a couple of notches. Six minutes later, he sped off down the road, bound for her school, his passing vehicle swallowed by the approaching squall.

DeCosta had wasted his day, sticking him and his new partner out at Lost Hope Park in case the Tattoo killer was unimaginative enough to use the same killing ground twice. Right. There'd been four killings so far on the island–Jamie had been on island for three–god, how he missed Salem–and each time the killer had gone to great length to hide his post mortem tattoo in a different concealed place on the corpse. Not once had any of the crime scenes been repetitive or even similar. So MacLeod and O'Hara had spent the afternoon watching the sky darken into a sour frown and begin weeping a slow relentless drizzle. Bored out of their minds, they'd turned to each other, discovering not only that neither was an island native, but they actually enjoyed each other's company. Jamie pumped Kathleen first, entranced by her face as much as her words, uncomfortably realizing how much he wanted to bruise her lips with his own.

When she pointed out that he was pretty dark for someone of Scottish ancestry, he'd told her of his Indian heritage. Of course she wanted to know which local tribe of Native American; Wampanoag, Narragansett, or a tribe further afield? Jamie realized then this had little to do with his year round tan. Though she claimed to burn like a french fry if she chose to lie in the sun at the beach, the predatory gleam in her eyes matched his own.

In an effort to avoid any embarrassing entanglements with his partner, MacLeod steered the conversation back on course toward their case. He brought up the fact that all the victims had an impaled black heart tattooed somewhere on their bodies, a fact they'd so far kept out of _The Journal_ and the island's own _Crier_.

"I k _now_ MacLeod. I saw the surveillance video, remember. I even saw the tattoo. Looks like some kind of heart with a sword through it. Pretty frigging crude. Really creeps me out!" She scrunched up her face; MacLeod couldn't tell whether she was disgusted with the murder details or his wallowing in it. "What I want to know is how come there are cameras in a public rest room?" She fluffed up her short red hair, and threw an incredulous look on her pretty face. "I might not be a rocket scientist, but that seems like quite an invasion of privacy issue to me."

"Welcome to Grim Island." MacLeod smirked, and scratched his smooth cheek. "There have been a number of incidents in this park and the town fathers thought it might be prudent to keep an eye on things. Individual rights get hanged. No pun intended."

Kat smiled, letting her first giggle of the day escape. Not for the first time, MacLeod realized she had beautiful green eyes. "Nothing's going to happen today, anyway. I can feel it."

"You can _feel_ it? What are you, psychic, MacLeod? Is there a Fox Mulder lurking in here?" Pointing a slender finger garnished in bright carmine nail polish, she poked him in his broad chest, unable to keep a playful giggle completely under control. "Talk to me, Jamie. Spill the beans. You're not from little old Grim Island either, are you?"

He turned completely towards her, and slouched down further in his bucket seat. Indulging himself in ogling the lovely woman across from him, he wondered just how much he should reveal about himself. Enchanting as she was, he hardly knew her; could he trust her? Just how much of the truth could she handle? "No. I'm not from here. I lived and worked in Salem before this. Five years on the job there, working the waterfront mostly. Nights. Got my gold shield my last year on the force. Youngest detective on the squad. Unfortunately there are some unpleasant things happening in Salem right now. Let's just say my boss and I had a falling out. Anyway, we had a real fang and claw donnybrook and I ended up getting booted off the force. Rhode Island's always been the haven for us Massachusetts rejects."

"That sucks, Jamie. You seem like such a good cop. I'll bet he's sorry for letting you go. He'd probably give anything to get you back."

"I kind of doubt that. _She_ seemed pretty happy to see the last of my ass." _I wouldn't mind having a nice long look at it, sweetie_

Now that she had him opened up and talking, Kat was reluctant to let things die. He might have a girlfriend, but he obviously found her attractive and there was no ring on his finger. She'd found out he'd been seeing his school teacher on and off for about five months. No commitment. All was fair in love and war, right? MacLeod was as interesting as he was handsome.

"What about this place, this Grim Island? Kind of a creepy name. Does it mean anything special? Some guy's name, like the brothers Grimm, maybe?"

"No, it's not a person's name. I'm a bit of a history buff. I've made it my business to learn all I can about this place since I've moved here. Besides, I'm seeing a school teacher. Anyway, Dyer and Paine were the founding families around here. Dour old Yankees. _Island_ is pretty obvious. Here we are, like a huge pustule sticking just off the ass of the Ocean State. In case you haven't noticed, the only way on or off this rock is that crappy ferry you came across. As for _Grim_ , that may be more of a comment on the area's history, or the scowl on the founding fathers' faces. It's a pretty rugged coast we have, with very stony soil. The first settlers must have thrown up their hands after a day of futile plowing. You sure you want to hear all this? It's pretty boring stuff."

Moving closer, she touched his arm, smiled prettily at his face and told him she was entranced.

"Okay. The only crop that seems abundant here are rocks. One of the reasons the island has so many stone walls. Then there's our history. This is a very strange area with a very unpleasant past, Kat." He cleared his throat, noticed he really did have her full attention, and plunged ahead. "The Indians hated the place. The Narragansett name for the island actually means _foul ground_. They sent their old and sick here to die, along with anyone else they felt was bad medicine. When the original settlers wanted to buy the island, the local chief couldn't unload it fast enough." He stopped, rubbed his hands together for warmth, took a quick look around the park, and continued. "The colonists just continued going down the same rut. You remember I mentioned Rhode Island got all of Massachusetts' cast offs–men like Clarke, Coddington, Holden, Tripp– even Roger Williams himself. Even the heroine in the Scarlet Letter was based on a real Rhode Island woman, Anne Hutchinson. The story goes that she was punished for visiting her friends back across the Massachusetts border. She kept getting caught and told to never cross the Bay colony's borders again. Apparently, the bond of friendship was just too strong; she kept going back. Eventually, the magistrates got tired of handing out warnings. She was tried and hanged, just for visiting her friends. Of course, another version just has her moving away, and being murdered by Indians. Anyway, there were parts of Rhode Island, or Rogues Island as some called it, where the worst of the worst were sent. Newport, for instance, became home to brigands, slavers and pirates."

"I would think Newport was ideal for working their trade," said Kat. "Now we're getting to the juicy stuff." She took a long look around the park, making sure they were still alone. _Was she looking for the perp sneaking in, or hoping to make an unobserved move on MacLeod? Don't forget the_ _cameras, Kat._

"Of course, if they'd lived up in Pawtuxet, and helped burn the British tax-collecting schooner, Gaspee, well then, _those_ were patriots. In time, Newport residents discovered their own undesirables. Grim Island got the vomit that evil Newport spewed out, and eventually the rest of the state's puke flushed down here too. Small wonder most of Rhode Island won't even acknowledge our existence. Most local maps just forget to show us. I think our state would like to see us flushed out to sea and sunk a good fifty fathoms. Drown every last one of us like we never existed. Then they could dump a ton of asphalt on top of us and pave themselves another parking lot."

"You missed your calling, MacLeod. You should have been a history professor." She flashed a smile at him, noticed him studying her again, and looked away, suddenly blushing _. So he was interested._ Men were always staring at her; some sneaking a peek, some brazenly gawking at her. Usually if it wasn't a gross pervert annoying her, she took it in her stride. With MacLeod, she just grew, unsettled. Like she might have lettuce stuck in her teeth, or something. Blushing, she finished with a lame, "You make it a damned sight more interesting than memorizing all those dates."

"Thanks. You know what, O'Hara. This blows. Let's head back to the station. DeCosta's probably finished buying all today's trashy memorabilia and scurried home to his burrow for the day. It's three forty-five. He's usually gone by two-thirty. I can drop you off at your apartment if you like before I head home."

She'd been appreciative, and he'd taken her home. She'd invited him inside for a cup of coffee. They'd done that, each realizing they were teetering on the edge, each wanting more. She'd offered him dessert and another cup of coffee. They'd done that. She'd asked him to stay a while, wanting to talk over the case and other things; enjoying each other's company, not wanting it to end. They'd done that. She'd changed out of her uniform, putting on something much softer, offering an obvious invitation. To hold hands, kiss, and bounce across her big empty bed. They hadn't. Instead, MacLeod had made his excuses, hopped into his Ford and sped off into the night, fighting an immediate urge to stop and turn around. Now, hours later, he was so very late.

# Chapter 4

Miss Rodriguez finished correcting the arithmetic quiz, and glanced up at the round clock humming to itself on the wall. _Four forty-five._ Jamie was due in another ten minutes. _Mierda—shit!_ She placed Suzy Clarke's test with the other kids. She was glad she'd fudged a few of Suzy's answers, correcting two wrong equations to bring up her score. She made sure she showed the correct way to do the equation right alongside, but honestly, if Suzy didn't pass this quiz, the other pupils would tease her to death. Poor kid had no self-esteem already. Kids could be so cruel to one another. _People_ could. _Poor kid._ She already had a reputation for being the class dumb bell, and she was such a sweet child.

Lacey would just clean up, put on her coat and meet Jamie at the school's entrance. She couldn't wait to plant a passionate kiss on his handsome mug. He'd be surprised to see her so pleasant and cheerful after last Friday night's fiasco. Surprisingly, the school dance had gone off pretty well, though he'd managed to crush her feet a little too often. It was afterward–self-consciously she touched the tender bruises on her left breast– when he'd gotten a little carried away. He'd been all apologies, the poor dear, even offering to pay for her silky pink dress. Maybe she shouldn't have been such a tease, but honestly, she shouldn't have to _ask_ him for sex. Lately, he just didn't seem to be into her that much. Maybe it was that murder case he was working on. What little he'd told her about it had been pretty gross and creepy. It made her shudder just to think about it. Poor Jamie. Hadn't he realized she'd wanted him to take her right there in the car? She was every bit as horny as he, and actually enjoyed it when he played a little rough. Just as long as he didn't hold her down and tickle her. What was one torn silk dress compared to a night of pleasure? Instead, he'd backed off as though she were a virgin nun, mumbling something about getting carried away. Then he'd disappeared into the night, leaving her completely frustrated and unsatisfied. Thank God for toys with batteries.

Glancing outside into the wintry night, Lacey realized how quiet the school had grown. The students and other teachers were long gone. She'd lingered in her classroom long enough that even principal Sweetling would have finally given up and gone home. She had to be pretty much alone in this wing with maybe just the elderly janitor, Mr. Cardoza, off boozing or snoozing somewhere. Her busy scampering seemed suddenly too loud to her, and she felt an uneasy need to leave. Taking off her frameless glasses, she pinched the bridge of her nose, willing her lurking headache to vanish. She picked up the framed picture of Jamie she kept on her desk, and flashed a determined smile. _Be patient, my love. Tonight, I'll be your slave. I'll do anything you want. Tonight I intend to show you just how much I love you._ Searching her bag, she brushed aside her tangled rosary, and removed her makeup kit. _Why did she keep her mom's rosary in_ _there anyway?_ _She'd left all that buried in another time, like her Puerto Rican heritage._ She brushed aside her curtain of dark hair, and scrutinized her face in her mirror. _Not too tired looking._ She brushed on a little mascara and grey shadow, freshened up her lip gloss, and crossed to the closet for her coat. Shrugging into the red wool coat, she left the row of gilded buttons undone, and hastily gathered her personal belongings. Unconsciously she tugged her pale blue cardigan tighter across her chest as her sense of unease returned, creeping forth with icy fingers. As she flicked off the first bank of overhead lights, the dimmed lighting picked up the twinkling pearl buttons of the white blouse she favored. It also pointed an actinic finger at the conspicuous drawing glaring at her from the bulletin board.

At the same time, she became aware of stealthy footsteps coming down her corridor, and then stopping abruptly, as though trying to hide. With the frenzied nervousness of a hunted mouse, she retrieved the drawing, gathered her belongings and swept from her classroom, totally forgetting to shut off the final bank of lights. Almost panting, she stopped several yards outside her classroom door and stared both ways into the fuzzy gloom. Fumbling in her bag for her glasses, she jammed them back on her narrow nose and frantically scoured the dark. No one. _There was no one._ She was quite alone.

Keeping her glasses on–not that they actually made her see much better in the dark; she _felt_ better with them on– she started down the endless bowel of a corridor, the nervous tapping of her glossy yellow heels the only sound. That is, if you discounted the wildly thumping of her heart. And the whispering titters of ghostly giggles.

Behind her, the empty classroom grew quickly colder as flickering shadows darted through the dimmed light. From pupils' desks in the darkened corners, blacker forms rose slowly, and flitted by the teacher's desk. There was an audible click and the final bank of lights flicked out. A chill breeze from a passing shadow rocked the framed picture of James MacLeod. Suddenly all fell silent. The glass covering the framed photo bowed outward and split, the only sound in the tomblike room becoming one of tingling glass.

* * * *

Fleeing toward the door, Lacey's open coat flapped wildly like untended sails in a stormy sea. She felt like a baby; her imagination must be running wild. A moment ago, she'd felt herself touched. Beneath her lacy camisole, the crease between her full breasts was suddenly slick with nervous sweat.

* * * *

Lacey scurried down the endless corridor, half expecting heavy footfalls to signal a relentless pursuit. None came. There were sounds; hissing and groaning from an ancient heating system, the bumbling bumps of a brazen rodent, and the underlying sense of phantom whispering and giggles. Once or twice she stopped and listened, certain she'd heard her name called. Not the respectful "Miss Rodriguez", but her first name, as though someone searched relentlessly through the silence, seeking to do her harm.

She stopped, listening. There was nothing, just her labored breathing and the too-loud tapping of her heels. What a way to meet her Jamie, sweaty, with her tits all a jiggle. He'd be so turned on; he might take her right there on the school steps. She might _like_ that, except for the security cameras! She needed this job.

She felt another touch. _Subtle, but definitely there._ Heart in her throat, she looked quickly behind her. _No one. Nothing. Silly woman._ _There! Someone touched her bum. Her skirt. Someone was lifting it! She could feel the patter of fingers pressing in on her breasts. Snickering and giggles. There was no one there!_ Lacey Rodriguez swatted at the empty air around her as though trying to get rid of a bothersome wasp, and took off like a spooked mare toward the distant entryway, mindless of her hammering heels or her disheveled appearance.

She half expected the door to be locked. What a humorous image that would be if she hit the door's panic bar and ricocheted backwards to fall on her ass a dozen yards away. Funny as hell if she wasn't so damned frightened. Miraculously, the door opened easily, virtually dumping her into the winter night. She recovered her balance and trotted a dozen feet outside, stooping forward with her hands on her knees, her heaving breasts teasingly visible beneath her half-buttoned blouse as she fought to catch her breath. She straightened as her breath slowed, a sudden wave of dizziness competing with her stomping headache. She peeked out at a frigid winter night filled with swirling snow. _No Jamie. Where was he?_ She hoped he hadn't forgotten to pick her up! She heard a sound behind her then; the door slamming open, and whirled around, ready to scream.

As she looked, her large eyes glanced at the pretentious school sign. The one that read: _Constance Paine Elementary-Junior High School_. She thought of the joke around the school, among the teachers as well as the students. Everyone said that with Gerald Sweetling as principal, they should've changed the school's name to Constant Pain instead.

Suddenly, there was a big man coming straight at her, calling her name. Defensively, she raised her small fists; then seeing him step into the light, mumbled, "You bastard" into his chest and crumpled into his arms. Unseen, he dropped the expensive irises he'd brought, suddenly concerned for the tears that racked her trembling body.

"I'm sorry Lace. I didn't think. I went to your classroom to surprise you. I got lost somehow in the corridor. You must have left your room while I stood there like a dumb idiot trying to decide which corridor was yours. When I found you, you were way ahead of me. Didn't you hear me calling you? I'm sorry. Hey, the last thing I wanted to do was _scare_ you."

She let herself be hugged for another few minutes, finding warm shelter in the comfort of his broad chest, his strong muscular arms. He felt so good. At last, she looked up into his blue eyes, a feeble smile inching across her lips, tears still glistening in her dark eyes. "Take me home, James, okay? Please. Right now. Take me home, and show me you love me!"

# Chapter 5

Once they cleared the school parking lot it was an eight minute ride to reach Lacey's old farmhouse at 29 Sweet Bottom Lane. Buckling up, Jamie waited for her to do the same before he started up. She didn't seem to be in any hurry, instead repeatedly looking back at the school entrance.

"So why didn't you wait for me? You must have heard me trying to catch up. I must have called your name a dozen times, Lace. What was with the flailing arms anyway? Did you run into a swarm of flies, or something? Babe?"

Empty seconds stretched with Lacey looking out her window, saying nothing. _What could she_ _tell him? Certainly not the truth. She'd been attacked by what? Kid Ghosts? Right. She wanted to keep this guy, not scare him off. She was trying to perk up his interest, not convince him she was a total flake._

* * * *

Jamie started the Escape and turned back to her, waiting. Finally, she turned, and flashed him a weak smile. "Bugs. Yeah, fruit flies. Somebody must have forgotten a banana in a drawer and let it go bad. A whole bunch of those tiny black ones. Yuck!"

Shaking his head, Jamie threw the Escape into gear and started out of the parking lot. "Don't forget your seat belt, Lace. I hate to be a prick, but you seem kind of out there tonight. Don't want you getting hurt if I have to stop short."

She didn't bother strapping herself in, instead shrugging out of her heavy winter coat. Jamie was about to repeat himself, insisting she buckle up, but then she leaned across his shift console, and snuggled into him. One lingering look convinced him to forget all about seat belts.

Lacey hadn't bothered to button up her fancy blouse, and as she slid closer, he could see that most of it was still undone. "I'm feeling very naughty. Maybe you'd better arrest me, officer." Cuddling into his shoulder scrunched her breast up against his muscles. He could feel the soft mound of it through his old leather flight jacket. A quick glance showed him her smile, and a glimpse of her breasts, almost bare beneath her lacy camisole. As she wriggled closer, he glanced south; her tight yellow skirt had bunched up on her pale thighs, the edge of her lacy underthings exposed. Placing his right hand on her thigh, he looked across for her approval before moving higher.

"Mind your driving, officer, but use that cop training! Hurry! I want you so bad!"

They were almost there. Smiling, Jamie concentrated on the darkened road with its tricky curves. _Ah, there was her silly mailbox with the gaily painted flowers. They'd arrived._ A few seconds up the driveway, then inside and he'd show her exactly how he felt. He'd better feed the beast soon; the rising pressure beneath his jeans was quite insistent. Park the damned car, James, and give this lady what she wants.

The winding journey from the front door to her bedroom must have been lined with strewn clothes, but Jamie didn't remember any of it. He did remember to shed his tooth necklace; last time, Lacey claimed the sharp tooth had nearly stabbed her. God, she hated the ugly thing. Somehow, he arrived in her ultra-feminine bedroom in just his jeans and well-worn boots. He stared at himself, wondering where his clothes had gone, not really caring. His jeans were unzipped and shoved halfway down his lean hips. There were lipstick smudges tattooing his chest and groin, and a rash of scratches burning across the back of one shoulder. _When had she done that? He really didn't mind because Lacey stood wantonly beckoning him, and she was such a vision of loveliness. Damn, he wanted her_! She'd lost one yellow high heel. As he watched, she kicked off its mate, and stood there demurely in her stocking feet, all five feet three of her ready to play. Somehow she mated just the right mix of shyness with brazen seductiveness. _God, it made him so horny!_ Her skirt was missing. She waited in her silky half-slip, with her Victorian blouse all undone, and one breast completely bare. "Jamie, I want to please you so much!" Beginning to shrug out of her blouse, she crossed to her closet and slid open the door. She sure had a fetish for Victorian blouses. There were six more nestled among her suits and dresses. A regiment of three dozen pairs of shoes and boots marched across her closet floor. Jamie saw no jeans, T's or sweats. No rough and tumble tomboy here. Lacey Rodriguez was very much a girly girl.

"If you're quite done undressing me with your eyes, sir; what would you like me to wear? I can see by the look in your eyes you'd quite prefer to undress me with your hands, you beast. That's really quite shocking. I'm just an innocent teacher. I suppose you're going to force me to do unspeakable things." She pulled off her prim little school teacher act with only the slightest smile, the merest hint of a giggle.

Jamie knew she liked to spice up their sex with her little games. He'd already been the teacher's _pet_ a number of times. She had a bunch of costumes. She made a lovely flight attendant, a playful nurse, and the sexiest French maid. He had to admit, he kind of liked the games too, but the cop in him wondered what it was she was trying to hide.

"Earth to Jamie. Sweetheart? Tell me what to wear. You know, I've been a very naughty girl. Maybe you should spank me. Tonight, sweetheart, I'll let you do anything you want to me."

Jamie shot a quick glance at her, and realized just how hot her disheveled look made him feel. "You serious? Okay–keep the blouse on. And cover yourself up, you little tart!"

"Oh–firm and bossy. You like my spinster teacher blouse?"

Jamie caught the little sarcastic emphasis on _spinster_. She was pushing again. Fine. He could dodge the hint.

"Jamie, you're such a forceful brute. I like that in my man!"

He shot a glance at her, realizing something familiar. For some reason, Lacey was naturally very submissive. Why?

"Good, I aim to please."

Flashing a devilish grin, he realized he was starting to enjoy this game. "Now, button up that blouse all the way. That's it. No, don't bother with a skirt. Lacey, why don't you ever close your curtains _?"_ _Why did she never pull down her shades or close her blinds? He knew there were women who left them open for a thrill, getting excitement_ _turning voyeurs on. Lacey wasn't one; she was really quite shy, and would blush bright red with embarrassment if she thought someone was watching her. So why not close the damned blinds? He knew she thought she was out in the boonies, but there were a lot of locals strolling about. They weren't all nice. Some of them might decide to play her little rape game for real._

"Miss Rodriguez, is it? School teacher, huh? Well, Miss Rodriguez, why don't you put those shoes on? The shiny pink ones. Now get you sweet little butt over here."

"Oh! O-okay, you beast." He could tell she was really getting into her role. She really did act frightened. "J-just please don't hurt me. I'll do anything you want. Anything!" He caught just the slightest naughty giggle as she said the last word.

"I know you will!" He reached for the handcuffs he kept hidden at the back of his jeans. "You sure you're okay with this, Lace? You've always shied away from any kind of bondage in our other games. You do remember there'll be a _safe word_?"

"Oh–bondage. That's what you want to do? I'd rather not, but– I did tell you I'd do _anything_." She suddenly sounded very unsure of herself, nervously rubbing the pale scar at her wrist with her slender hand.

"Look, if it bothers you, we won't do this. I'd never force you to do something you're uncomfortable with. Why don't we just cuddle instead? Hon, you do know by now you can trust me? What happened anyway? What are you afraid of?"

"I'd rather not say. And thank you for dropping the bondage stuff. I haven't seen much of you lately, so cuddling sounds divine. If I know you, you'll find your way into my panties soon enough."

"We could play the tickling game," he teased.

"NO tickling! You start tickling me, I'll scream bloody murder! You hear me, James MacLeod! No tickling."

"Wouldn't think of it, Lace. Trust me, I've learned my lesson. Was kind of funny though."

"James! Oh God. Shit!"

"Is that any kind of language for a teacher, Miss Rodriguez? Do you talk to your kids that way?"

"I'm sorry sweetie, but I've got to pee really badly. Sorry. I'll be quick, promise. I'd like to fix up a little bit better for you too. Maybe put on that lacy bra you like."

Already horny enough to burst, but trying to be compassionate and understanding, he smiled and waved her away. "Go, go. The last thing I want is you peeing on me, sweetie." Barely able to hold herself, she scurried down the hall and into the bathroom. He sighed, and began wondering why she was so adamant about not being bound. She knew he wouldn't hurt her, didn't she? _What was it with her and being tied up anyway?_ _He couldn't help but wonder what had triggered her phobia. She seemed really terrified when he suggested it, even though she had to know he'd never force it._ Through a slit in the poorly drawn curtains, he noticed the snow had stopped. As he turned away, the merest sliver of moonlight peeked out of the glowering clouds, dazzling his eyes. Cursing, he jerked his face back into the bedroom, his cerulean blue irises already ratcheting down like a camera lens into the darkest cobalt. He yanked the curtains tight and stalked away, his mood showing much more concern. _This wasn't good._ Unconsciously, his handsome face drooped with a disgusted frown. He felt like a hot air balloon deflating as his romantic desire quickly drained away. He really should go while he still could.

"W-who are you, sir? What are you doing in my classroom?" Jamie looked up to see a refreshed Lacey standing arrogantly in the doorway, long fingers glittering with rings stationed firmly on her hips, lovely face shimmering with haughty defiance. She'd fixed her hair and added her glasses, perched on the end of her narrow nose; she was every guy's fantasy of their favorite teacher. He thought she looked absolutely beautiful, good enough to eat. Jamie was suddenly rock hard. "I thought we might try the bondage thing after all. I-I realized I was being foolish, worrying so. You'd never hurt me."

"Of course I wouldn't, Lace. I only want to make you happy."

She melted a bit and flashed him her shy smile. "I'm sorry I took so long, sweetheart. Allegro was meowing to be fed, and I didn't dare ignore her. Such a loveable kitty, but sometimes she can be such a pain. Remember the last time–she landed right in the middle of your back."

Like many single young women living on their own away from family, Lacey had adopted a calico kitten, and was totally devoted to her pet. Jamie dreaded the day the wandering pussy became a light snack for a coyote or worse.

"Lately Allie's developed a pretty finicky stomach so I had to let her out if I didn't want to wake up to a carpet full of puke. I know you told me not to, but she sets up such a ruckus if I don't give in and let her out. She's such a little spoiled brat. And I'm such a pussy." Taking a sip of the Kendall Jackson Merlot she'd brought back with her, she giggled. "Oops. A poor helpless pussy."

Jaime forced a smile, his mind worrying the rising situation like an old bone. _What was he going to do?_

"My hair was such a mess. I used a ton of pins. _You_ seem to think I look okay, so I guess it was worth it." She pushed her glasses up and flashed him a mischievous smile. "What are you going to do to me, sir?"

"Not much," he said. "Got a call on my cell while you were in the bathroom. There's a disturbance in town," he lied. "Got to go, Hon. I'm sorry." At least that part is true, he thought.

He was dressed and out the door before she could do much more than gape at him, collapse onto her bed and fight back tears.

* * * *

Late that night, a drunk named Cyrus Skinner disappeared. A deckhand on the stern dragger _Carol Ann,_ Cyrus had been busy drinking up his pay. Having downed a six-pack of Bud behind the ferry's office, the fisherman was sailing a ragged course along the empty pier when something big with three inch claws hit him hard. The first swipe took off half his face. Flailing wildly, Cyrus tried to force a gurgling shriek. The second blow, ripped out his throat. Cyrus slumped down lifeless behind a wall of stacked lobster traps. The shadowy beast looked around for uninvited dinner guests, and hunkered down next to his steaming meal. It opened Skinner's chest with hardly a sound, and began to feed. Subtle sounds filtered through the night: constantly dripping blood mingling with the salty sea, energetically messy eating, and the occasional crunching of bone. Later, the fisherman's cooling remains made a single quiet splash. They'd provide a tasty snack for the myriad small fish– tautog, eels, and cunners mostly, flitting about the slick pilings of the ferry's dock after dark. A lone sand shark cruised in, took a few cautious bites, and then nervously rocketed out to safer waters. The morning tide would lift the fisherman's skeletal remains and wedge them tightly between two rotting pilings deep in the silent shadows beneath the dock.

# Chapter 6

His house phone was ringing by the time he got home. Of course he knew who it was. Lacey. He hadn't meant to break his neck answering it, but he did. She'd be upset of course; he expected to be holding the phone at arm's length while she cried at him in Puerto Rican. It was the only time she really spoke her grandmother's tongue; when she was really stressed. The fact she was ringing him now instead of waiting until morning to yell at him was not a good sign. She must be royally pissed. Their romance was well and truly buggered; he'd really screwed up this time. _Couldn't help it_ wormed through his brain. Damn moon was supposed to be out, not hiding behind the clouds. It didn't matter; it was over. Gripping his soul between his teeth, he grabbed the phone. _Dear Lord, for what we're about to receive_...

The seductively sweet voice coming through the line was a complete shock. Lacey asked if he'd been able to quell the disturbance, real concern in her voice. She was disappointed of course, but knew he was always on call for the force; she'd just hoped he'd stay the night. Her bed was so cold; he could almost see her pouting through the phone. This wasn't at all what he'd expected. He'd lied to this woman mere hours ago. He felt like a total asshole.

On her end, she waited for him to respond. When he didn't, she sniffed through her tears, and teased, "It's all right, Jamie. I-I was concerned for your safety, so I called the station an hour after you left. The officer at the desk told me there was no disturbance. Downtown was dead quiet." She paused, obviously waiting for a response. At his end, Jamie didn't know what to say. _Should he apologize, or just wait for her to explode?_

"It's all right. I was pretty tired after school anyway. W-was it anything I said, or did? Or _wouldn't_ do? The phone went dead for a sizeable pause. Jamie couldn't help but wonder; Lacey had some pretty low self-esteem. She was not only beautiful and smart, but the sweetest woman he'd ever met. She could get anyone. Why was she putting up with his shit?

"Jamie, are you still there? Was it something I did?"

"No, it was me. My fault completely. I feel like a total jerk."

"Don't. I-I love you." There came a longer, awkward pause from his end of the phone. She seemed to take the cue; when she spoke again, she was losing the fight to keep the tears out of her voice. "Anyway, I didn't want you to feel bad or worry." She managed to force a little of the flirtatiousness back in her voice, "I was hoping to see you again tomorrow night. You know–Valentine's Day. We could spend a quiet evening here. I'd cook us both a nice Italian dinner, or maybe I'd try to copy one of those Puerto Rican dishes we tried in New York. Romantic music, candles, and all." When Jamie was slow to respond, Lacey, always the optimistic trooper, forged ahead. "For dessert, you could have– _me_." There was a long pause, broken by her nervous voice. "James can you make it? Around 7:15? Please say _yes_." In the background, he'd heard her calico cat, Allegro, purring as Lacey sat stroking it on her lap. Now she'd stopped, waiting, and the cat had stopped purring too, as though its own happiness hung on his answer. "Jamie?"

In a voice drained of emotion, flavored with none of the determined resolve he felt, Jamie listened to himself break the heart of the woman he loved. And he did love her; otherwise he wouldn't be bothering to avoid her, would he? In his heart he knew he was screwing things up more. He had no choice, did he? Lacey probably had hopes for a ring, either the family heirloom he'd shown her, or a traditional engagement ring. He just wasn't ready to make that kind of commitment. _Was he?_ The thought of it scared the crap out of him. "I can't Lace. I've got to go to Salem," he lied. Beginning to be a habit. "I've got to take care of some unfinished business." Even to him the flimsy excuse sounded blatantly phony.

"Oh...okay. Well, maybe Thursday then. Please don't let this come between us, Jamie. I'm not giving up on you, James MacLeod. This doesn't have to be a big deal. I can understand with that murder case you're on, you're tired and you might not be in the mood. I'm a big girl. You're normally such a sweet guy. I mean that. It's not like you forced me to do that bondage thing and you'd really hurt me or anything, sweetheart."

But I might have. . God help me, I might've. I just couldn't help myself. A few days, just a few more days. Maybe he'd better place another call to Salem.

"Look, Lace. I've got to go. I'm glad you're not mad at me. I didn't mean to put you off. We'll have a good time this weekend. Promise. No more lies. I'd never want to hurt you. I'll see you this weekend, all right?"

From her end, Lacey's voice let him off the hook. "Oh– not until the weekend? I-I guess–sure. Of course, silly. I love you. I was thinking you could take me to that old asylum Saturday; the one you told me about. Maybe we could explore it together. It sounds positively creepy."

He'd just been thinking he wanted to reach through the phone and kiss her. Stroke her arms and kiss her all over. Rub her little feet the way she loved, even though the tickling always made her giggle and pull away. Now, her words sent icy chills jittering through his veins, and stuck a jagged icicle straight into his heart.

"I don't think so, Lace. That's more than just a creepy place, sweetheart. It's dangerous. It's falling down with lots of broken glass and rusty equipment. There's a whole bunch of really nasty stories about that place. I think we'd better go someplace else."

"Nonsense. You'll just have to be my hero and protect me, you handsome devil. I _will_ see you this weekend, MacLeod. I'll wear that sleeveless dress you like, the one with the little flowers and all the buttons down the front. I'll expect you to romance me out of it and have your way with me."

"You _are_ a wicked teacher."

"And you're such a hot, handsome man. I love you, James MacLeod." So softly she probably thought he couldn't hear, she added "with all my heart." She undoubtedly hoped he felt the same about her.

# Chapter 7

Kat was bent over Larry White's desk looking at the morning paper when Jamie MacLeod walked in humming a tune from _Phantom of the Opera_. Both she and White looked up as MacLeod put down his Dunkin Donuts coffee and came toward them, smiling.

"Oooh, if it isn't the Mad Scotsman. Somebody got laid last night. You got that so-satisfied look on your ugly mug, MacLeod. Anybody I know? I might want to pay her a visit myself?"

"Lawrence, you know I'm not one to screw and tell."

"Oh God-damned! Not the ice princess! You still banging that school teacher? Damn! I'm surprised your dick doesn't fall off with frostbite! She makes Laura Ingles look like a two-dollar slut!"

"Laura who?" Kat looked at the African-American cop, throwing her hands palm up in wonder. "Larry, who are we talking about?" Still half engrossed in reading the _Island Crier's_ flattering review of her group's performance on the weekend, Kat had missed most of the exchange, though she suspected she knew who they were talking about. MacLeod's usual bang hole, Lacey Rodriguez. "Who's Laura Ingles?"

"Little house on the prairie." He poked his black friend in the shoulder. "Come on, Larry, she's not like that. Not at all. You've met her what, once? I know she may have come off as kind of arrogant and aloof, but that's mostly shyness. She's really very warm and sweet. You're just not used to a real lady."

"What, Miss stuck-up Bitch? Oh man–you've got it bad!"

Kat wanted to be nice, but Lacey Rodriguez was in her way. _Go Larry, go! She didn't strike me as all warm and cuddly, the ice-hearted bitch. The claws were out as soon as she met me. Course, it was pretty obvious I'm interested in diddling her man._ Kat hoped Jamie wasn't really too hung-up on Lacey. She could compete with lust, but if he was deeply in love with the other woman, he might be a lost cause. _Worth a shot though. All was fair in love and war, wasn't it?_

"Can we change the subject? What's so interesting in the _Crier_?"

"You mean besides the usual financial woes, missing kids, and Rosetti's Furniture Store ads? Well, our Kat here moonlights as singer for a local Irish band, _The Celtic Cross_. Have I got that right? Anyway, she débuted a new tune Saturday night at the Frolickin' Mermaid, and it was a smashing hit. What did you call it, Hon?"

"Broken hearted Bride. Maybe you and Larry could come tonight, Jamie. It's our Valentine's bash. It'd really please me if you'd be my guests. I could probably finagle Shamus into throwing in a couple of free brews. What do you say?"

* * * *

She'd been playfully twisting one of her wayward red curls as she looked at the paper. Now as she offered the invite, Jamie noticed her playing with the long necklace wound around her throat, seductively running the jet beads through her full lips and nipping down with her perfect teeth. Her large green eyes sparkled, the morning sun streaming through their office's grimy window, igniting her red hair in a fiery blaze. It was a damned good thing he wasn't too committed to Lacey. In spite of himself, Kat excited the hell out of him. Luckily, the top of White's battered desk hid the bulge suddenly swelling inside his jeans. He half expected any second his excited prick would lift the officer's desk right off the floor.

"I'd love to, Kat, but it's impossible tonight." He tried really hard not to look at her, but he caught her disappointed sigh, and his gaze naturally drifted her way, and stayed. Kat O'Hara was lovely, plain and simple. She stood there less than three feet in front of him, with a questioning look on her pretty face and her bare arms crossed behind her back as though she were a perp in custody. _Her innocently seductive pose suddenly sparked a guilty image of another face belonging to a very reluctant captive. Shit._ "Rain check?"

"Yeah, Mr. lover-boy here has a hot after- school date with his Latino lover. I can make it though, Kat, my sweet. Be there with bells on my toes."

"Lacey's only part Latina. Besides, it's not a date keeping me away. I'm not seeing Lacey tonight." It seemed strangely important to Jamie that he make sure Kat knew that. "Actually, she's a little pissed at me because of that. I will come see you, Kat. Just not tonight. Sorry. I'd really like to hear you sing."

"That's all right. The weekend maybe? Bring Miss Rodriguez along if you like. Oops–where'd the time go? I'd really better go get into my uniform." Kat turned to go, her large eyes filled with disappointment.

As she turned, Jamie noticed what she'd worn into the station. Soft brown high-heeled boots, a flounced granny skirt and some sort of ribbon thing in pink and white lace. He thought she looked really hot. In fact, if he could've gotten rid of White on a donut run or something, if he wasn't already in a relationship, he'd be tempted to chase her round the squad room. He fantasized throwing her down on the desk and devouring her right there. Somehow he sensed, she wouldn't have minded.

"Hey, so Kat. I'll see you tonight at the pub," said White.

"T-that's great. We go on around nine."

"Maybe you can sit on my lap and sing me a lullaby?"

"In your dreams, Larry. In your dreams."

* * * *

Barnes and Costa ambushed MacLeod when he walked out of the squad room seconds later. They whisked their buddy into the men's' room and let him in on their discovery.

"Hey MacLeod, have we got some Intel for you! While you two was screwing around out at Lost Hope, Barnes and I did a little top-notch police work ourselves and checked up on this new partner of yours. By the way, you get any? I know you're seeing that school teacher and all, but O'Hara's one hot babe in spite of what we found."

"No, Eddie, I didn't get any. We talked. Try it sometime. Preferably with your wife. Kat's nice. A real decent lady and fellow officer. I treated her as such. Now, what's so important?"

"Well, aren't we high and mighty all of a sudden? Your "lady" there has her own deep dark secret. Did you two "converse" about that? I'd watch my back if I was you, MacLeod. That kid she's so proud of, always talking about?" Costa smirked, spraying sour spittle across the room. "Well, he _died_ two years back. In New York. She was a bit heavier then. Probably left over from her pregnancy, no doubt. MacLeod, she rolled over on the kid. Smothered the little shit. He was under a year old at the time."

"No! Damn–that sucks. And you two assholes think what–it was her fault? They blamed her? What a thing to have to live with. Damn, that really blows!"

"MacLeod! The bitch killed her kid. He's _dead_ , jerk-off. Only O'Hara don't seem to know it! I'm telling you, you're working with a nut case!"

# Chapter 8

At the same time that MacLeod was lying about his night with Lacey, she was dealing with the cold reality of being a teacher stuck in a small New England town who'd just shown up for class with reddened eyes. Within minutes of her entrance, the entire school knew. When the questions began, she'd tried to be creative, still fighting back the occasional sprinkle. Actually, all she really wanted was to avoid talking about it completely. She ended up claiming she'd just learned a favorite aunt down in North Carolina was dying. Nobody really believed her; the rumors flying about were much more popular. Only Eric Standish came near the truth; he fingered Officer Macleod from the get-go for upsetting her. He'd never liked the cop. Miss Rodriguez was way too good for him.

After the first hour of buzzing rumors, Lacey figured she'd survive the day. One or two of her female friends had actually shown real concern. She suspected that at least Julie Parker or Alice Barnes had pieced together the truth. She hoped the redness under her eyes and persistent tears would be gone by nightfall. This wasn't at all like Jamie. She couldn't believe he'd lied to her; had seemed in a hurry to get out of her presence. Normally he was so gentle and honest. So loving and considerate. She remembered a time late in the summer when she'd been standing on the school playground with the other teachers. A woman from the office, Mrs. Costa she thought, had approached the chaperoning trio of teachers with a big bouquet of red roses. As all the students gathered around babbling, the other teachers' mouths working in blatant jealousy, she'd realized the flowers were for her, from _him_. Her James. No one had ever done that for her before. She melted, her happy tears streaming unchecked down her burning cheeks. She'd been embarrassed, but so thrilled. He loved her. The wild and passionate love they'd made that night had proved it. _What happened? Was he growing bored? When had he started to drift away?_ He'd never hurt her like this before. He had to know she'd find out. He'd seemed so loving and eager to please her at first, but then he'd acted like he couldn't get away from her fast enough. Was he tired of her? W-was it over? _God, more tears. She was such a cry-baby!_ Was it after she'd confessed to falling in love with him; was he so opposed to any commitment that he felt compelled to put her off? _What did you expect, you silly goose? He's never actually said he loves you. Men today shy away from any permanent attachment. He is a really hot looking stud–he could get any woman he wanted–not just some mousey four-eyed school teacher. Face it girl, you can come across as a pretty timid frump. Jamie probably thinks of you as nothing more than a good lay. Maybe, he doesn't even think you're that._ More tears stung her eyes; she made an excuse, fled to the ladies room, knowing new rumors would follow her down the hall. She didn't care. Worse than her red, puffy eyes and torrents of tears was the internal damage. Her breaking heart. To make matters worse, there'd been the call from her snooty mother back in Charleston. Jessica Devonshire–mom had reverted to her maiden name; couldn't stand to think that some of her friends might think of her as that Puerto Rican woman, even though she had no problem living off poor dead daddy's money. Mom couldn't understand why a woman with Lacey's intelligence was wasting her time with somebody who didn't make six figures. Self- defensive words like kind, thoughtful, or romantic just didn't cut it with mom. In fact if she could see her daughter now, she'd probably rocket out of her expensive lawn furniture, choking and sputtering on her Southern Comfort as she staggered across her immaculate lawn. She might even kick one of the peacocks, or yell at the pool boy. She'd screech into her Blackberry what a complete idiot Lacey was. Then she'd dial up the paramedics–they'd have to be buff and cute, of course–to come patch _her_ broken heart. Lacey was such a disappointing daughter. Lacey knew there was no point in trying to explain to mom that she'd fallen hard. She was completely, hopelessly, in love with James MacLeod. The man who didn't care; or if he did, just didn't care that much. She locked the Teachers' lounge door and found a dark corner in which to have a good cry.

Miss Rodriguez didn't return to class for a good three-quarters of an hour.

* * * *

After the last bell, Lacey gathered up her belongings and met Julie Parker for a ride home. The two teachers were walking down the corridor that led to the faculty parking lot when Principal Sweetling caught up to them. The large man creeped out Lacey. Whenever she noticed him looking at her, he always seemed to be undressing her with his small piggish eyes.

"Miss Rodriguez. A word please, before you go," he commanded, coming to an abrupt halt well within Lacey's personal space. "I'm sure Ms. Parker will wait for you in the parking lot. Won't you, Julie?" Towering over Lacey, the intimidating man began tapping one of his large oxblood wingtips and whistling his usual off-key nonsense.

"Of course, Principal Sweetling. I'd be happy to." Julie flashed a knowing smirk at her friend, and disappeared down the hall toward freedom. Principal Sweetling continued his annoying whistling until he saw her disappear through the door, and then abruptly turned on his apprehensive underling.

"Miss Rodriguez, I notice you seem to have sustained some sort of . . . emotional breakdown. I must say you've caused quite the uproar among the students and faculty today. What you do on your personal time is none of my concern... _except_ , when it affects the school environment and your abilities to perform your duties. I have a report that you left your classroom unattended and disappeared into the Teachers' lounge for an hour! Is this true, Miss Rodriguez?"

"Y-yes sir. I'm sorry, Mr. Sweetling. It won't happen again." Lacey felt her knees grow weak and her stomach churn. Her face felt on fire, her skin slick with sweat. Not that she felt shame or apologetic–it really was none of Sweetling's damned business–but he was so creepy. Moving closer to her, she saw his beady eyes looking down at her breasts, and it made her feel like she had spiders skittering all over her skin. Twice she narrowly avoided his hands when he reached out to hold hers. He settled for plunking one massive paw on her shoulder and leaning in closer to deliver his final warning. The stench of his expensive cologne was smothering.

"See that it doesn't. Some of the rumors circulating make one wonder if you're a good role-model for our children. That's all. You can go, Miss Rodriguez." He thumped his beefy mitt down on her shoulder, bruising her soft flesh. As he dropped his arm and turned away, Lacey could have sworn his fat fingertips grazed her chest. She wanted to slap and kick him, shriek at him in her grandmother's tongue and tell him what a complete asshole he was. Instead, she turned on her heel and scurried toward the parking lot, a little of her stifled anger bleeding out through the loud staccato tapping of her heels.

# Chapter 9

Eric Standish leaned back in his battered old chair and admired his handiwork. The latest little additions he'd added to the classic plastic model really brought the monster to life. The flexible fins, translucent teeth, and especially the eyes, made the Creature from the Black Lagoon suddenly pulsate with disturbing realism. Pushing his plastic glasses up his slick nose, Eric allowed himself a satisfied grin. He didn't want to brag, but he was getting really good. Maybe a career after college working for one of the better FX teams wasn't so far-fetched after all. At least at thirteen and a half, he had a little time to think about it and plan.

Putting his model on the shelf amidst the nest of other monsters, Eric swiveled, rose out of his chair, and walked toward the apartment's kitchen, taking a quick look out the window at the lousy weather. The howling wind rattled the window frame like a frustrated predator trying to force its way in. His sister, Abby, should be home from watching Officer O'Hara's kid in a few minutes unless the town cop was held up by the nasty weather. It was pouring out there, another one of those miserable icy nights. Pretty soon, Abby would whiz down here, wolf down her supper, grab her homework and then rocket back up to _watch_ the O'Hara kid again while his mommy went out to do her Celtic thing. _Sad._ It'd be almost laughable if it wasn't so damned pitiful that Kat pretended her dead son was still alive. Well, it was all right with him if she wanted to forget. It brought her comfort and Abby and him some extra cash. Since Mom and Dad died on Break Neck Road last June, they needed all the money they could get just to get by. Miss O'Hara was pretty nice for a crazy lady. She never called him a geek or anything. Besides, she was really nice to look at. He shot a quick glance at his little shrine to his favorite teacher. "Not as pretty as you, babe."

He got the Mac and Cheese going on the stovetop, and then threw two hefty burgers in a skillet. He returned to his room, sitting at his battered work desk, totally unconcerned about burning their supper. He could watch the stovetop easily from his doorway eight feet away. The miracles of cooking had long since become tediously blah.

Eric slouched in his chair, giving it a slow turn with his gangly legs, drinking in all the details of his private Shangri-La. It was a fairly typical teenage boy's lair, especially one not gifted with a jock's genes. Crammed with books, DVDs and toys from a fairly solitary childhood. Action figures and toy soldiers marched across his shelves, off to do battle with the cluster of plastic monsters lurking in the corner. An old TV nestled next to a Close and Play; crowding his HO trains and an unused baseball glove. Chaotically strewn geek's clothes, his artist's tools and his new camera completed his inventory of possessions. Unless you counted the shrine to his favorite teacher, Miss Rodriguez. Drawings and curling photos paid homage to her beauty. Every kid his age had a teacher crush. His was just a little stronger.

* * * *

He couldn't believe she'd been offended by his drawing. She'd found it scrunched up in her bag when she went hunting for a hankie or something. She'd obviously been crying. He'd never seen her with mussed-up eye-make up before. It made her look like a sad raccoon. That bastard MacLeod. She wasn't really upset about the _drawing_ ; it was the lousy cop. Eric thought he'd caught a pretty good likeness of her lovely face. He couldn't believe it when she'd asked him to stay behind for _a little talk_. Once the last bell had rung, she'd actually crossed the classroom and pushed her door further open. What did she think he would do? He idolized her. He'd never do anything to _hurt_ her. He loved her. Ever since she'd started teaching at Constance Paine and he'd discovered the existence of the opposite sex, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. He day-dreamed about her, fell asleep nightly fantasizing that she'd grant his wish. Closing his eyes and allowing the fantasy to flow, he could see her standing before the class in that flowery print dress he liked. She'd call him up in front of all the kids, and reaching upwards–he was already a little taller than her–place one of her slender hands on each of his shoulders, draw him down towards heaven. Offer him a _kiss_. After all, she kissed that police officer. Eric had the photo to prove it. One little bitty kiss, that was all he wanted. He scrunched his eyes up behind his glasses, trying to visualize the passion-drenched moment in every detail. _She drew him down, closer, puckering her full lips. Stop! He needed to admit she'd probably never kiss him. He probably creeped her out. Look at her reaction to his drawing._

That wasn't exactly fair. Miss Rodriguez had never actually said anything bad about it. In fact, she'd actually been quite nice, saying how she didn't think she was that pretty, adding he was quite talented with perhaps a remarkable future in art, and finally, almost reluctantly, that she didn't think she was an appropriate subject for his talent and would he please stop. He'd agreed. How could he not? She was so beautiful. He thought there was still hope. Maybe one day he would get that kiss. After all, Miss Rodriguez was no prude–he thought that was the word–he'd seen her kissing Officer MacLeod and he'd wrapped both his hands around her waist, massaging her bum. No wonder they called cops _pigs_. She'd looked nervously around, never noticing Eric. He was well hidden. Then she'd just blushed and smiled at her boyfriend; but she'd never slapped his hand away. Yes, definitely, there might be a kiss in Eric's future.

# Chapter 10

Armed with a mug of Captain Morgan's and a good book, Jamie had just settled into his favorite chair for a dull evening of dozing and drowning his stress. He was hoping to avoid dealing with the Lacey problem, at least for the night. Although quick to admit he cared for the teacher a lot, he was unsure he was ready to make a life-long commitment. His attraction to Kat was a prime example. Initially a sexual attraction, he wondered if it might develop into an emotional attachment as well. Then there were the secrets he'd kept from Lacey; if she suddenly knew them, she'd probably drop him like a scalding brick. Lacey was a beautiful, sweet, intelligent woman–she deserved far better than he could ever hope to offer her. He'd miss her. _Shit, he missed her already._ Gulping a hearty swallow, he put his rum down and sat up, listening to the heavy rain hammering on his roof. Moon was pretty bright tonight. _Of course!_ Shaking his head, he'd just slouched back in his chair and reopened his book when his cell rang. _Lacey._ Instinctively moving to answer, he stopped himself, deciding to ignore her call. He was exhausted; they were getting nowhere tracking down this serial killer. He just didn't want to deal with it, deal with _her_ now. Two Chapters into his book about local pirates, his cell chirped at him. She was text messaging him. Killing the beep, he glanced at her message. _Would he call her? It was important. She needed to talk to him. See him. Please._ She sounded desperate. He didn't like desperate clingy women; it made him feel trapped. As if he didn't care.

When his cell rang the third time, he closed his book. _Persistent, wasn't she._ He swilled the last of his rum, and decided he'd risk going out after all. Feeling bad about dodging Lacey, he decided he needed a change. Moons had a bad habit of ducking behind clouds—he wasn't going to take a chance endangering her. But he'd risk going to the bar, give himself a break. Giving himself the injection he'd forgotten the night before. How could he have been so stupid? Well, it was too late now; he wouldn't risk her safety again. There should be no problem in the bar—nobody he really cared about enough to stir _things_ up. He pocketed the phone, and went in search of his car keys. Elusive as ever, he'd walked through six rooms of his 18th century waterfront home before he found them. Headed for the door, he ignored the framed marine paintings in his living room, the tattered original rattlesnake flag hanging in his den next to his collection of well-used swords. However, he did glance at the small locked door beneath the stairs that led down to a secret chamber and hell beyond. As he raced for his Escape, he prayed he'd never need to open it. Five minutes later, he was on the road to Grim Island's harbor.

# Chapter 11

The Frolickin' Mermaid stunned MacLeod with its silence. In spite of constantly clinking glasses and bottles around the bar, peppered with an occasional patron's hushed request for more brew; Jamie could have heard a mouse fart. None of the youngish crowd was talking, or the older booze-swilling regulars. As he walked in through the thick oak door decorated with faux studs and rimed with genuine sea salt, he too fell under the spell of the singer's bittersweet lament. He was surprised to see Kat. Damn, he'd forgotten about her. She was halfway through her new song, _Broken-hearted Bride_ , and there wasn't a dry eye in the place. Jamie grabbed the first available stool and lost himself in the haunting sorrow of her siren's voice. Though his eyes feasted on the lovely singer before him, it was Lacey's ghost that rose unbidden in his heart. Feeling like an asshole, he wanted to leave, almost rose to do so, but the words snaked through him with seductive fingers, whispering to him to stay, swiftly sucking away his will. Then as Kat finished her ballad, she looked right at him, flashing her warmest smile, and he knew he was trapped.

The siren's enthrallment broken; the crowd grew typically noisy, there was even an accompanying roaring clap of thunder, echoing like cannon fire across the harbor as the rain repeatedly threw itself against the mullioned windows like a hail of grapeshot. Kat turned to her fellow musicians and conferred a few seconds with the lead guitarist. Then as tall schooners of stout Ale were hoisted, and the raucous chatter began to sound like a full-pitched battle, Celtic Cross launched into their rendition of _Orinoco Flow_. Falling for the enticing charm of the catchy tune, Jamie found his foot beginning to tap along with the rest, his head swaying slightly as he joined the crowd in naming the exotic isles. He loved sailing, owned his own classic friendship sloop–Rattlesnake– that he'd brought down from Marblehead. Each time he fell under the spell of this tune, he'd found himself mentally checking off the ports he'd visited. Surprisingly, it was a pretty good list.

"Well if it isn't the Mad Scotsman, Jamie MacLeod. Haven't seen you for a while. Since...September, when you tied up that rag-bagger of yours and came in with that pretty lady on your arm. What was her name?"

"Lacey. Lacey Rodriguez. How are you, Shamus? I'd like a Guinness stout when you get a minute."

"Rodriguez. That's the one. School teacher, if I remember. Pretty little thing...nice lady too. Smart as a whip. Too good for the likes of you. I'd like a minute of your time, MacLeod if you can spare it?"

Feasting on Kat's sweet voice and lovely face, Jamie didn't hear the last comment. In fact, he thought the massive bar owner had gone to fetch his beer.

"MacLeod?"

"Ahh...yes? What is it, Shamus?"

"She's lovely, isn't she? I only hope at the end of the month when her gig is up, I can entice her to stay on. Anyway, if you've got a moment, I'd like to show you something. Detective work, right up your alley from what I hear. Official police business."

"Actually, I'm off duty." The look on Shamus's face said of course he was well aware of that, and would count it a personal favor if Jamie would humor him. Whatever he wanted to show MacLeod, the man was obviously pretty worked up. Shamus O'Neil had been a naval gunner in World War II, stationed briefly on the mainland at Quonset Point. Friendly conversations with the man during several late afternoons while summer squalls raged offshore had revealed that Shamus had survived two violent carrier bombings in the South Pacific; Jamie couldn't imagine this big muscular veteran being rattled easily. Yet it was pretty obvious that whatever Shamus wanted so desperately to show Macleod had him downright scared.

"Okay Shamus. Let's go see this detective work of yours. I assume Miss O'Hara will still be singing when I return."

"She's got another hour yet. I really appreciate this, mate."

"Don't mention it. I have to admit, you've got me curious. Can't imagine what it is."

The truth be told, he could. He'd spent enough time in the Frolickin' Mermaid himself to know that Shamus's prime patron was Ezekiel Browne, an old half-blind sail maker. Jamie knew Ezekiel, probably knew him better than Shamus. He knew what Ezekiel was.

# Chapter 12

On stage, Kat had seen Shamus leave with Jamie MacLeod in tow. She didn't know why the huge pub owner had found it necessary to pluck Jamie out of her audience–she didn't even know why Jamie had suddenly found himself able to show, though she was definitely thrilled that he had. _What a nice Valentine's Day present._ He'd blown off the Rodriguez bitch to be with her. She was so excited; if she played her cards right, she might get the joy of unwrapping this present. Determined not to let her prize slip away, she turned to Sean Ramsey, _Celtic Cross's_ nominal leader, and signaled she wanted a break. When he nodded okay, she crossed the stage, gave him a peck on the cheek and asked him for another favor. Scrunching up his elfin face, Sean reluctantly agreed. Certain of his answer and full of purpose, she hadn't waited; hoisting all her sails, she was swiftly tacking her way through the crowd's rough seas. As Sean shook his head and reached inside his worn leather jacket for a joint to smoke out back, he caught her bluff stern disappearing in a hurry around the crowded bar.

# Chapter 13

Feeling miserable, Lacey decided to make the best of her lonely night and pamper herself. She'd sent Jamie three text messages with no response; maybe it was time for her to grow up and admit she'd lost him. _It seemed like he was determined to be a jerk. She'd been a fool to hope this night meant as much to him as to her. Valentine's Day—for those in love. Obviously, that wasn't him. I'm such an idiot! Well, she was a big girl; she could take care of herself, couldn't sh?. Sure she could._ Having indulged herself in a long soothing bath, she taken a cocktail of painkillers, and then made herself a calming cup of steaming chai. Carrying this and her latest paperback by Patricia Cornwell into the living room, she noticed that in spite of the rumble of distant thunder, it was no longer pouring outside. Instead a thick fog had begun to ooze in, creeping along the ground as it slithered landward from the barrier salt marsh. She'd looked around the rambling farmhouse for Allegro, knowing she'd feel better with her warm calico curled up on her lap, head-butting her with love, but the wayward kitty had vanished. She was probably rooting around in some dark corner of her old stone cellar looking for the ever present field mice. She'd just sat and begun listening to a little romantic Vivaldi on her iPod when the house phone rang. _Jamie!_ It turned out to be Julie Parker on the phone asking about her injuries, both physical and emotional. Twenty minutes later, Lacey returned to the living room, knowing her chai must be ice cold. Her mood had chilled too, especially towards a certain detective.

She'd just picked up her tea cup, and was turning to go to the microwave, when she realized there was a gaunt man standing rigid as a corpse just outside her window, his features squashed up against the glass as he glared at her. Dropping the tea cup, Lacey screamed. The cup shattered, shooting chai across her light rug. She didn't care. She'd seen the way the cadaverous man leered at her. His glare scared the shit out of her! Turning to flee the room, hoping to lock her windows and doors before he could get in, she looked back over her shoulder. _He was gone._ His features had been weird: beady close-set eyes beneath a heavy scowling brow, long aquiline nose, and thin lips sneering over large ragged teeth–no chin, just a prominent Adam's apple that wrinkled its way into some sort of dingy clerical collar. His color had been too pale and blotchy, the body beneath his cheap black suit almost skeletal. He looked sick, or at least deranged.

He was gone. _Had he really been there at all? Honestly, Lace?_ Hugging her nightie to her chest; she planned to lock all the doors and call the police anyway, just to be safe. She'd try text messaging Jamie again. He might respond quicker if he knew she was in trouble. She'd just been wallowing in self-pity. He deserved better than that. She turned to retrieve her cell, and the freak from outside was right there in front of her, grinning, less than two feet away. She'd swear he was drooling on the floor.

"Who are you? What do you want? Get out of my house!"

"Fall on thy knees, Sinner! I come to cleanse thy immortal soul." Lacey squealed, flailing at him in fright, and turned to run. He grunted, dodging as her frantic hand swept across his face. His mission of punishment burning in his eyes, he groped with his own probing fingers. They snagged in the high buttoned throat of her nightgown and tore downward. His other hand grabbed her arm, biting deeply into soft flesh as he held her tight. "I am Father Malachi Caul Paine and I've come to punish you, sinner. You are a wicked fallen woman. When did you last confess your sins, you unrighteous whore? I fear wench, you may have strayed too far from the church to be saved."

"W-what are you talking about, you crazy old man? Let me go!"

"Blaspheming will not help thee. Nothing will save thee, thy fornicating harlot." He moved closer, shoving her up against the wall, and bending his reeking face closer to hers. "You see, I know your secret–the one you keep buried in the darkest corner of your black soul. Disgusting wretched woman. You should be strangled with your own rosary." He pulled her closer, sniffing her and dissecting her with his eyes. "You are a pretty little thing. Wickedness can be so tempting. Perhaps there is a way–" Tearing at her gown, his fingers bit into her soft flesh, poking and pinching. The man stopped, letting his victim stagger away as he lifted his sweat slick fingers to his stinking mouth. Sucking her scent off his ragged fingertips with his pebbled tongue, he mumbled, "Evil tastes so sweet. No matter. I will have your soul now, daughter of Hell!" He came right at her. Lacey had just scooped up her cell from her table and was futilely looking for somewhere to hide when her attacker materialized less than a yard away. She squeaked in fright, and dashed instinctively through the nearest doorway, slamming the door shut behind her. Flipping her lights on, she thundered down the old stone stairs, frantically looking for a hiding place and anything she could use as a weapon. _The cellar–what an idiot she_ _was! She'd trapped herself! Damn!_ Any second, that guy, that _thing_ would come down here and rape her. _At least._ Unable to stop her frightened tears, alone and unarmed in her ancient cellar, Lacey Rodriguez prepared to fight for her life.

It grew very quiet upstairs. At first she heard the man lumbering around, smashing things, almost as though he had poor control of his body. She was so terrified. She sent Jamie another frantic text message, praying he wouldn't see it as just a sick trick to lure him back to her bed. Sex was the last thing on her mind. She'd bet that beast upstairs felt quite differently. The thought chilled her to the bone. It had grown so quiet. _Was there a chance he'd left? Did she dare chance_ _climbing the stairs for a look?_ He was probably right on the other side of the door, just waiting for her to stick her head through the door. _Did she dare?_ Well, she'd better do something. With no service in the cellar, she wasn't about to get any help. Jamie hadn't been answering his text messages beforehand. _Some hero_. It was freezing down here. Of course, with her torn nightie, what else could she expect? _But hadn't it been warmer when she'd first fled down here? Now, it_ _seemed downright frigid._ She ventured up half a dozen steps, stopped and listened. Nothing. Not a peep. Another three steps and she'd be at the door. Then what? Lacey had just started up again, when the door suddenly thumped, and she heard somebody on the other side shooting the barrel bolt lock she'd had James install. She was trapped!

"You be nice and quiet now, Miss Rodriguez. Think on thy sins, foul slut. I have sent two parishioners to pray with thee. I shall return for thy soul later." Though the words had been all too clear, they'd been spoken with great effort, as though from a throat seldom used. He was going. As he walked away she distinctly heard him start to whistle. Lacey pounded on the door, begging to be released. Nothing. Eventually, she collapsed on the top stair, and wept.

Three minutes later, she flipped open her cell again. _No service._ _Low battery._ Suddenly, she thought she heard slow movement deep in her cellar, and with growing horror, realized her circuit breaker box was being opened. Seconds later, the lights went out. Lacey screamed.

At first, there was nothing in the dark but her labored breathing and galloping heart. Then, she became aware of sound. Slow, deliberate footsteps, dragging themselves across the dirty cellar floor. _This can't be happening—can it?_ Lacey stood up, and backed into her cellar door. _What should she do–where could she go? Should she race down the stairs in the dark and find a place to hide?_

_She'd probably fall and break a leg. Whoever, whatever, was down there obviously didn't need to see. What was directing it? Did it smell her...her blood? Oh God! What should she do_? But then, it was suddenly at the foot of the stairs, and flight was useless. _There was one_ _dragging set of footsteps–no, two–Oh dear God! They're coming up the stairs_!

# Chapter 14

Gerald P. Sweetling sat in his cozy living room surrounded by those he loved. It had taken him many hours of painstakingly hard work and patience to coax them into the perfect beings he demanded, but it was worth it. Now as he sat in the huge darkened room amidst his treasures, the flickering light from the crackling fireplace assured him every set of eyes was on him alone. He was the center of attention, the exact center of their universe. That was pretty much the way he saw himself when he strutted down the corridors in his school, past all the pretty bitches and their runny-nosed brats. Just as it should be. After all, _he_ wanted it that way.

He lifted his half-drunk Sherry from the frog nestled at his elbow and took a long sip. _What to do? What to do indeed._ He placed the drink down on the frog's green back and looked around the shadowy room at his friends. _What did they think?_ He tittered– _they don't think, or rather, they think what_ _I_ _tell them. I made them_. The room brooded in silence as stitched lips and dazzled glass eyes seemed eager to agree. Gerry picked up the stuffed frog. It had taken him three days just to find a bullfrog big enough to stuff, another two to plump up his chubby body with ticking, glue, and then painstakingly paint him. He hurled the stiff corpse against the far wall, rocking one of his grandfather's revered Ming vases. He sensed a quivering in the room. His stuffed elk and cottontail were growing frightened. He tittered out loud. _Who would hear?_ _His taxidermic wonders?_ No sense of fear coming from the bobcat, weasel, or wolverine. _Oh bother! What to do?_ The bitch just wouldn't give in. Yet.

# Chapter 15

Jamie had been right. He knew what was going on, and who was involved. Shamus obviously hadn't a clue.

"It was that way when I came in this afternoon. Just look at it this damned big hole! Who... _what_ could have caused this? Jamie?"

They were in the harbor side tavern's storeroom, facing a locked back door. The room around them was filled with stacked boxes and crates of bottled booze. It was damp and freezing in the room; of course, it would be with the great gaping hole in the wall next to the door. Although Shamus seemed not to have figured out what it was, Jamie had. The hole was man-sized. A small man. And there was something else.

"Who was still here around closing, Shamus? Was Zeke still here?"

"Of course, Ezekiel was here.. He's such a permanent fixture."

"When Zeke leave?"

"Ezekiel? You can't think that little old fart...can't say that I actually saw him leave. You know Zeke. He can't hold his booze more than ten minutes. He's got it on board for such a short time, I feel guilty charging him."

"But you do, Shamus, you do. What time?"

"Bet your Patriots tickets I do. He doesn't drink the cheap stuff either. He's always in the john. But he was out of here when I locked up. I'd swear on it. Zeke navigates pretty well, even when he's hammered. Yeah, he would have sailed out of here under his own steam."

Jamie thought differently, but would keep his thoughts along with his knowledge of the claw marks to himself. Ezekiel Brown probably was in the bathroom when Shamus locked up. Like so many seniors loaded to the brim with meds, Zeke had a weak bladder and chronic constipation. Chances were he was working on a tardy dump when Shamus locked and barred the door. Sometime later, Ezekiel would have wandered out of the bathroom, realized he was locked in, and proceeded to claw his way to freedom. That was the only explanation for the frantic claw marks Jamie saw burrowing _out_ through the wall.

"You got any ideas who did this, Jamie? Pretty lousy thieves. I can't see that they took anything, except one bottle of Scotch."

That clinched it; Zeke guzzled one kind of booze. Scotch. Jamie would take care of this, quietly. He'd always liked the bent old man. Town drunk or not, he was one hell of a sail maker. Jamie had ordered a new set of sails for _Rattlesnake_ when he first moved to Grim Island; they were the best sails he'd ever hoisted on the old sloop. Yeah, he'd talk with Zeke. He understood his pain.

"Yeah, pretty certain I know who it is, Shamus. It won't happen again. You might want to get Tom Murphy in here to fix this wall. Cold as a witch's tit in here. And check that bathroom before you lock up. You don't want a poor sod like Zeke getting stuck in here."

"Thanks James. Yeah, I'll keep my weather eye out for the old fart. I'll talk to Tom in the morning. Oh...Kat, darling?"

Jamie turned around, and there she was, smiling up into his face, looking so sweet and tempting in her low-cut lacy chemise and leather boots. For a moment, he forgot all about Ezekiel Browne, Lacey, and the pouring rain.

* * * *

She sang five more songs after her break, moving her way down off the stage and weaving through the crowd to stand before Jamie's corner table. Her tunes were sea shanties, local favorites anyway, but she sang them especially for Jamie. He sat with his free beer untouched, completely under her spell, knowing that if she were singing on the shore as he sailed by, he'd drive _Rattlesnake_ hard aground on the sharp rocks just to be near her, and never blink once. In his pocket, his cell had recorded three messages from Lacey, each more desperate than the last. They'd ceased abruptly, though it wouldn't matter, because he'd ignored them completely, and her desperate need was long past.

Beginning her last song of the evening– _Spanish Ladies_ –Kat rose from leaning across Jamie's table and closed up the front of her lacy chemise before she turned and began to work her way back through the late night crowd. Only Jamie had been treated to the vision of her half bared chest–she'd teasingly slipped each button undone and spread the thin cotton aside to offer him a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. Her invitation had been blatantly obvious. He imagined in her mind, if her plan worked, she'd soon be in his bedroom letting him have her.

"Farewell and Adieu, you fair Spanish Ladies." The entire crowd picked up the well-known refrain, many of the tipsy patrons sloshing half empty tankards and rocking back and forth with their neighbors. Kat felt tonight's crowd would have done any pirate crew proud. Now to bed the captain.

* * * *

Within ten minutes they'd said their good-byes to the midnight revelers, with Jamie promising Shamus to "take care of his little problem". Sean had been good at his word, declaring he had something special brewing so he was unable to give Kat her usual ride home. Certain as the evening tide, her knight in shiny armor, stepped into the breach and offered her a ride in his steed. Pleased with herself, she'd accepted; soon they were working their way away through the fog-shrouded water front, and headed for his place. They passed by Slocum's hardware store, the beam from the lone harbor lighthouse struggling to penetrate the roiling fog and light up the crowded display window. They inched by Eldridge's Marine Supply, and Lucy's, another watering hole, and then picked up a little speed as they passed a string of four identical B&Bs, fashioned to look turn of the century, yet barely two years old. Jamie smiled at Kat. Smugly, she beamed back. He hadn't taken much convincing; she'd seen how intoxicated he was as they staggered across the rain-slick cobble stones toward his Escape. The rain had stopped, chased away by a thick eerie fog engulfing the harbor. Kat snuggled next to Jamie as they walked arm in arm, encouraging him to take her. So here they were, driving to his bed.

Finally clear of winding cobblestone roads, he drove with one hand, and began pawing at her breasts with the other. She undid her flimsy chemise, and thrust her breasts within easy reach, but she could see his urgent need, so she pulled away and stopped flaunting herself. It pleased her that he was so excited, but she didn't want him coming in his pants. He had to be all of twenty-eight, and she didn't want to wait all night while he worked up some more juice.

"Shamus told me why they call you the Mad Scotsman. It's because you sail that sloop of yours in the wildest weather when everybody else stays in port, and you take all the really dangerous police work that nobody else wants."

He shot her a quick look, unable to believe that flaunting her near naked boobies in his face seconds before–enough to make his cock rock hard–she'd suddenly turned prude and decided to talk about sailing and police work. They weren't crime-fighting partners _now_.

"What? Kat, you work me up to a fever-pitch, and now you want to talk about sailing? What gives?" _Exactly, what was her damned plan? Was he getting laid or not? He was really horny now, and a bad case of blue balls just wasn't part of_ _his_ _plan._

"I'm just making small talk. Like talking about the Red Sox in bed. I can see you're really turned on, and I want to make sure we make the bedroom."

"I'm not _twelve_! I have had sex before. Usually without complaint."

"You mean with _her_?"

"Oh Christ! Yes, Lacey. You _know_ that! W-we ran into a little . . . problem. It's _you_ I came to see, _not_ her. Now, should I turn this car around, or do we continue?"

For an answer, she shrugged out of her coat, and pulled her chemise open. In the dim light, her naked breasts appeared ghostly white. Unable to keep his eyes off her, Jamie swerved across the empty country road.

"Jesus, Kat!"

"Here's your answer, officer. I'm so horny, I think you better throw me in your bed and arrest me."

Jamie laughed at the over-used cliché, and touched her closest breast. "You sure about this, Kat? You could still make a run for it."

"You know I've wanted you since we met, Jamie. Take me to bed, Copper."

* * * *

Late at night the fog cleared off, and a spectral galleon of a moon sailed across a sea of angry clouds. Insisting on taking Kat home, Jamie did talk shop as they drove. He told her a lot of what he knew about the seedier side of crime on little old Grim Island. He reminded her that the island had been a dumping ground for Rhode Island from the beginning. Times had changed, but sometimes old curses died hard. Postcard pretty as the quaint coastal community was, sometimes centuries of bad peoples' shit just left an underlying god awful stink.

She seemed to accept that, so he left the fouler truths unsaid. There was only so much he dared tell her, so much she was ready to handle. They'd talked about her son; she'd admitted she was well aware he was gone–it just gave her comfort sometimes to pretend he was still with her, going through the motions as though he really was. Apparently she hired the Standish kids to _watch_ him, just so she could slip them a little extra help-out money without hurting their pride. Ever since their parents had died in a car crash, they'd had it pretty rough financially. Did he know about that car crash? Out near Raven's Rest. Some pretty weird shit there.

She knew some people thought she was crazy, but that was an acceptable price for a little Christian charity towards those dear kids. She bit her lower lip then, keeping a few of her other secrets to herself; conveniently failing to tell him why she was still lactating even though her son was long dead, and not daring to breath a word about believing she was actually seeing and holding Brian.

* * * *

Lois Ricci had pulled a late one waiting tables at the Frolicking Mermaid. That new singer, Kat O'Hara had been on tap that night with Celtic Cross and she'd really packed them in. The place had really been hopping for a week night, and Lois had cleaned up on tips. Happy with the jingle of rent money in her apron, she decided to stop at Soares Sunoco station and treat her thirsty Chevy. Still in her green and white waitress uniform, she pulled up to the full service island and laid on her Chevelle's horn until she saw old man Soares stir.

Grumbling all the way to the pump, Rufus mumbled and spit the whole time he forced gas down the Chevy's throat. His pump dinged off at thirty-four, but he was able to cajole the old car into wolfing down an additional buck and three cents. Cursing up a storm over the cents his tardy trigger finger cost him; he shuffled over to Lois's window. She thrust two twenties at him as though she couldn't wait to see him curse and spit some more. He did, but turned on his worn work shoe heel, and trudged back inside. Impatient to be home, Louise kicked off her shoes and wiggled her tired toes. Starting the Chevy, she ran a brush through her hair. God, two twenties for a thirty-five dollar charge. Couldn't the old coot do it in his head? She could almost picture him struggling with the nub of a pencil, scratching out wrong answers. It'd almost be funny if she wasn't so damned tired and anxious to go home.

Actually, Rufus was real good with figures, and not just the ones with curves. He'd reached in the register for a five and been starting out to Lois when he got a bad case of the shits. Man his age often had a problem going. A couple laxatives usually did the trick, but they had a habit of sneaking up on you, and when they said you got to go, you went! Trouble was, while he was sitting and pooping he heard a noise. Weird fucking noise. Coming from the back of the station and working to the front. Scared the crap out of him!

Empty as a brand-new vacuum, he hurried out the front door and trundled lickety-split over to Miss Ricci's purring car. Only trouble was, she wasn't in it. Rufus scratched his head, looked around, even calling her name two or three times. What could have happened to the pretty little thing? Finally, he pocketed the five, got in her car and drove it around back. Maybe she'd be back in the morning to pick it up. Maybe he'd think about calling Chief DeCosta and reporting the whole disturbing event. Maybe.

# Chapter 16

"Hey, MacLeod," tossed Larry, "doesn't your girlfriend, that school teacher live out at the old Wetherill farmhouse?" Larry got instant attention from the previous night's love birds, one of sudden interest, the other's, icy annoyance. "At 29 Sweet Bottom Lane?"

"Yeah, she does." Jamie glanced at Kat, realizing he'd just opened a basket of spitting cobras. "Why, what's up Larry? By the way, we missed you at the Mermaid last night. Thought you were going. What happened?"

"Wife wouldn't let me out. She's got a list of _honey do_ items as long as my schlong."

"So you should have been done in record time then," teased Kat. "We did miss you though. Jamie made it after all."

"Don't be a smart ass, O'Malley. I like you better as the sweet young thing. Oh, and so it's _Jamie_ now, is it?"

"Larry–what's the deal with Miss Rodriguez?"

"Oh her. Seems there's been some trouble at her home. Something about being attacked. I gather it was pretty bad. Ambulance and our boys are on their way. Teacher friend of hers named Julie Parker, got concerned, went over and found her. You know Ms. Parker? Anyway, she says Miss Rodriguez tried to contact you a dozen times for help. I gather this Parker isn't one of your biggest fans. She seemed really pissed at you, Jamie. Hey, where the hell are you going _now_?"

"Where the hell do you _think_ I'm going?"

"Wait up, Jamie–I'll go with you," Kat grabbed her purse from the desk as she chased after Jamie, threading her hand through his arm, and drawing herself close. "I might be able to help."

"You don't have to, Kat," he said, stopping and looking sternly at her as he held her at arm's length. "I don't think it's such a good idea."

"I'm going!" Kat grabbed his arm again and turned him towards the door, almost dragging the bigger man. "Let's stop wasting time!"

* * * *

By the time Jamie slid to a stop in front of Lacey's rambling farmhouse, both the town's police cruiser and the ambulance were parked outside and empty. Not waiting on Kat, Jamie raced up Lacey's brick walkway, showed his shield to the uniform stationed outside, and bolted inside. Heedless of the drastically diminished light inside, he headed straight for the cluster of uniformed first responders gathered around the entrance to Lacey's cellar. Flashing his shield again and not waiting for clearance, Jamie shoved his way through the crowd and was halfway down the stairs before he was challenged.

He could tell at a glance it was bad. Lacey was sprawled at the foot of the stairs, while two paramedics worked over her doing what they could. A third man knelt near her face, talking softly to her while he doctored her injured arm. Off to one side stood a woman of about forty, deep worry biting into her plain face. When she turned, Jamie saw smiley face pajama bottoms and a Patriots sweatshirt under her raincoat. The ever present cigarette shoved between her lips, beady eyes blazing with fury, Julie Parker glared up at him.

"MacLeod, what the hell are you doing here? Where were you when she needed you?" She left Lacey's side, flying toward the stairs like an angry harpy. "Get out of here! You're too late." She began flailing her arms like a crazed woman, screwing up her unattractive face as though she'd just sucked on a steaming horse bun. "We don't want you here now! Get the fuck out!"

She strutted back toward Lacey and bent low over her sprawled friend. Dazed, Jamie took in the torn nightgown and splotches of blood. _Oh God, it was bad._

"Oh God—Lacey!" When he got no response, he turned on Parker, ready to hit someone. "Any ideas who did this? W-was she raped?"

That triggered Parker again, she was instantly in his face, exhaling her noxious fumes before he could take a step backwards. "Well, let me see. That would depend if the scratches, bruises and bite marks all over her body are brand new or not. You wouldn't know anything about those MacLeod, would you? Christ, what kind of vermin are you? Did you do this to the woman you claim to love?"

"NO! Of course not! We had a. . . disagreement, that's all. I haven't seen her since. Wanted to let things cool down."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. Valentine's Day, you were nowhere to be found. Probably shacked up with some bimbo. You sure as shit weren't with Lacey. Oh, that's right– you've never actually said you loved her. Fact is, looking at the damage you inflicted; I'd say you most certainly don't. Well, we're going to get you, MacLeod. DeCosta's coming with a rape kit. Get out of here, you pervert! Enjoy the fresh air. You might be going away for a long time, asshole."

Suddenly there was a flurry of desperate movement and a weak voice cried out, "Jamie?" _Dear God, could that pitiful croaking be coming from Lacey?_ She called him again, no stronger, just more frantic. The paramedics and Julie closed in, forcing her back down, urging her not to upset herself. They shot meaningful daggers at MacLeod, demanding he leave immediately. Behind him, Kat plucked at his sleeve, urging him to obey. He shook her off.

"I'm here Lacey! Oh God, I'm so sorry." Behind him, a mere two steps away, he heard Kat gasp. She tried to tug him back; he shrugged her off again like a bothersome insect. She no longer mattered.

Ignoring Julie's protests, Jamie came down the stairs and dropped to Lacey's side. Taking her uninjured hand, he bent forward and kissed her bloodied forehead. "I'm here, Lace. I'm so sorry this happened, sweetheart. I should have been here."

"Jamie? You're really here? Where?"

"Right here, honey. Next to you." It broke his heart listening to her weak voice. Even though he knew she'd been given a ton of drugs, her wavering voice betrayed so much agonized pain. He squeezed her hand and looked at the scowling paramedic. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here with you, Lace."

"Jamie, I hear you. I-I feel you...next to me. Oh God–no, no, NO!"

Tomblike silence filled the cellar as all those closest to the injured woman wondered what new horror she was about to reveal. The heart-breaking silence stretched on until Lacey spoke once more.

"Jamie... I can't see you. _Why_ can't I see you?"

# Chapter 17

Kat was pissed. She stormed around her cluttered apartment ranting to herself, desperately fighting the urge to pick up her few treasures and smash them against the floor. Sleep was impossible. Finally, she did pick up a prized tea cup her grandmother had brought over on the storm-racked boat all the way from Belfast, and hurled it against the bureau. It smashed into a million pieces, just like her heart. She collapsed in a storm of tears.

The ride back from Rodriguez's had been a nightmare. MacLeod had been in another world, barely acknowledging that Kat sat scarcely two feet away. When she placed her hand, and then her head on his shoulder, he'd immediately shrugged her off. She'd tried everything: gentle touching, little kisses on his cheek, soothing words. She'd even tried to show sympathy for the bitch Rodriguez. Nothing moved him; it was like she wasn't there. She'd seen tears coursing down his cheeks, listened to his mumbling mantra that he should have been there, as though what they'd shared the night before didn't matter at all. His actions made it clear their quick passionate pressing of the flesh held all the lasting value of spit drying on a sidewalk. She'd dared to tell him how she felt. Pummeled his chest and burst into tears. Knowing she'd made a complete fool of herself showing how much she cared for the man, Kat stumbled from his SUV without a parting word. He hadn't tried to stop her or call her back. Jamie MacLeod had driven away and out of her life without as much as a backward glance.

* * * *

Except for the loss of her sight, the town doctor said that Lacey Rodriguez would make a full recovery. He seemed a little embarrassed that none of the medical team had noticed her loss of sight until MacLeod showed up, but then with the tears, drugs and hallucinations, Lacey hadn't seemed to want to see anything until the detective showed up. Dr. Reynolds checked over her other injuries, the worse being a badly sprained wrist and arm, saying she was young and would be back on her feet in no time. The attack had been savage. She'd been thrown down the cellar stairs, hitting her head. She hadn't been sexually assaulted. Various bruises and the sprained forearm came from her fall, and the fresh scratches showed someone, a woman or child had been at her flesh. When it came to her blindness, he was at a loss. Although she had a nasty whack on the side of her head, it hadn't been severe enough to cause blindness. Tests showed there was no real permanent damage; Doctor Reynolds felt Lacey's injury was purely psychosomatic. She could regain her sight tomorrow, or her blindness could drag on for years. It was largely up to her. It was almost as if what had come creeping up the stairs had been just too hideous to watch.

# Chapter 18

After two months passed, February bled out, oozing slush and freezing tears. Lois Ricci was thought to have run off with her West Greenwich boyfriend. Two other young women vanished too. DeCosta reluctantly contacted the State police and dumped it in their laps. As far as MacLeod knew, none of the women had resurfaced. DeCosta never confided in him anymore. Lacey Rodriguez healed slowly, though she still remained blind and broken-hearted. Because her well-meaning friend Julie had Chief DeCosta in her back pocket for some past embarrassing indiscretion, she'd easily convinced him to issue a restraining order against a furious Jamie MacLeod. Jamie tried breaking the order twice, managing to blunder into determined watchdog Julie each time. Chief DeCosta warned him a third episode would get him kicked off the force; land his sorry ass in jail. Jamie tried again. He kept his job, but spent a week in lockup.

MacLeod found little sympathy. Many at the school had glimpsed the tears and red, puffy eyes Lacey tried to hide _before_ she was attacked. Half of Grim Island thought his heartless treatment of the popular teacher had caused Miss Rodriguez to fall; the other half thought he'd given her a good shove. Kat wanted to hug Ms. Parker. With Lacey out of the picture, she got a second shot at snaring McLeod. But Jamie just did his job quietly, avoiding any intimacy. He became a brooding zombie, leaving as soon as he could, retreating home, or to the town library to stare sullenly into space. More and more people started to shun him, crossing Grim Island's streets to avoid a face to face confrontation. Rumors started surfacing that poor Miss Rodriguez's affection had turned to hatred. Supposedly, Doc Reynolds despaired of her ever seeing again. In his tormented heart, Jamie agreed with everyone else; he _was_ to blame for Lacey's blindness. Through his fear of commitment and his stupid playing around, he'd broken her heart. She'd been the one really good thing in his life; he should have held on to her with both hands. Instead, with callous indifference, he'd let her slip right through his fingers. He should've taken the risk; using the last injection to keep her safe. He should have been with Lacey that night, instead of Kat. Not that it mattered to the rest of the world, but if truth be told, she wasn't the only one nursing a broken heart.

* * * *

Lacey Rodriguez hated James MacLeod. Julie shoved past Lacey's assigned police protection to administer her daily dose of poisonous lies right along with her witch's brew of healing meds. In pain, blind and extremely depressed, vulnerable Lacey gulped down all the lies she was fed _. Jamie MacLeod didn't believe for a minute her story of the crazed preacher, or the things that crept up her cellar stairs to attack her–he thought she was plain crazy, and threw herself down the stairs to get his attention when she sensed his attentions straying–he was glad she was blind. Now she was free of her, he'd gone back to Kat and was happily banging that bitch every night. He'd forgotten all about Lacey._

At first Lacey refused to believe these lies, but Julie was relentless, and as time passed, persistent doubt took root. From its festering soil bloomed a flourishing hatred for the man she'd once loved _. He didn't want her. He'd abandoned her to those things. He'd thrown himself into the arms of another woman. She must move on. Forget him. Pick up the pieces of her altered life and move on. She must._ Yet, in a dark corner of her soul, a tiny voice screamed she was wrong, that he _did_ care. And truth be told, so did she.

* * * *

Laying there slowly healing, Lacey suffered alone in the miserable dark with all eternity to think. She'd gradually stumbled on Jamie's secret, realizing as she worked at it, how well all the pieces fit. _I know what I saw in my hallway, talking to me and hurting me, was real. I know what I saw in the cellar. Coming up the stairs. No more time to be a naïve little school teacher, Lacey–the world is suddenly a very different place. There really are things that go bump in the night. Some of the things kids claimed to see crawling out from under their beds or the closet are real. Creatures we normally never see. You know Jamie's secret, Lacey, don't you? He's one of those creatures too. You know what you should do. What you thought you once had...what you felt... doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't want you. He doesn't care._ She agonized for days, wondering if she should just bury what she knew, and move on; or use the disturbing facts she'd discovered to exact a terrible and just revenge.

* * * *

One day the tiny voices constantly urging Jamie to try seeing Lacey grew too loud. Kismet smiled for once, and Lacey opened the door herself, blindly looking straight ahead where she thought her caller should be. She'd forgotten Jamie always seemed to drift to the left of any doorway.

"Yes, who is it? How may I help you?" Jamie stood there so tongue-tied by his good fortune that he almost missed his chance to speak.

"Lace, it's me," he croaked

"James." Her voice played host to a jumbled tangle of emotions. She could feel herself growing weak-kneed at the sound of his voice. She chose to let her anger speak. "What are you doing here? You must know by now I don't want to see you ever again."

"Lacey, just let me explain–"

"No! Go! I mean it!"

"MacLeod! Get out of here!" Julie Parker charged through the farmhouse doorway, all but knocking Lacey out of the way. "You were warned. I can see your little stint in jail doesn't seem to have done any good."

"Please, just let me talk to Lacey."

"Get your ass out of here now, or I'm on the phone to DeCosta."

"Lace, I–"

"You're going! Now!"

"Screw you Parker!" Jamie tried to get Lacey's attention again, but Julie was already dragging the confused woman back inside. She stuck her tongue out at MacLeod as she slammed the door in his face, and then flashed a most unpleasant grin. Lacey saw none of it.

# Chapter 19

Over time, things gradually returned to normal. The tattooing killer didn't strike again, having moved on to Providence, Fall River, or maybe Des Moines– becoming somebody else's problem. Jamie had his talk with Ezekiel; now the rat-faced sail maker was out the tavern door precisely at eleven thirty. As for the attack on Miss Rodriguez, the official police investigation conducted by Chief DeCosta concluded the teacher had been the victim of a vicious prank gone horribly wrong. She'd caught three young men selling drugs to the kids in her school yard. She'd threatened to turn them into the police, but had never actually made the call. For revenge, they'd dressed up as ghouls and harassed her in her home. Miss Rodriguez didn't agree, insisting her attackers hadn't been human at all. Chief DeCosta brushed her hysterics aside. After all, she'd been hit on the head. It wasn't like she could _see_ the kids to identify them. No charges were brought. Chief DeCosta liked that just fine. With the annoying case closed, he could get back to surfing the web.

MacLeod obeyed the restraining order, not because he'd ceased to care, but because of the convincing rumors that Lacey Rodriguez blamed and despised him for causing her blindness, and had publicly damned him to the deepest pit in hell.

* * * *

Lacey went back to teaching. To be a teacher had been her goal since childhood. Teaching was in her blood. It was the one thing she felt she did well, and just then she needed some stability in her life. Besides, she really needed the money. Sweetling had taken away her junior high class, and demoted her to shepherding 3rd graders. Easier to intimidate, they should be a snap to _watch_. Even though she couldn't see Sweetling, Lacey sensed him looking down her dress the whole time he made his tasteless joke. Her vision improved enough for her to see shapes and movement, but no more. The first day she held her breath, wondering how impossible the teaching assignments would be. Surprisingly, it had gone quite well.As she tapped her way forward with her cane, bumping into the occasional unexpected desk, the kids pitched in and guided her to the front of her classroom. The other teachers took turns looking in on her as well. Grim Island had taken Lacey Rodriguez, their injured heroine, protectively under its leathery wings. As for Jamie MacLeod, most of the town turned an icy backside, or lashed out with sharp and flashing claws. All except Kat O'Hara. She was more determined than ever to make him hers. By any means.

# Chapter 20

"Bullshit!" The full force of the ancient grimoire-like volume smacked into the snack room's table for a second time. Unable to decipher a title that promised to predate Latin, Eric was pretty sure the thick volume wasn't on the Vatican's approved reading list. Pretty sure it wasn't a training manual for the Grim Island police dept. either, he wondered whose book it was, and wished he could take a peek inside. "You're asking me to believe you had nothing to do with that nasty prank pulled on Miss Rodriguez?" bellowed the officer as he strutted around the tight room.

"Y-yes sir. I thought the case was closed? Miss Rodriguez wouldn't press charges."

"Humor me–answer the question."

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt Miss Rodriguez. She's my favorite teacher. I-I really don't know who could have done such a thing."

MacLeod pulled up directly beside Eric Standish, and leaned over the geeky teenager's shoulder so there could be no mistaking his next words. "I believe you, kid," he whispered. "I really do." MacLeod straightened up, ran a hand through his thick sun-kissed hair, and resumed talking loudly as he resumed pacing. "Chief DeCosta believes you three punks terrified this poor woman. He's closed the case, but he believes you're all guilty." Down came the book again, for a third time. MacLeod stopped pacing and took a cheap plastic chair across from his confused and quivering suspect.

"Look, Eric, I know you're a good kid." Exhausted from too many sleepless nights, Jamie's hand scrubbed down his face and took up residence below his chin. "I don't believe for a minute you were involved in this. I've been doing a little research of my own and I've made a couple interesting discoveries about Grim Island's past. That's why I set up this meeting. We don't have much time, so you listen good. DeCosta has his head up his ass. I have a pretty good idea what happened to Miss Rodriguez. I think you do too. So let's cut the dancing around because I think we both want the same thing. We want to protect Miss Rodriguez. Right?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Good. I knew could count on you. Now, I know you're a bright kid with a vivid imagination, and you happen to like local history–I know because we borrow some of the same library books–so I'm going to tell you a couple of things off the police record . I want you to swear to me you'll keep an open mind and share this with no one."

Unable to resist, Eric quickly promised.

"I got pretty close to Miss Rodriguez. She had some pretty bad scratches with some kind of moldy dirt in them. I have a friend who does forensics for us over in Providence. That dirt contained necrotic human tissue. Body dirt, Eric. Are you with me? You're looking a little green, kid. Anyway, before I was _escorted_ from the crime scene, I saw two open holes in the other part of the cellar. Graves. There were digging marks along the sides that indicated someone or something had clawed its way _out_."

Eric didn't moan or collapse. He nodded his head and looked at Jamie MacLeod as though the officer was just telling him that Miss Rodriguez was beautiful.

"One more thing. You ever hear of a Father Malachi Paine? He was a fanatical fire and brimstone preacher with quite a following here back around 1860. I think he may have paid Miss Rodriguez a visit."

"But that would make him at least a hundred and–"

"That's right, he was roughly thirty at the height of his preaching, so he'd be well over one hundred and eighty years old!"

"But that's impossible!"

"Are you calling your favorite teacher a liar, Eric? Because that's who Miss Rodriguez said she saw. Her description fit an old engraving I found of him perfectly."

"No, of course not. But that would mean she was threatened by a dead guy."

"Exactly."

The two talked in whispered tones for another fifteen minutes about what might have happened to Lacey and what they could do to protect her. Somehow, Eric slipped and revealed that he'd noticed Principal Sweetling and Miss Rodriguez seeing a bit of each other after school. Eric could have sworn the detective's face darkened a bit and his spirit dimmed. He could have helped the cop; he could have removed the sadness from MacLeod's eyes if he'd only revealed that he'd also seen Miss Rodriguez looking longingly at MacLeod's photo as she sat at her desk and cried. He could have, but when it came to detective MacLeod, his feelings were still at war.

# Chapter 21

Kat walked in the door just as Eric left, catching a frustrated MacLeod slamming his fist into the wall.

"Bad interview with Standish? You can't possibly believe Eric is involved."

"I don't. The kid's innocent." She could see he was really worked up about something though; he was like a sea gull with its beak tangled in a clump of monofilament fishing line. "Damn it!" Jamie shot Kat a glance that would melt steel. Ignoring his glare, she made sure they were alone, strolled up to him, and forcefully pushed him back against the wall. Smiling up into his eyes, she brushed a wayward shock of light brown hair out of his eyes, and began caressing his cheek. "We have to talk, detective," she said. Grabbing his rumpled tie, she straightened the knot and tugging him to her, gave his mug a quick peck on the lips. Snaring his attention at last, she whispered in his ear, "Let a girl buy you some lunch, officer. I fear you're disturbing my peace and I'm going to have to punish you, Officer MacLeod. Maybe we can work something out. I'll listen to your plea over dessert. Or maybe, you'd prefer _me_ for dessert?"

Jamie looked at the pretty police officer smiling up at him, and felt his frustration dissolve just a little bit. _Face it Jamie, Lacey doesn't want you anymore. In spite of the blindness she blames you for; she's still a beautiful woman. Doesn't need your sorry ass. She has moved on, even started dating again. Though for the life of him, he couldn't see why she'd lower her standards down to Gerald Sweetling, her school's principal. Maybe that was just it; she didn't have to see the fat creep any more_. _Give it up, Jamie. Kat is a sweet lovely woman. She cares about you. She's stood by you through all this–the only one who has. And she's hot! Damn but she filled out that white blouse well! Come on, Jamie boy–loosen up a little. She wants to play!_

"Okay, that'd be great. Only, you let me pay. Where did you want to eat? How about the Clam Shack or we could do the Black Pearl up in Newport? You pick, Kat. I'm at your mercy."

# Chapter 22

They ended up at his place. Somewhere along the way, they forgot about food and talking. When Kat expressed concern about their dual disappearance from the station, Jamie calmed her fears. DeCosta was at a Police Chiefs' conference in Miami. At that particular moment, he was probably swilling beer at a ball game on the taxpayers' dollar.

She chatted all the way to his home. They talked about her singing, the chance of sailing together in the coming season...anything that kept them away from the words that really mattered.

Then they were at his place, and their clothes started falling off. He'd playfully nicknamed her his Tigress; she meant to justify the moniker. She tugged his silk tie undone, and ripped his blue striped shirt open, exposing his broad muscular chest. With slender fingers, Kat traced the two pale scars that wriggled through his matted chest hair. He recalled them both–a small caliber gunshot wound taken two years back from a drunken Manny Soares, and a stutter of shallow knife slashes from a hopped-up vampire wannabe one Halloween night in Salem. He lifted her face from the chest she kissed, and losing himself in her green eyes, kissed her full lips. Long red nails tugged his shirt off and dug into his muscular arms, raking long lines of blood. She pulled him to her, her kiss full of passion and eager hunger. Biting his lower lip, Kat ground herself into his chest. He grabbed her left wrist, shoved her arm behind her, imprisoning it behind her bottom. Her other hand escaped south and clutched his stiff cock, jerking it bigger. She cried out as he grabbed her breast, and pummeled him in mock protest. He snared her free hand, imprisoning it with its mate. "Oh Jamie, I've wanted you so bad. I thought you'd never get over her—she who's right in front of you. It's been way too long."

"I-I'm sorry, Kat. I got swept up, hoping to get her back. I never meant to hurt you."

Jamie bent to scoop Kat up, but she scooted away giggling, and danced to his bedroom, dropping her clothes along the way.

Jamie stalked into the room behind her, a naughty grin plastered on his face. He glanced at the windows, shades still drawn; _good, the shadows would add mystery to their play. Dim light was supposed to be romantic, wasn't it? He certainly didn't need a reminder of the phase of the moon._ He'd shed his shredded clothes, choosing to stand there wearing nothing but his dashing smile.

Kat was already on his bed, her teasing smile daring him to take away her remaining clothes. Her short sleeved blouse was completely undone, her breasts covered in a black lacy bra with drooping silk straps already slithering down her arms. She was on her knees, rocking forward, her near naked breasts inviting him to come and touch. She wriggled her ass in its matching black panties, shook her red hair and pursing her full lips in a seductive pout, invited Jamie to the feast.

He fell on her like a ravenous wolf. Slick with desire and need, he wanted to be gentle and caring. He didn't tear away her clothes, waiting instead while she teased him with each piece she peeled away. He kissed her face, lips, throat and breasts, whispering endearments he hoped someday he'd grow to feel. She smiled up at him and offered herself; he gave in to the want, and fell on her like a beast. They fell in rhythm and rutted like wild animals. He stabbed her deep, a snarling growl roaring from his throat; she cried out, and offered up her wound, begging for more of his rigid blade. He thrust in again, and she began to flow, her hot passion spurting to meet his own. Jamie exploded, flooding her in a warm brew of frustrated want and satisfied need.

They lay together afterwards, limbs and thoughts entwined. They touched, kissed and talked. He wouldn't say he loved her, but he thought in time he might learn to. She wanted him on all levels, plain and simple.

After a time, the springtime chill crept in, and they snuggled beneath the rumpled sheets for a bit, reluctant to get dressed and end their moments together. Dressing meant a return to everyday reality, and _that_ meant sharing what they knew.

* * * *

In the morning, sharing the ride into the station, they finally talked. Jamie pulled off the road just north of Black Fish Lane, and they talked.

He told her some of the darker things he knew about Grim Island. How more than bad people had oozed across her borders; how weeds of evil had found a haven too, putting down unhealthy roots, and festering. She didn't snicker or poke fun; she just sat quietly listening. He introduced her to the crazed preacher, Malachi Paine, the ghouls and shape shifters, the forgotten tunnels and shambling things with gills. She took it all in, gasping twice in total disgust; but she held on and waited. Then she stared long into his twinkling blue eyes, and unbuttoned her shirt. There, in the brilliant light of day, she finally showed him the tiny pattern of faint red marks encircling her breast. Tiny teeth marks of something struggling feebly to find her nipple in the dark.

"I glimpsed those in the dark," he said. "Wondered what they were, but I had other things on my mind at the time. Now, in this light, I can see they're teeth marks. Whose, Kat; whose?"

She admitted she was the plaything of a dead child.

# Chapter 23

Gerald Sweetling, principal of Constance Paine, didn't know what to do next. He sat burning through his smokes in his plush black leather chair, hidden in his sound-proofed, oak paneled office. Silently swiveling between his fake family photo and Rhinewurm College degree, he stared off into space while a thin line of spittle drooled down his excuse for a chin. Cold nicotine stained fingers twirled and fiddled with the small earring he'd snatched from her desk. A sparkling trinket with a couple strands of her long hair still snagged in the jewelry's finding. Rich dark hair, almost black with fiery highlights running through it. Beautiful, like the woman. Poor blind Miss Rodriguez. His problem.

Gerald shifted his bulging ass, and tapped his latest cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. If only the good people of Grim Island knew what he was really like, they'd clutch their kids tighter and look for a new school. Still, the students were perfectly safe. It wasn't the kids he wanted. He had no interest in children. Kids made him itch. Made his skin crawl. It was their teachers, those unsuspecting sweet young things, he wanted to play with. One teacher, in particular.

Miss Rodriguez had resisted him from the start. Obviously the prettiest of the flock, she was always too damned smart. She was a natural teacher; all the kids loved her. Unfortunately, she'd recognized his game from the beginning, and kept herself defiantly unavailable.

What was there not to love? He towered over her, a good five-eight in his black nylon socks. Maybe he was a trifle overweight, needing to drop ten or twenty pounds–okay, forty. He wore expensive cologne. Granted, it was to cover up that body odor even he could smell. Maybe his hobby offended her? So he played with dead things. He stuffed and sewed them up, gave them bright grins and sparkling glass eyes. He immortalized the little devils. What was creepy about that? Maybe his face? All right, so he wasn't as handsome a stud as her former suitor, that brute, MacLeod. His face had character. So what if his eyes were small and women said he was always leering. He had his momma's strong Roman nose and feminine lips covering his large smoker's teeth. Unfortunately, he had his father's big ears and excuse for a chin. Hey, would she have preferred his tall cadaverous great grandfather? Gerald thought not. Yeah, come to think of it, Miss Rodriguez might choose to see him as a little less than desirable. But what the hell–the blind bitch had better remember that one all important fact. He was her boss.

He had to admit, she'd done pretty well at mastering her handicap. At first, she'd been a basket case; lashing out blindly at the cruel hand she'd been dealt. She'd even thrown away her dear Jamie MacLeod, blaming him for her misery. Her friend, Julie Parker helped out there, nurturing the budding hatred for MacLeod and gently shoving her towards their boss. He supposed he'd have to throw the ugly bitch a bone of gratitude at some point. Finally, she had mastered her new forced life style; he'd seen her working her way down the corridor and through her classroom, seldom bumping anything, her cane left at home. Still, she _was_ blind; and she didn't want to play his game.

He fiddled with the manila folder on his desk. Teacher applicants. Two stood out–one from Bridgewater–as replacements should Miss Rodriguez prove too stubborn and her resistance begin to bore him. Melanie and Betsy. Pretty young things. Which would he choose? Decisions, decisions. A principal's work was never done.

The choice had become academic. Lacey Rodriguez had finally seen the light, so to speak. Two weeks back, they'd spent a Friday night together. Gerry had no illusions that Miss Rodriguez had fallen head over heels for him, or even enjoyed the ride. She had stiffened twice when his right hand strayed.

Yet the woman's head was screwed on right and she'd accepted two more dates, even if her voice held little enthusiasm. No matter. On their last date, she'd let him touch her breast. Gerald completely blotted out the fact she'd had a catch in her throat and tears in her eyes at the time. _She'd let him_! She really had no choice if she wanted to keep her job. In these hard economic times many schools were cutting teachers. Lacey Rodriguez was no dummy.

Pretty soon he'd force an invitation on her to spend an evening at his home. They'd eat in; he'd feed her. They'd sit on his couch. Move to his bed. She'd better play nice. Her future was in his hands. Soon, _she'd_ better be.

# Chapter 24

Jamie looked up as the library assistant placed another two books from the Paine collection on the cubicle desk and scurried away. She was a nice kid, one of the Patel daughters–Priya, he thought. All giggling and dark hair and flashing eyes. That stirred a memory, and a sharp pang of regret. Lacey. But this version was just a kid. _Dr. Patel would have to watch this one._ There he went again, always the cop. No wonder she wouldn't talk to him. He was far older than her, and he was _that_ cop. _The one that hurt the nice teacher._ He wanted to warn Priya, convince her it was time to run. But she'd no more listen to him than talk; she'd probably just giggle, and scurry away from the crazy man.

Grim Island was evil. It was old, dirty, decaying and as bad as they came. Jamie MacLeod buried his sorrow in grueling research into the shadowy past of the ancient town of Grim Island. What he'd found disturbed him greatly. He'd opened Pandora's Box.

Like most old New England towns, like most places on the planet, Grim Island had a face far different from the one it showed at present. Beneath the roads and parking lots, beneath the local high school, even beneath the jumbled granite blocks that supported the silent lighthouse at Lost Hope Park, there lingered ghosts of a past full of violence and foul deeds done in the dead of night. Jamie knew that Grim Island had been a dumping ground for the colonists' human garbage. Once he'd shoved aside his own self-pity and dug his teeth into the rancid history of the island, he'd learned that many of the town's first settlers had not come alone

If they had been the scum and dregs of colonial New England, the noxious fog of evil that floated in behind them was far worse. Grim Island was haunted and infested with some of the worst black-hearted souls to ever walk the earth.

Subtle proof had been staring him in the face since he moved into town. Working in Salem he had realized that portions of the old cemetery he patrolled never showed the slightest bit of vandalism. They housed family and friends of the hanged witches. The witches themselves, of course, were not allowed to rest in hallowed ground. But apparently, the mischievous pranksters felt creeped out enough that they never harmed any of the stones belonging to those the alleged witches cared for.

On Grim Island, everyone, saint and felon alike, found eternal rest in the old cemetery on Foggy Dew Lane. Jamie had never heard of a single instance of vandalism there. Not one stone smashed, tipped over, or covered with graffiti. Ever.

Of course, Zebulon Joshua Dyer and Jeremiah Pious Paine had been among the first inhabitants of Ravens' Rest cemetery. In fact, they'd been laid to rest in the center of the foul ground, and the newer occupants moved in around their families. The two ancient Yankees were the heart and soul of old Grim Island; though Jamie suspected they possessed neither.

Zebulon Dyer had been a slaver. Of Whites, not Africans. Zebulon fed on the poor white souls sent over from English courts in indentured servitude. He usually had an even dozen around him, set to work setting up his estate, then slaving away to maintain the sprawling abomination. For the women, he had a special treat. Most of the young prettier ones found their way to his bed. Many an evening, screams ripped endlessly through the night. To the elderly or those less fair of face, he showed mercy by reducing their sentences; he worked them into an early grave.

As he thought about the lack of toppled stones, it occurred to Jamie that he'd lied to Lacey. The one or two times he'd been forced to do police work down by the old asylum, he'd noticed there wasn't any graffiti, or a single pane of broken glass there either, even though the rambling structure had been abandoned for fifty-five years. Apparently the local hoodlums avoided the place as though something very evil had taken up residence in the empty wards.

Jamie glanced at his watch, realizing he'd better get moving. He returned the borrowed volumes, picked up his notes and deleted his eighth email to Lacey. He'd been going to take a chance; leave it in her Goggle mailbox. This one had begun simply, _Lacey, we have to talk. I know there_ _are monsters. I know because I've seen one._ He deleted the email draft as quickly as she'd destroyed his heart. He'd better get going. He had to put in an appearance at the stationhouse, and pick up Kat for dinner. Idly he wondered where Lacey was eating.

# Chapter 25

The day after little Pamela Twigham disappeared was the day that Lacey Rodriguez got her sight back. It happened late in the school day, and because so many of her class were out that day, there was hardly anyone there to notice. Most of the adults in town were helping the police search. She supposed Jamie would be right in the thick of things. Lacey prayed he'd be the one to find the little girl alive. A bunch of the teachers had volunteered, including Julie. If Lacey had her sight, she would have been there too.

She sat in a circle with her class, reading aloud the tale of Mr. Squeaky Sneaker, the weasel. Unbidden, her mind flashed an image of the principal, Gerald Sweetling, her ardent admirer. He would be a very fat weasel. There were only five kids in her reading circle, the other students' parents seeing fit to keep their offspring safe at home under watchful eyes.Pamela had been at home with her parents when she'd vanished, playing happily in the next room. Yet somehow the parents felt more secure pulling their kids away from the professionals who looked after them daily, and shutting them up behind flimsy walls with doors that popped opened at the flick of a credit card. Lacey wondered how many of those same guardian parents were actually _watching_ their kids. _Better than a blind lady can._ It was then that little Sally Collins took her turn at reading, and Lacey realized she could _see_ the cute blonde child. Sally had been a joy to have as a pupil, and Lacey had delighted in watching the sweet little girl grow. Sally read aloud for a half a minute before Lacey realized that she was _watching_ Sally recite. She gave a little gasp, clutching the marking pencil in her hand so tightly it snapped. Several of the other students turned to look at her, concerned that their teacher might be in pain, and she realized she could see them too. Randy Smith looked nothing like she'd imagined, him, and Becky Hale had a big Flintstones band aid on her chin. She almost told the kids, h _er_ kids the good news, but something made her bite her bottom lip and keep mum.

By day's end she could still see, though her vision had flickered out once or twice. She'd just sent her munchkins home when she got the call to report to Mr. Sweetling. Checking her hair and making sure all her buttons were done up, she couldn't help but feel she was going before a firing squad.

Keeping her secret, she made up some time on her walk to the office. It was impossible not to notice the hostile stares of the office secretaries, or Gerald's irritated scowl as he stuck his head out in the foyer for the third time. Spying her bumbling along, he hustled her into his inner sanctum and closed the door.

"Here, take this chair, Lacey. Sit down, sit down." Gerald thumped an uncomfortable wooden chair in front of her and seizing her left arm, placed her hand on its rigid back. "Sit. I wish we had more time to do this. I expected you a good five minutes ago." Principal Sweetling lumbered around his desk and plopped on its surface, directly in front of Lacey. His cloud of stench choked her; she wished she didn't have to see _him_.

"I'm sorry Mr. Sweetling. I had to wait until all my kids went home. I came as quick as I could."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure you did. Call me Gerry, remember? It's not exactly like we're strangers any more, is it, Lacey? I think we're getting to know one another pretty well, don't you?" He leaned forward and placed one sweaty paw on her shoulder. Beneath her cotton dress, Lacey's skin crawled.

"Y-yes, Gerry. But maybe we should–"

"Good. You're looking well. Very pretty." Thinking she was still blind, he was quite open about gawking down her dress. She felt as though hairy spiders were skittering down her spine. "Hmmm, I suppose we must get to business. Lacey, I really was hoping we wouldn't have to have this conversation. The doctor indicated your handicap might be temporary, but I can see that doesn't seem to be the case. In light of the Twigham kid's disappearance it has been brought to my attention that we need a staff that can keep its eyes on the student body at all times. You obviously can't do that. However, I was thinking, if you'd just do this itty bitty thing for me, maybe I could be persuaded–"

_What was he telling her? Was he going to terminate her?_ She thought about telling him right then that she _could_ see. Something told her that might be a very bad idea.

"Gerry, are you going to let me go? Am I losing my job?"

"Oh no, Lacey. That doesn't have to happen, honey. I wouldn't think of firing you. There are one or two qualified applicants I'm considering, but you're way too valuable to me, to Constance Paine, to ever let go. Maybe if you'd consent to do me a little favor?"

* * * *

Only Maria Costa remained at her station out in the main office. The other girls had all left as soon as Mr. Sweetling took the Rodriguez woman inside, chattering like a troop of rampaging monkeys. Maria sat quietly, her fingers deftly key stroking Mr. Greene's spreadsheet, while her mind tried to decipher what was going on behind the closed door. She'd seen the look on Mr. Sweetling's homely face as he followed Miss Rodriguez inside and locked the door. They'd all seen that look. They all knew what the boss was like. _That pig._ _And with a poor blind woman_ _no less._ When the noise inside rose to some sort of scuffle, and she heard Miss Rodriguez's voice raised in protest, Maria thought for a minute about calling her brother-in law down at the station house. He was friends with that good looking cop, Mr. MacLeod–the poor lady's old flame. Maria liked him. He had such a nice smile and always asked after her family. He'd know what to do. But then she remembered all the cops were out looking for the Twigham kid. Besides, it had grown kind of quiet in the other room, except for those horrid sounds–Maria quickly dug her prayer beads out of her bag and clutched them in both hands. Before she could begin reciting her rosary, the principal's door opened and the blind woman stumbled out. Maria looked up, and held out her hand, intending to speak. Lacey blundered by; hot tears in her eyes and something slimy running down her chin. Maria saw, and noticed that her pretty dress was torn too. _Disgusting._ _That poor woman._ She wanted to speak, but then the teacher lurched on by, and it was just too late.

Mr. Sweetling spoke, in a loud demanding tone, "See you in two weeks then, Lacey. I'll pick you up at seven sharp. Wear something . . . pretty." He started turning away from the door, mumbling something to himself about her being a damned slut. As smug as a tom cat that ate an entire flock of peeps, Sweetling started whistling his usual annoying ditty before he noticed his one remaining matronly employee. "Mrs. Costa–still here? Call in a substitute for Miss Rodriguez's class for the next few days. I suspect we won't be seeing her for a while. Then go home. We're not paying you any over-time, you know."

# Chapter 26

James MacLeod did find the Twigham girl. Most of her. They'd been searching for five hours when they finally found the cute little blonde's broken body. He'd paired himself up with the Standish kid, partly to keep an eye on him, but mostly because he was developing a growing fondness for the teenager, and right now Jamie felt he needed a friend he could trust. At least half the teenagers and adults in town joined in the search, all hoping to find the little girl alive. Kat had wanted to walk with him, but DeCosta had kept her in the stationhouse, answering phones. Surprisingly, Julie Parker joined the search. She'd passed Jamie and Eric as they checked out a stand of birches, slashing the bushes with her willow switch and cursing up a storm. Her hateful stare shot Jamie full of daggers. She mouthed "MacLeod" as she marched on by, making his name sound like some hideous disease. Eric flashed a bird after her as her skinny ass bobbed by, and the two guys sputtered their way into hysterics. Julie jerked a hard glare back over her shoulder, her long tongue flickering out like a snake's. She passed a swampy tangle of Bull briar, and was gone.

"What a bitch! That woman's got a serious stick up her ass." Eric picked up a crooked branch and whacked the nearest tree.

"Eric, that's no way to talk. What would Abby think?" Poking his shoulder, Jamie scolded the teenager, but there was a comrade's twinkle in his eyes. "Actually, I have to agree with you. She is a bitch. Let's sit and rest a minute. We've been at this for hours. There's a dry log over there."

Laughing like old buddies, they sat together on the log, letting some of the fatigue slip from their tired muscles. Eric reached into the forest green knapsack he always wore and produced a couple of sandwiches and a brace of sodas.

"Eric, you brought a snack?"

"Sorry they're not beers. That wouldn't be smart, you being a cop and all. Sis said you wouldn't think to pack anything. I figured ham and cheese for you. I've got the Tuna."

"You are amazing. Why didn't I think of this? I'm starved! As for the beer–soda is fine. And you are just a bit underage after all."

"Be prepared, that's my motto. I could get the beers, you know"

"I'll bet you could. Randy Blackstone, right? You stay away from that creep, Eric. He doesn't care how many innocent people suffer because of drunk drivers as long as he can turn a profit. As if Grim Island roads aren't bad enough when you're sober–just stay away from him, okay?"

"Sure, Officer MacLeod. You sound like my dad used to."

"Don't you think it's about time you called me Jamie? If we're going to be friends, let's not be so formal, okay?"

"Friends? You want to be my friend?"

"Well, yeah. You're a pretty good guy, Eric, and we've got quite a bit in common. You make a mean ham and cheese too." Jamie poked Eric's arm, smiled, and took a bite of his sandwich.

"You mean Miss Rodriguez?" Eric pushed up the nose piece of his glasses, and looked directly at MacLeod, all suddenly dead serious.

Jamie took a healthy gulp of his Sierra Mist before he answered. When he did, all the joking camaraderie had gone out of his voice too. When he spoke, he seemed...lifeless.

"No, not Miss Rodriguez. She and I...well, she won't see me anymore. She can't stand the thought of me from what I hear."

Eric thought of her mumbling MacLeod's name, and crying when she thought no one was looking. He also thought of principal Sweetling, and his sweaty hands. He was so tempted to say something to MacLeod.

"That's right–you're seeing Kat–Miss O'Hara now. She's nice too. You know...you're costing Abby money, Jamie."

"Money? How's that?"

"Because since you and Miss O'Hara have been seeing each other, she doesn't have Abby watch her _kid_ anymore. Apparently Brian hasn't been coming around. I guess you've laid that ghost to rest so to speak."

He'd certainly had laid someone, though there'd been no rest involved. "Actually, Eric, I wanted to talk about us. You and me. This island." He saw Eric pale, and look around to see if they were alone. Jamie knew Eric knew exactly what he meant. No more beating around the bush.

"Eric, you told me you know what I am. I want you to tell me, and be honest. I'll know if you're not. What _exactly_ do you think I am? Don't worry, I won't get angry or anything."

"You're a shifter." Eric shoved up his glasses yet again, his head darting nervously side to side looking for eavesdroppers. Finding none, he volunteered more. "Pretty bad-ass werewolf from what I saw. And...I know it upsets you. You don't seem to like it much. But I guess there's nothing you can do."

"A werewolf!" Jamie shook his head and began laughing. "You watch way too many horror movies, kid." Jamie smirked, making light of the whole thing as he began pacing around, but his voice failed to hide a guarded nervousness. "Just what would make you think that, Eric? Is that why you gave me the _meat_ sandwich? Do I have a uni-brow or hairy palms? Bushy tail I've forgotten to hide? Did I drool or do I have a look of hunger in my eyes?"

"Yes, to the look in your eyes. Not the drool, tail, or uni-brow." Eric gulped, but true to his Boy Scout training, he'd been expecting this; he was prepared. "I saw you. The first night you brought Miss O'Hara home really late. She was kind of pissed at you. I guess she wanted to stay with you, or something. Anyway, she was really loud about it, woke me up. I looked outside. After she came inside, you just stood there a couple minutes. The moon was pretty bright that night. I saw you start to change. Christ, it looks like it hurts like hell."

"I thought I sensed movement in your apartment. Saw the curtain moving; I wondered if anyone had seen me. Obviously, you did."

Never able to forget the bone-snapping, muscle ripping pain, all Jamie could say was, "It does. More than you can imagine." _The kid knew; he'd seen. Why deny it? Jamie was looking for allies. This kid was bright, eager, and willing to believe. How much did he know already?_ _How much could Jamie tell him? The truth--all of it?_ "Who else knows? Eric, did you tell Abby?"

"No! Never!"

"How about Miss Rodriguez? D-does she know?"

"No. Of course not." Deep inside himself, Eric sensed the wriggling worm that couldn't wait to point out that here was a weapon to keep Jamie MacLeod far away from Miss Rodriguez forever. _Did he want that? Wasn't MacLeod preferable to Sweetling?_

"Thank You."

Jamie folded inward as he said that, dropping his voice to a strong whisper. For the first time, Eric realized just how much Jamie's affliction troubled him, getting a glimpse of how much the man despised himself. In that instant, he felt a brotherly bond begin to grow, and realized that werewolf or not, Jamie MacLeod was someone he admired, someone he enjoyed being around. Deep down he knew he would never use Jamie's dark secret to hurt him.

"So you _are_ a werewolf. Wow–I've got a million questions. How did it happen? Does the change hurt—it appeared to the night I watched you. When you change–would you hurt Abby and me. Miss O'Hara or Miss Rodriguez?"

"All of you would be in danger." Jamie looked around, mirroring Eric's earlier caution. "Don't worry, there are meds."

"A cure? That's great! Why haven't you used it?"

"Not a cure!"

For several seconds there was dead silence.

"There is no cure. God, I wish there was." Jamie grew quiet again, staring off into space, seeing nothing or maybe seeing way too many ghosts. Eric thought he saw tears glistening in the man's eyes. "Eric, thanks for keeping this just between us. You can't imagine how much I appreciate this"

"Hey, you lazy bums! Get off your backsides and come help us find this damned kid!" Julie Parker popped up so suddenly it was as though she'd risen right out of the swamp. Catching the two of them resting, she couldn't wait to lash out with her barbed tongue. "We're all tired–you don't see us goofing off. MacLeod–I expected better from you."

The two males smirked, shook their heads, and rose slowly to rejoin the hunt. Jamie used the moment to whisper that _his_ secret wasn't at all what he needed to talk about. He was hoping Eric would meet him in the library the following day. When Eric shook his head in agreement, Jamie patted his shoulder and they followed mumbling Julie back to the other discouraged searchers.

Looking back over her shoulder, Julie flashed a particularly vile smile. "God, the way Lacey used to talk about you; I would have thought you would have found us this kid by now. Damn but that woman could rave about you. She set you up on a pedestal like you were some kind of hero. Well, I guess that's all dead and buried now, isn't it, MacLeod? Principal Sweetling's her loving hero now. Let's find this kid, shall we?"

In another fifteen minutes, James and Eric did.

# Chapter 27

He admitted it! He's a werewolf! An honest to god, covered in fur werewolf! Eric Standish couldn't believe Detective MacLeod had actually admitted to being a lycanthrope, a shape-changing werewolf. His sister Abby had to actually bump him in the forearm with the bowl of steaming potatoes after he'd ignored her the first two times. She chatted on a couple more minutes, giving up in sisterly exasperation and actually filling his plate and cutting his chicken. She chided him for being out there, but rattled on anyway, as though talking to her cat, telling him about her day, telling him she thought Kat and Mr. MacLeod were getting serious. Eric didn't hear her, his mind already thinking about Jamie MacLeod.

_He's a werewolf–not those lame Hollywood oversized hairballs, but an actual breathing monster._ Eric stumbled over the obvious in his thinking, and pulled up short. He didn't think Jamie killed little Pamela Twigham, did he? _Nah–no way. MacLeod wasn't like that. He was one of the good guys. If Eric had been in the market for a new dad or a big brother, a guy like James would have been his first choice. God, he was sounding like such a fag. Besides, he'd said he could control it. He had some sort of medication. He'd also said he was running low on it. Shit!_ Eric's dad had been a bit of a gun nut. He thought there was an old bullet mold in his dad's collection. He knew which of the few remaining hand guns the bullets were for. Maybe while Abby was out, he'd collect a few random pieces of flatware. Make a few bullets for the Desert Eagle. Silver ones. Just in case.

* * * *

The next day Eric arrived at the library for his meeting with MacLeod five minutes early. When he started towards the room that housed Founder Paine's private collection, he ran smack into Mrs. Shaw. Gertrude Shaw had been a teacher at Dyer-Paine High when Eric's parents were students. She was a Mrs. in title only, having put three husbands in the cold stony earth of Raven's Rest. Rumor among the local school kids was that she'd beat the third husband, Mr. Shaw, to death with a shovel. Apparently he'd been reluctant to eat the hearty homemade clam chowder she'd fed her other two husbands. _Something about bubbling acid._ Anyway, Gertrude spread her considerable bulk across the narrow passage between two card catalog cabinets, put on her best pit bull grimace–that really made the cluster of three hairy moles clutching the side of her prominent chin blush purple–and glared through her thick glasses, loudly informed Eric he couldn't enter. "No way. If he thought he, a mere child, was gaining entrance to the sacred resting place of Founder Paine's precious collection! Well, it just wasn't going to happen.

"Gertie, be a dear and let him in, okay?"

"Oh–Jamie...he's with you. Well then, dearie, what are you waiting for then, scoot in. As long as Detective MacLeod says it's all right. Make sure you don't touch anything!"

Eric brushed past his friend, desperately trying to stifle his snickers as he caught the detective's eye. Gertrude Shaw watched them for half a minute, scowling at the boy's back, but quickly changing to a smile when James looked her way. Smiling back, he continued looking until something about his stare unnerved the old widow and she quickly tottered to her desk in Circulation. James watched a couple seconds more, then moved into the room and closed the door. He took off his jacket, and asked Eric to do the same. When the teenager did, he carried each to opposite spots in the room and draped them over ordinary looking objects.

"Security cameras. I've already disabled the mikes. Advantage of being a local cop–I know what measures were taken to protect the collection, and how to block them. Besides, Gertie has been letting me use this room for about a month, so I've had plenty of time to search." He took a seat next to Eric and consulted his watch. "I figure we've got about twenty minutes before Agnes Antonelli pops in to see how we're doing. She'll ask if she can help out, but really she's just nosy." He slid a book and notepad over to Eric and took a pen out of his pocket. "Here, better look busy. Open the book and scribble down a couple lines about –the beach, or maybe the harbor –I don't know, just make it look like we _are_ doing research."

"Because Ms. Antonelli is nosy?"

"A spy."

"A spy? For who?"

"Wish I knew. I have my suspicions. Look, what do you know about Grim Island's founding fathers, Mr. Dyer and Mr. Paine?"

"Just what my parents and my friends told me. Maybe a little bit I read in that book you let Kat borrow. You're really pretty hot for her, huh?"

"That is none of your business. Let's stick to the subject. Our illustrious first settlers were a couple of shady scoundrels, but then I guess most of the people dumped on Grim Island were less than desirable. Zebulon Dyer was a merchant of sorts. He trafficked in human misery. He was a slaver–one of the worst–and he wasn't above sampling his wares. Eventually, it got him killed. Jeremiah Paine was even worse than that, if possible. His ship, the _Mermaid's Curse,_ traveled the world in search of cheap cargo and exotic treasures. Several of these books, including the _Mermaid's_ log here," Jamie placed a tanned hand on a waterlogged looking book covered in some sort of near hairless hide, "tell some pretty bizarre stories, but it's his last voyage that we're interested in. His brigantine took on cargo in Sri Lanka and was headed home when the troubles started."

"Sri Lanka? Where's that?"

"It's in the Indian Ocean, south of India. I believe it was probably called Ceylon at the time Paine was there." Jamie stuck his finger on his notes to hold his place, and looked at Eric. "My grandfather was torpedoed off there during the war. World War Two. His destroyer was escorting a convoy loaded with supplies for the troops in Burma. Japanese sub. Granddad lost an arm and fourteen good buddies. He would have bled to death if it hadn't been for a Sri Lankan woman who took pity on him and nursed him back to health." Jamie stopped talking and looked over at Eric, expecting the kid to be bored and wondering about the weird tangent. Instead Eric sat spellbound, maybe too much so. "Sorry, ancient history. Breaking my own rules. Mr. Paine brought _Mermaid_ back to Rhode Island with less than half a crew. He'd lost most of his men at sea. Many were found slashed and bloody in their hammocks. It was Christmas Eve when they saw the watch fires of Grim Island. Most of Paine's remaining crew was either drunk on yuletide rum or aloft taking in frozen canvas. The one remaining record shows they struck Drumhead reef at a little past two. By then, the temperature had dropped to fifteen degrees and it was blowing a half gale out of the Northeast. That same newspaper article says that Jeremiah Paine was the only survivor. All other souls were lost. Only a few bodies ever washed ashore. By then, most of them were too badly eaten to be identified. But I don't think Jeremiah Paine struggled ashore alone. I believe his cargo followed him."

The rest of their time flitted away. Jamie told Eric exactly what he thought the cargo might have been, what he suspected was wrong with Grim Island, and what he feared might happen. It all made sense, in a depressingly scary sort of way. Eric listened quietly, and then asked what they could do to stop it. Detective MacLeod had a few plans there, and had just started to lay out his ideas when his cell rang. It was Kat. They talked briefly. For a moment, Eric glimpsed the look of a cornered animal flitting across Jamie's face. Hanging up, Jamie began to explain his plan. Eric listened with half an ear, debating whether to tell Jamie about Miss Rodriguez's tears or Principal Sweetling. He knew she still cared for MacLeod, and he couldn't stand the way Sweetling looked at her. There was something very wrong with Principal Sweetling.

* * * *

The words were still stuck on his lips when Agnes Antonelli walked in, regular as a bowel movement. She oozed about, batting her goofy false eye lashes at them both and straightening the book stacks with inch long false nails, each featuring a fake gem or tiny bit of cutesy art. She fluttered her eyes at MacLeod, wrinkling her shellacked red lips. Foul breath drifted through crooked grey teeth, half hidden in too much gum. Eric expected her to snort. When she finally navigated her bony ass out through the too narrow doorway, followed closely by a swirling fog of cheap perfume, the spell was broken. Both men looked at each other, and began gathering their belongings. They agreed to meet again in two days. Eric said he would pick a time and place and call MacLeod. Jamie agreed. They hugged as only homophobic straight guys can, and parted; each with a mind roiling with dark thoughts.

* * * *

Later that night, Rufus Soares died. It had been a slow night and Rufus had retired with his girlie calendar the blue plastic shitter in back of his station. Earlier that night an Altima had come in loaded to the brim with kids. Pimply faced guys squirting hormones and sweet young things with ballooning boobies. The rattle trap belonged to Lorraine Petricone, and Rufus had seen right away that the daughter had inherited her mother's good looks. Years back, Rufus had done the mom when she was a cheerleader and he was a high school jock. He fantasized about adding a notch with the daughter, but it wasn't to be. Stuck-up little bitch. So here he was, choking his lizard in front of a damned calendar when the plastic john started shaking. Damned raccoons. Probably rabid. The shaking didn't stop; it got worse. Pretty soon the bright blue john flopped over on its side, spewing out Miss December and half-naked Rufus. They found Rufus in the morning. Most of his face was gone. There was a huge chunk missing from his throat. His chest looked like he'd taken the full swipe from a pissed off grizzly. Open from sternum to groin, his insides had been ripped out. Some of the few remaining organs looked chewed.

* * * *

Later that week Lacey's calico cat disappeared. Frantic, she put out bowls of her favorite food, and called her every three or four minutes. Allegro had never left the yard before; in fact she was usually within a dozen yards of Lacey. Two days later, her calico kitty was still missing. Lacey's already crumbling spirits plunged into the abyss.

# Chapter 28

Principal Gerald Sweetling was not happy. He was seated in his shadowy living room with one of his teachers, virtually surrounded by his collection of his taxidermy creations. The room looked like the town harbor when thick fog rolled in. Gerald was smoking up a storm; Ms. Parker had seen him angrily stomp out three stubs since she'd taken a seat. He'd not invited her to join him. She was dying for a cig. He sure was pissed. Julie kept her gaze on the folded hands in her lap, only shooting quick glances at her employer when absolutely necessary.

"She's blind, Gerald, for Christ sakes! The woman's been through hell. Attacked in her own home by that demented old priest, struck blind and abandoned by the man she'd fallen in love with because _you_ wanted me to rip them apart. She would have been walking into this lair of yours in a week or two, if not willingly, at least not kicking and screaming. She needed that job, and she knew it. She's far from stupid. She's a damned good teacher! _You_ know that!" She spat the last few words, spraying spittle across the dusty fur of the nearest snarling raccoon. Thin lips pursed in irritation, she shook her blonde head and continued. "You seem surprised that she's decided to quit. What the hell else did you expect? You virtually raped her in your office, you idiot. You're god-damned fool."

Taking a lengthy sip from his goblet, Gerald barely heard his ranting toady. He was too busy reliving his last moments with Lacey Rodriguez. _She'd been on her knees before him, her dress torn, breasts almost bare._

"Look, if you still want me to get her here, I need you to give me something to convince her to come willingly. Gerald! Are you even listening?" She thumped the small table next to her, knocking over a moth-eaten skunk next to her chair.

Sweetling glared at her. Holding his most recently stuffed addition on his lap, he continued stroking his calico cat's thick fur as he waited for his toady to rant on. He didn't have long to wait.

"She's treating me differently lately. I think she's starting to suspect something. Unless you don't mind me using a little force?" Julie smiled at her master and licked her cracked lips. Hers had never been a pleasant smile. "Of course, our little miss innocent might arrive slightly damaged."

"I don't mind a scratch or two. Maybe even a bruise. Just get her here. She's been avoiding me. I want her now. Understand me? _Now_!"

"S-sure, sure boss. What about me, Gerry? I've done everything you've asked. I turned her love for MacLeod to shit. I even got rid of the Costa woman; no witnesses, remember. I've done everything!"

Sitting directly in front of Julie, very close, Gerald Sweetling leaned forward and seized Julie's face. Lifting her bony chin, he forced her to look him in the eyes. "You're damned lucky I need you, you whining bitch. Don't you ever talk to me that way again. I _know_ I could have you any time I want. That's just it, love–I don't want _you_. Just like I don't give a crap what Miss Rodriguez wants. You get her here–I _want_ her. You get her here; or you take her place. My children are getting anxious. They won't be nearly as pleased with you as her. You don't want to upset my friends."

* * * *

Chief DeCosta clicked the _Buy Now_ button for the New England Patriots Helmet, and sat there waiting for his order to go through. He'd decided to dump the Soares case on MacLeod. The state police were dragging their asses on the disappearances, and if MacLeod solved Rufus's murder, DeCosta was within his rights to scoff up most of the credit. True, detective MacLeod would have to sift through a ton of shit, but that's what he was paid for, the arrogant fuck. Stationhouse rumor was he was shacking up with O'Hara. DeCosta sighed, at least he'd finally stopped trying to see the Rodriguez chick.

There'd been a couple earlier murders. One a month in fact, similarly brutal as Rufus Soares. Take Lenny Pires. Lenny had repeatedly beaten his pregnant wife. One night he'd gone too far. He threw her down the cellar stairs. Broke her arm and killed his own unborn brat. Two days later, in the dark of the moon, he was dead. Just like Soares. Ripped up.

Father Murphy was different. He was a fine upstanding priest, moral pillar of the community. He'd been Chief DeCosta's confessor. Willing to look the other way, forget he'd ever heard certain things. Murphy had been the priest for the island's only Catholic Church for twenty-five years. There was nothing wrong with him, unless you believed the rumors. It'd been dark as a witch's tit the night they found the good father dead, but DeCosta had no trouble seeing all the blood. There was so much of it. Funny thing though, none of those murder victims had that little black tattoo hidden anywhere on their bodies.

# Chapter 29

Celtic Cross was just finishing their last number, _Dancing in the Air_ , when Jamie walked into the Frolicking Mermaid. He caught Kat's delighted wink as she carried the light song to its magical close. He looked around the packed tavern, acknowledging the friendly nod from Shamus, and silently declining the offer of a free brew. Finished for the evening, Kat fluttered off the stage like the fairy in her song and threw herself into his lap, all giggles and kisses.

"Easy, babe. Someone might think you're glad to see me or something. Everybody's watching."

"Let them. Can't a woman in love kiss her man? You are my guy, aren't you?" She wriggled out of his embrace and folding her arms across her chest, glared up at him. He could imagine her tapping the toe of her spike heeled boots _. His sex kitten looked ready to bite his head off. What the hell was wrong with him? Answer her, moron._

"You know I am, babe. Didn't I show you this morning? You're such an insatiable tigress. Let's go home, and I'll prove it again."

"Then why care what everybody thinks? You're not ashamed of me, are you?"

"No! Of course not. It's just that we're both cops in this little town, and DeCosta isn't fond of officers getting too cozy. It's a pretty small town, Kat."

"Men! Everybody already _knows_ , silly. I think the hand-holding and kissing in public might be a bit of a give-away." With a naughty smile on her pretty face, she grabbed his collar, pulled him down to her level and planted a long passionate kiss on his lips. To his credit, Jamie did not pull away, instead, returning the kiss with equal passion.

"There." Laughing, she backed away a couple inches, playfully rubbing at a lipstick smear on his cheek. "That's just in case there's a village idiot lurking about who didn't know we're a couple. Don't worry about DeCosta. We both know what he does in the time he's supposed to be earning the tax payer's dollar. And he knows we know, so we've got him by the balls, my love." Grabbing Jamie's hand, she lead him towards the door, waving good-night to Shamus and the members of her band. "Now, Mr. Policeman, why don't you take me home and show me again just how much you love me."

They drove to her apartment, Jamie deftly maneuvering Kat so she wouldn't expect to spend the night at his place. It wasn't hard; she'd politely refused to move in with him just yet, insisting she couldn't leave those sweet Standish kids all alone in her creepy old tenement. They talked a little and then fell into singing their personal favorite, _Orinoco Flow_ ; Kat in her melodious soprano, Jamie croaking along. She asked him how it went with Eric, pointing out that of course they got along–they were both sweet, handsome geeks. When she asked what they'd talked about, Jamie grew quiet, and dodged the silver bullet by saying he'd tell her later. Glumly accepting this man had walls she had yet to scale, she kept the talk light and airy. Then she stumbled, repeating that everybody knew about them, probably even that bitch Rodriguez. Turning his face toward the pale moonlight, Jamie hid his sudden squall cloud, but his voice betrayed a distant rumble of thunder. He quickly buried his feelings; he'd already screwed-up his life over one woman; he wasn't about to lose this one too.

"Sorry, Hon. That just slipped out. I don't really know her. Actually, we probably should be friends."

"Friends? With Lacey? Why would that happen?"

"We have a lot in common. We both love the same guy."

"I'm pretty sure in her case that emotion has been replaced by a burning desire that I burn in hell."

"So _she's_ the village idiot! Foolish woman."

* * * *

By the time they reached her bedroom, both of them had lost most of their clothes. James still had on his watch, the little tooth he always wore–weirdest damned tooth Kat had ever seen–and his boxer briefs. Kat was down to one high heeled boot and the beribboned bustier she was busily unlacing.

Closing the curtains, Jamie flicked on a small nightstand light. Kat immediately tugged her unlaced bustier closed; reminding him she liked their lovemaking better with the lights off. Why didn't he just open the curtains and they could make love by the pale moonlight; it was so much more romantic. When Jamie hesitated, mumbling something about the moon, she let a little annoyance peek through.

"What's with you and the damned moon, Hon? What are you–a fucking werewolf?" she joked.

_Out of the mouths of Babes. If you only knew, tiger._ Without looking out the window, he pulled open the curtain and moved towards the bed. When he made a move towards freeing Kat's breasts, she playfully slapped his hands away, and told him to turn out the light. Turning to obey, he stopped, and turned back towards his anxious lover. He left the light on. _He liked the light. She had a pretty face and a beautiful body. He wanted to see her. Clearly for once. He was tired of hiding in the dark of night. Hadn't she been after him to bring their relationship out of the shadows and into the light? He wanted to do that, beginning now. Besides, what was she hiding?_ As he thought about it, he realized how adamant she was. It wasn't like her; she _was_ hiding something. Suddenly, he was afraid he knew what.

"Sweetie, you told me you haven't been seeing Brian any more, right?"

Kat shook her head affirmative, seeming already to know where he was going. Unconsciously, she tugged the bodice of her bustier tighter across her chest. Undaunted, he persisted. "You told me he wasn't coming around anymore. Those little red marks were gone—some sort of rash, you claimed. Kat, I know it's been awhile since we made love with the lights on. Is there something you need to get off your chest? Is _he_ back?"

"N-no—of course not."

"Kat," he moved closer to her very slowly, choosing his next words with deliberate care. "Have you had a visitor again? Please let me see your breast." Knowing she would refuse, he moved with the speed of a striking Diamondback, tugging her unlaced bustier wide open, exposing pale breasts covered with bright red marks.

Although he'd been suspicious, he still gasped in horror. Bursting into tears, Kat threw herself into his arms.

"I-I was asleep. Three nights back...the night you couldn't sleep over. I guess I should have told you. I really do see Brian. He's real, I can touch him. Sometimes he comes to me during the night. That night, he woke me up... a noise...a slurping noise. Jamie, when I woke up, he was there. Sucking. Biting."

He tugged her away from him, waiting until she raised her shame-filled eyes to his, her naked breasts with the tiny red bite-marks a glaring barrier between them. "This isn't your fault, Kat.

You didn't do anything to encourage this. We're going to do something to make it stop."

He held her and she clung to him for dear life, realizing how lucky she was to have found this gentle understanding man, so unlike the monster she'd fled from back in New York. He told her to cover up while he made them both some coffee. When he came back, they had a long talk. He asked if she'd ever tried to contact her son while in New York–held a séance or anything. She said that she had. It had been a total flop. He asked her if she'd ever made contact anywhere but Grim Island, and verified that Brian had only begun to appear four days _after_ she moved in. He told her the barriers were down in their town, Brian might have been summoned in the empire state, but apparently unable to manifest there. When she moved to Grim Island, he'd happily followed. He hadn't come alone.

He examined the bites on her breast under bright light, and declared he didn't think they were from an infant. At least not a human one. She half heard him; his touch had aroused her, and she was still horny from earlier. And yet the thing with her dead son terrified her. They sat up together and he told her what he suspected, and what he planned on doing to end it all. By the time he was through, having sex was the _last_ thing on her mind. That night she wondered if she'd ever want it again.

* * * *

By three-fifteen, they were both asleep. At least Kat was. Jamie pretended to snooze, but kept one blue eye half open. He'd wished he'd done this a few weeks back; the moon was in a better phase then. But then he might have turned, and Kat would have been in danger from _him_. No, it was better this way. This had to end _tonight_. He couldn't stand looking at those hideous bites on her pale flesh.

He didn't know when he became aware they were no longer alone. It hadn't made a sound, but suddenly, it was just there, crawling up the bed clothes toward his sleeping lover. It mewled as it crawled, something about being so very cold. And then Jamie heard it, as though it wanted him to be aware of its obscene plea. "I'm cold, Mommy. So very cold. Hold me, Mommy. Warm me." Whatever Kat thought she saw, this wasn't her dead son Brian. In the pale moonlight James watched in disgust as it began to creep. It looked like a living dead child. It had coarse dark hair sprouting from dead white flesh stretched taut across a bony back. It definitely wasn't human, at least, not anymore.

He had to time this just right. Too soon, and the creature might skitter to safety, into a closet or under the bed most likely. Too late, and Kathleen would wake screaming, its teeth in her breast.

He screwed himself into the chair, fighting the urge to jump up, watching as the cadaverous creature fumbled with the pale blue ribbons tying her bodice. Its stubby fingers moved into the moonlight–it had sharp black nails, and translucent webs between the fingers. As Kat's first breast lay bared in the weak light, Jamie slowly inched his ancient blade from its warm bed nestled against his thigh. Its curved razor edge glistened in the moonlight, thickly smeared with a blend of potions his Salem friend, Reginald had whipped up. The pale white creature didn't notice.

Even as James moved, it began to suckle. _Too late, he'd left it too late!_ With the stealth and speed of a hunting tiger, he was on the creature. Repulsed as he was, his hand snaked out, grabbing the creature from behind. An unholy shriek tore through the night, quickly joined by Kat's scream. The ugly head whipped around snarling, tiny fangs bared, hot flying spittle splattering across Jamie's cheek. Undaunted, his blade whistled down, biting into blue white flesh and sending the beast's head smacking into the distant wall. Near tearful hysterics, Kat threw herself into Jamie's arms, narrowly missing impaling herself on his slimy blade.

"It's over, babe. We got him. He won't bother you again. It wasn't Brian. It never was. It's over, honey. Kat...let me look at you." There was a fresh bite mark on her breast, oozing a steady trickle of bright red blood.

"Yeah, it's over. We got him. That's his head over there." Jamie smiled at Kat, noticing as he did that the bite marks on her breast were already fading, just as he'd known they would. They always did.

Kat hugged him and began kissing his face. In a few seconds it became crystal clear that she'd gotten over her terror and wanted to get laid. As long as Jamie was sure they were safe and it was over. Unable to hold himself back, Jamie lied and told her, yeah, it was over. In his heart, he knew the fight for Grim Island had barely begun.

# Chapter 30

In the next few days, life went on as normal as it ever got on Grim Island. With spring in full bloom, people moved outdoors and concerned themselves with yard work, repairing winter's ravages, or starting early gardens. The local fishing and lobster boats left the harbor, laying traps or dragging nets. More often than not, they came home with holds brim full of flopping fish or glistening lobster. The waters off Grim Island were rich with life, and the local sea gods eager to share. Only once or twice a season did something strange get caught in the trawls or wash ashore. A source for bar room gossip and snapped photos, things were quickly hushed up, buried as fast as the stinking freak itself beneath a ton of rotting sea weed. Nothing ever made the newspaper or TV news. Nobody cared to know, it only happened now and then. But this spring was different. Already rumor in the Bashful Cabin Boy was that Amos Holden had got himself a nice ten pound lobster in his string of pots. Only trouble was this bug supposedly had hand- like blebs instead of claws, and its stalked eyes blinked. Not to be outdone, two local fishermen claimed something strange came aboard with their load of bluefish. Two local fishermen had been sorting the trash fish out from the Blues when they discovered the oddity. Both men had shipped out as kids aboard the old _Ann & Hope_, so now in their sixties it bothered them that the corpse caught in their trawl was something they'd never seen. They took photos and a bit of the rotting body itself to the Oceanographic people at URI. An Oarfish, they were told, deep water, eel-like fish with threadlike head tassels. Rare, but not unknown in these waters. The friends drove home and got drunk, totally dissatisfied. The smug marine biologist had not explained the existence of pale fur on the corpse, or the vestigial wings.

Yeah, life seemed normal in town, although Jamie, Kat, and Eric, united by the terrible secret they knew, began to look at their neighbors differently. They began to size up acquaintances they'd known for years, trying to decide if they were just poor souls trapped in this human sewer like themselves, or something trying to scuttle to safety in a place filled with shadows. Every so often, they'd notice people were starting to disappear.

Rosa Costa was the first. One day the well-liked woman didn't show up in the office at Constance Paine. Repeated phone calls and inquiries got no response. Finally, Chief DeCosta sent MacLeod over to her house. Jamie found Rosa. Some of her. His discovery cost him most of his lunch.

Gertrude Shaw vanished next. Agnes Antonelli took over the library, and shortly after that, James and Eric were forbidden admittance to the Paine's private collection room. Precious relics were missing, according to Agnes.

The trio met at night, in the Standish apartment. They welcomed Abigail into their circle and told her as little as they dared. They talked late into the night discussing their possible allies and definite foes. A hot debate raged between the two lovers whether they should flee for their lives or stand and fight. Brother and sister sat on the sidelines watching. Eric agonized whether he should tell the two women the one thing Jamie had kept from the others. Frustrated and angry, MacLeod excused himself abruptly, stomping down to his Escape for something. Eric had his chance. He knew Jamie had disappeared so he could give himself another of his dwindling injections. He'd be gone five minutes at best. In a near panic, Eric cornered Kat and Abby and told them that James was a werewolf. Although both women scoffed at it as a bad joke, Kat immediately realized if true, it explained why the moon figured so prominently in her lover's life. Then Eric showed the two women his revolver, loaded with silver bullets. Laughing hysterically, Kat shook her head in denial and burst into tears. She fled the room seconds before James returned. When he asked where Kat was, both siblings almost shouted "bathroom".

A very different Kat returned to the fold. The four friends made plans for another half hour, but their hearts weren't in it. They split up a little later and trudged off to bed. All four took a long time before they fell off to dreamland. None of them slept well.

* * * *

In the morning, with tears in her eyes and her heart in her throat, Kat retook the same test she'd taken the previous day. The results were the same.

She'd borrowed MacLeod's Escape for some bogus errand that morning, so within minutes she'd fled her apartment and roared out of town in frustrated fury. Agonizing how to tell James, she was half out of tears and most of the way through a bottle of Jack Daniels when she spun Jamie's Escape around and headed back to town. She'd just have to be a big girl and tell him. He loved her, so what was the problem? She was just passing the Rodriguez farmhouse when she noticed two women going at it in the kitchen. Even though she was off-duty and out of uniform, Kat decided she'd better look in on Jamie's ex. That was the day all hell began to break loose.

# Chapter 31

Lacey was pissed. She suspected Julie of deliberately delivering her into principal Sweetling's sweaty hands. Lacey had fled home in the town's only cab, sick with humiliation. Her _friend_ had been only mildly sympathetic, offering the flimsiest excuse for not picking her up after school. Blurting out what had happened; Lacey was shocked when Julie showed no sign of surprise. With her sight secretly restored, Lacey had good reason to be pissed off. It was crystal clear Julie had helped herself to Lacey's bank account as well as her wardrobe.

"Julie, you've got on my pink and blue dress; the one with the little flowers. I can tell." She had to think fast, realizing it might be better if Julie didn't know she could see. If _she_ knew, Sweetling would know. "I brushed against the little bow. Jamie bought me that dress. I'd like you to take it off right now."

"Oh, aren't we snippy this morning. I didn't think you'd mind if I tried it on."

"It's not just the dress. There are other things. Julie, I thought you were my friend. What gives you the right to just help yourself to my stuff?"

"I'm not taking your junk. And if I was, what are _you_ going to do about it? It's not like you've seen me doing anything!"

"I know you are. I know you set me up with Principal Sweetling too. How could you, knowing what a monster he is?"

"Oh you're no innocent little virgin! You would've stuck MacLeod's cock in your mouth in a heartbeat!"

"I _loved_ Jamie. Sweetling forced himself on me!"

"Oh poor little you."

"I want you out of my house today. Now! Is that clear?"

"Listen you little bitch. You're in no position to demand anything; do you hear me?" Julie moved in fast, shoving the woman into her kitchen wall so hard, the back of Lacey's head smacked hard into the plaster.

"I happen to know you've got this place mortgaged to your pretty little eyeballs. You want to quit teaching cause you can't stand Gerald's greasy hands, you go ahead. Throw away your teaching career; see who else will hire a blind twat like you. Yeah, I've been ripping you off. You had some pretty nice things here. Now they're mine. Call it payment for listening to you whine. As for your bank account, well, Anchor Union will probably throw you out on your ass when they realize you missed a couple mortgage payments and are behind on your credit cards three months. Let's face it sweetheart, you're screwed."

"Why, Julie? I trusted you!"

"You don't get it, do you, you silly woman?" Julie shoved Lacey back into the wall again "It's you, Lace. Little Miss Perfect. Always the prissy lady, so fucking cheerful. Even blind, everybody loves you. Yeah, we've been friends since college, but I've always been stuck in the shadows, hoping some of your friends, some of your _men_ friends would notice me. Well, now you've taken a mighty fall, haven't you? Not quite the perfect princess anymore. I was thrilled to hear what Gerry did to you. Who do you think drove your boyfriend away, told him you couldn't stand the sight of him?"

"Jamie? _You_ told him I hated him!"

"I did it for Gerald. I would do anything for him. And he wants _you_!"

"I _loved_ Jamie!"

"I know. That's what made your break-up so sweet!" She pulled back her hand to slap Lacey across the face; watching in amazement as Lacey flinched and pulled away.

"You can _see_!"

"What's going on here?" Both women looked towards the open doorway, Julie as much shocked by the sudden realization that her intended victim could see as the surprise presence of the uninvited police woman.

"Miss Rodriguez, are you all right?"

"Who the hell are you? Julie backed away from her intended victim.

"Officer O'Hara," said Lacey. "Thank God you're here. I want this woman out of my house. She's been robbing me." She glared at Julie, who was already backing towards the door.

"Do you want to bring charges?" Kat faced the two women, wondering exactly what had been going on.

"No . . . I just want her gone."

Okay, that's your call. You," Kat used her most forceful cop persona even though she was out of uniform and far from sober, "Get out of here. Now! This lady isn't pressing charges. If I were you, I'd make myself scarce before she changes her mind." Julie was gone before Kat finished her speech.

* * * *

Kat turned back to Lacey, her features softening as soon as she faced Jamie's ex. "I take it you've got your sight back–you can see now. You've been through a lot, haven't you? I'm so sorry for you, Miss Rodriguez."

"Yes. I've been able to see for a little while now. That's how I knew Julie was robbing me. She didn't know I could see. I thought she was my friend." She dried her eyes, trying to be brave. "Thank you for showing up when you did."

Kat smiled at the smaller woman, and Lacey forced her own shy smile in return.

"I think we've met before. I remember you sitting outside in the cruiser protecting me. I gave you a glass of lemonade." She scrubbed her dark brunette hair out of her eyes, afraid she was about to burst into tears. "Besides, I hear Officer MacLeod thinks very highly of you."

"You mean Jamie?" Kat took a second to really look at the other woman. She was dressed in some sort of prissy little dress, deep purple with tiny white polka dots. It looked expensive. God, the woman must put most of her teacher's pay on her back.

"Yes, Jamie." A wave of sadness swept across her face, and a few unwanted tears escaped. "Please tell him I said hello."

"Sure. We've been seeing each other for a while now, you know. He gave me this ring." She held out her left hand and fluttered her ring finger. A familiar looking sapphire surrounded by six small diamonds flashed up at Lacey. "It was his grandmother's. We're practically engaged. I love him so much. _And you still love him too, you little bitch, don't you? Well, he's mine now._

"I-I'm so happy for you. Jamie's a wonderful man."

"Look, I've got to get out of here. I'm glad I was able to help you this morning, and we got this Jamie thing out in the open. I can't believe you took it so well, but I appreciate it. I really do. If there's ever anything I can do to help you, just call. Anything it's in my power to give you." She didn't wait for Lacey's answer, but left the hall and walked out the front door, closing it behind her. "Anything that you want."

Lacey held her breath, listening to the thudding of her own heart. She waited until she heard the snick of the outside door closing, and then hugged herself as she began to rock back and forth, waiting for the other woman to start Jamie's Ford and leave. Only then did she allow the sobs to come, collapsing in tears as she whispered one word to the gathering shadows. "Jamie."

# Chapter 32

In April the people of Grim Island noticed Miss Rodriguez walking through their small downtown shopping area. Nathaniel Slocum, working for his dad at Slocum's Hardware sold her a couple new door lock sets and gave her the number for a reliable locksmith. She came in special to see the bank vice president at Anchor Union Bank and straighten out her financial fiasco. On another day, she was seen at Lady Sofia's Boutique, indulging herself in a couple of flowery summer dresses. Each time she came to town she looked all around herself, as though seeing the small brick and weathered shingle buildings for the first time, or looking for someone special. Unable to find that certain someone, she always returned in a few days' time on another shopping mission. People began to wonder, and talk.

Jamie was nowhere around. He'd been assigned a missing person case and was following the coastline down beyond Goosefish Beach. He got the job because no one else on the force was willing to go near the place. Too close to the abandoned asylum. A local housewife's car had been seen headed toward that part of the island, and she'd not been seen since. Finding the abandoned Chevy had been easy. Yet after two days of intense searching, Jamie couldn't find a trace of the woman.

# Chapter 33

On an ordinary day, he would have noticed the scent of the perfume she'd always worn; he might even have recognized the smell of the woman herself. He definitely would have known her voice, raised in song, nowhere near as polished or melodious as his lover's, but springing from the heart with the fiery passion of one completely alone.

Yet today was not an ordinary day, and he neither heard nor sensed her coming. Jamie MacLeod had slipped away from his job, his woman and the others clustered under his protection, for a moment alone with his frustration and his bitter sorrow. He and his friends had enlisted a few others, but by far the larger force in town chose to stay in the dark. The others might not sense it yet, but he knew that an ancient evil was stirring on Grim Island, rousing its slumbering beasts to come forth and feed. Jamie knew because _he_ was a beast too. Luckily, he had a potion to keep his particular monster at bay. Most of the time. His potion was almost gone. He'd asked Reginald for more, but there'd been no answer from Salem. Time was running out. The moon would be full in a few days. After that—

Throw into the situation that his fiancée, Kat, was chafing at the bit to get engaged, constantly needling him with far from subtle hints. He just wasn't ready. He'd made his excuses, jumped in his SUV and fled to the coast.

He picked the wrong place. Wolf Head had always been a favorite spot of his, and most of the other sea-loving people of the island. High rocky cliffs topped by rolling lawns begging for summer picnics. It offered a view of surf, gulls, and sailboats to die for. Romantic sunsets and stirring sunrises. All it needed was a lone bagpiper playing Amazing Grace. No wonder so many of the state's young couples found their way to this shore to exchange their vows. Once, he'd even thought he and Lacey would stand here together _. Stop that. It's dead and buried. Why then, does the undead corpse refuse to lie quiet? God, he missed her._

He sat all alone, halfway down the cliff, his back to the edge of a huge table of surf-riddled slate. Herring gulls and terns wheeled overhead, riding the brisk air currents, and looking for an early morning meal. Three of their more brazen brothers stood staring expectantly at the remains of Jamie's breakfast scattered at his side. He was all alone in this hidden cove, most of the weekend visitors busy at school or work. All alone with his chaotic thoughts.

The gulls told him someone was coming. They began to squawk. Then one at a time, they took to the air. Never guessing, Jamie straightened up, and turned around. Just like that, he saw a ghost.

* * * *

There'd been a spring thaw, and then this brace of freaky warm days. She'd grown restless around the house, and since rumors flying around town made certain that most people already knew her sight had returned, no one would be shocked to see her. Deep in thought, she fingered the heart-shaped locket she wore at her throat, and decided to head down the coast. Her locket had just been returned by mail along with a vindictive note from Julie. The tiny picture she'd had inside of Jamie was gone of course. Since it was so warm, she threw on a sleeveless spring dress; clawed back her wayward hair, snared it in a butterfly clip, and headed out the door. At the last second, she decided to grab her powder blue cardigan; there was always a cool breeze blowing at Wolf Head.

She parked her Camry in the lot nearest the old black and white striped light house, grabbed her things and started hiking away from the point. There'd been a storm a few nights back, and both the thundering surf and whistling wind were up. She wanted somewhere a little calmer with a lot less southwesterly wind. The cove. _Their_ cove. Being a weekday there weren't many people around. A retired couple enjoying a late breakfast outside their slab-sided RV, a gaggle of school kids yammering around the whip thin ranger, waiting to take their nature walk. She knew the chaperoning teacher. She didn't wave; they'd share no friendly chit-chat. She'd lost a lot of her friends at Constance Paine. None seemed to know the true story, or really care to learn. Most felt she'd been trying to seduce principal Sweetling, curry favor so she could keep her job. Without a wave she turned away, knowing full well the teacher had seen her and was probably glaring at her back.

When she came over the rise, she'd been singing the words to _You Raise Me Up_ , trying in vain to cheer herself up and make the best of a beautiful day. Inside, her mind was at war. She didn't know what to do about teaching. She was due back the following week. _Should she return or just quit and go. Sweetling would be lurking, gloating. Would he try something else? She was on her guard now. She'd bought pepper spray, watched a DVD on self-defense. In a pinch, she was determined to fight like hell. Her kids needed her. She was a good teacher. But, maybe she should just leave. Quit school and quit Grim Island. Could she do that; just leave? He was here. But he was lost to Kat, gone forever. Kat had finally cornered her downtown. Gloating, she couldn't wait to reveal her secret, more devastating than any engagement ring._ _She should go_. Tears formed in her eyes. She blinked them back, and singing louder, topped the rise to the cove.

There was someone already there. A man with wind-blown hair and a full beard. She should leave, but he'd already seen her, was turning around as he rose.

"Oh...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. I-I'll just go." Suddenly shy, wanting to be alone, she lowered her eyes, avoiding looking at the guy. She started to turn, suddenly unsure of her footing. There was something about that man though.

"Lacey? It _is_ you. Lacey, wait! Please don't go!"

"J-James?" _Oh my god. Jamie. You look so thin, so worried, my love. Yet so sexy with those damned kissable lips. So irresistible with those rakish bad boy looks._ "I should go." Emotions at war, and close to panic, Lacey turned to go, catching her boot heel on some exposed roots and snagging herself on clutching bramble fingers. "Lace, stay there. Don't move. I'll come to you. That path's pretty slippery. I don't want you to fall."

_I've already fallen. Damn you for being here._ She struggled against the briars, plucking her sweater's hem from the wicked thorns. Then she turned to scurry up the path. She had to get away before he saw the truth, before she lost control of her emotions. _Why was her heart hammering so?_

Suddenly he was there, just ahead of her, offering her his hand from the top of the cliff. _How_ _had he moved so fast?_ Reluctantly taking his hand, she let him pull her up next to him. He was uncomfortably close. She could smell his aftershave, the same aftershave she'd picked out for him almost a year ago. This close, she could smell the sheer animal musk of the man. _Her_ man. _No more._ Her knees started to go weak.

"It's great to see you Lace. To know _you_ can see me. I was thrilled to hear your sight's come back. I've wanted to–" Instinctively, he reached out to touch her shoulder, draw her closer.

"Don't touch me, James! Please." Lacey recoiled, crumpling as she saw the look on his face, but knowing how weak her resistance was.

"I had hoped you'd forgiven me. I never meant to hurt you, Lace. Even that last horrible night we had together. I never meant to bring you pain."

"I-I know James. T-there was never really anything to forgive. It was Julie. She's confessed to pumping me full of lies. Like a fool, I let myself believe her. I'm so sorry." Escaping tresses of heavy hair swept forward, allowing her to hide. She'd lowered her face, unable to meet his gaze, let him see how deeply she wanted him. "After all I said–all I believed–you must really hate me. I was hoping if we did meet again, we could still be friends." Keeping her distance, she tried to peek up at him, but seeing his frown, screwed her gaze into the rocky ground.

"Hate you? Of course we're friends. Lace–Sweetheart, I never stopped loving you. Yeah, I'm finally saying those three words. Took me forever to realize how true they are. I love you, Lacey Rodriguez."

"You can't. It's too late, Jamie!" She turned away, stumbled on a scatter of loose gravel, and lurched away. "I never should have come!" On the verge of tears, she lurched away. Momentarily stunned, Jamie let her get a dozen yards before he reacted.

"Lace, stop! Don't leave! There's so much we have to talk about!"

"I'm done talking, James MacLeod! I can't be near you. I'm such a silly woman!"

He caught her then, and wrenched her around to face him. She would have fallen if he hadn't caught her in his strong arms. As it was her hair was a wreck, and tears burned down her cheeks.

"You _are_ a foolish woman if you think I'd let you walk out of my life again. I love you Lacey Rodriguez. Do you hear me, I love you." He embraced her before she could pull away. As her insides turned to jelly, she clenched her eyes shut, feeling as though her heart had stopped. Her resistance on the brink of collapse, she stumbled away and fell, collapsing backwards on to the nearest grassy hummock. Squatting next to her, he moved to kiss her. Suddenly her hands were in his face, fingers tensed like a frightened cat's wicked daggers. She all but hissed at him, "You bastard! No! I won't do this! Go away! I said _Go away!"_

He backed off, hurt and confusion at war on his face. "All right, all right. If you really don't want this–I'd never force you."

She looked up at him, pleading for him to understand. "You idiot! Of course I _want_ to. I've wanted you from the moment you left me." She stared at him, her look determined. "We just can't let it happen."

"Bull shit. I want you. You want me. End of story."

"It's not. I know you love me, Jamie. Believe me, my heart dances at that. I love you beyond anything on this earth. But Kat told me—"

"Kat? What's she got to do with it?" He sat up again, rocking back on his worn boot heels. "It's you I care about. I thought you hated me; that I'd lost you. Kat was just _there_. I-I've tried to build a relationship with her . . . she was kind and sweet when I needed someone. But the spark just isn't there anymore. I don't think it ever was. Now, I think she reads too much into our relationship. She wants to tie the knot—like a noose around my neck _."_ Seeming frustrated and horny as hell, he seemed to decide there'd been enough words. As if he'd waited and fantasized about this moment for months. Now she was here, in his arms. There'd been enough talk.

He pushed her backwards into the grass. She started to protest, but then those inviting lips of his smothered hers and she melted into his muscular arms. "Oh damn. Dammit! I want you so much, Jamie." She pushed him off her a little, and began undoing the buttons closing the front of her spring dress.

He opened her dress, pushed aside her lacy bra and sat there a second, just enjoying. "God, you're so beautiful. I promise I'll be gentle."

As her slender arms circled round his neck, she tugged him toward her, and looked up into his naughty blue eyes, her lower lip pouting. Teasing, she let her teeth sink into her lower lip, only smiling when she heard her lover moan. "Don't be _too_ gentle, Jamie. I've missed you too much."

They began with a kiss. Long, drawn out, filled with pent-up passion; their lips fitting together perfectly as though they were never meant to be apart. She began to melt, quickly growing wet as his rough hands skimmed tenderly over her body, touching face, throat, and finally cupping one wildly thumping breast. His tongue brought his hot breath washing against her teeth before cajoling its way inside, and twirling with her own in a slippery dance of desire. "Oooh," she moaned, knowing there'd be no stopping now. The last of her resistance melted away; she'd fight to the death if someone tried to come between them now.

He kissed her again. Passionate yet sweet. She tore at his clothes, wanting him in her, no longer able to wait. He'd started out gentle, treating her like glass. She missed her old beast, wanted him to play a little rougher. As though his body reacted to her thoughts, her bones melted as his fingers grew naughty. He shoved aside her bra and began kissing her nipples, his other strong fingers probing her lacy panties.

"You sure about this, Lace? You want it too?"

"Yes! Oh god, yes! Don't talk. Take me, silly!"

He left off tracing the circles around her areola that drove her crazy, and brushing his wayward curl out of his eyes, quickly freed his cock. At a glance, Lacey saw it had grown thick and ready. He flashed that devilishly sexy naughty boy grin at her, and eagerly slipped inside.

"Oh God. Oh Jamie, you feel so good. I've missed you so much!"

Their sex was far from gentle. They kissed each other all over, never slowing when teeth or tongues invaded their most intimate spots. In seconds both were drenched in a thin sheen of sweat, each feeling a pounding ache begging to escape. Wrapping her slender hand in his thick hair, she drew his face down to her breasts, gasping as his lips took in her areola and his teeth began to nip. By then she was fighting to hold back the tide as a cascading wave of intensely warm pleasure began to splash through her soul. She sensed him easing back a little, fighting his own losing battle as he struggled to hang on. She bucked upward, wantonly craving more. He smiled at her then, sunlight sparkling on his teeth, devilry dancing in his eyes. He shoved her knees further apart and drove deep inside her. She gasped and raked her nails across his broad naked shoulders, burying her face so deep in his corded flesh she could barely breathe. He pulled her tighter into himself, and thrust deeper, faster, faster. She kissed his chest, and whispered his name like a building mantra, though she could barely breathe.

"Jamie, Sweetheart. Oh God, Jamie!" Within herself a wave of intense pleasure hit her with such force she shuddered, and then struggled for panting breath until the next tsunami hit her. She felt Jamie suddenly stiffen with a shudder of his own, and then a hot flood rushed inside, sweeping them both away.

They collapsed together, limbs and hearts entwined. She felt so right being with Jamie, she'd never let him go, no matter what they had to endure. She wouldn't question what they'd done, what she'd let happen. _Sure she wouldn't._

* * * *

Rolling apart, they lay staring up at the billowing white clouds, their souls still very much united. Neither seemed to want to talk and shatter the moment. Lacey wept a little for betraying Kat, but most of her tears held joy, and in her heart she knew she'd fight anyone to the death just to continue walking at Jamie's side.

Knowing she'd have to be the one to speak first, she looked at her partner to see if he slept. Jamie was awake, and watching her. The smile on his face belonged to a kid who's just eaten a whole pint of his favorite ice cream.

"I'm going to go straight to Hell."

"What?"

"I said I'm probably going to go straight to Hell for what we just did. I was raised as a strict Catholic, remember?"

"And now? What, you're sorry we did this? Lacey–tell me."

"Don't worry, Mr. Non-believer. Now I'm just another lapsed Catholic–or fallen, if you prefer. _More like I ran away._ And don't laugh–this was hard for me," she punched his shoulder lightly as she teased him, and then brushed his cheek in a passionate kiss that ended up sliding to his lips. "And just so you know, I don't regret a moment of this."

For a few minutes there were no more words, just passionate kissing and gentle touching. Coming up for air, with tears in their eyes, they both blurted out at once how much they'd missed each other. They kissed again, and then Lacey pulled away, sitting with her legs curled protectively around her, the determined look in her eyes one of self-loathing and firm resolve. The old MacLeod would have jumped right in with some snide remark about the stiff Catholic being back in residence, but Jamie just sat back against the worn slate ledge and waited in dread.

"Jamie? I don't want to lose you again."

"Not happening. I meant what I said."

"That you love me...yes, I got that. But what about Kat? You love her too."

"Kat? We're back to that?" His brow scrunched, and his face darkened. For the first time, she thought she saw some of the beast lurking behind his eyes. "You drive me crazy! I'll admit to caring about Kat, but like I said, the magic just isn't there. Not like it is with you. Don't worry. I'll find a way to deal with her."

"Like you've dealt with her before, James? When you thought I was lost?" Her large brown eyes blinked back tears. "You _think_ you might care about her! I just had sex with you. Oh god, I'm such a fool."

"I love you, Lace. I'm sure of that."

"Kat, too? Maybe? That's just great. She's _pregnant_ , James. She told me herself three weeks ago when she saw me in town. Couldn't wait to track me down and brag about it." Tears filled her dark eyes and anger burned from her throat. "You slept with her and you made her pregnant!" _Jamie was not the only one capable of feeling the wrath of a beast._

"Pregnant! Dammit—no!"

"Believe me, she's is. And now you just want to abandon her! Are you saying you didn't know? She never told you?"

"No. Not a word. Must've decided to hold it over me like a sword. Stupid little fool."

"I once hoped it'd be _me_ carrying your child!"

"You don't understand! She can't have a baby!"

""Well newsflash—she is! She flaunted the test results in front of me, Jamie. She's _going_ to have your baby."

"She can't! I won't allow it!"

"Allow it? Why James? Because you're a _werewolf_? Yes, I know your dirty little secret. It was the only thing made sense: your watching the phases of the moon all the time. Those injections I sometimes glimpsed you sneaking. Some of those books on lycanthropy and shape-shifting I saw you totting around. I figured it out as I lay in my bed in the dark, crying my eyes out for you. I know what you are." _And still, the first thing I do when I see you is fall at your feet and spread my legs. Father Malachi Paine was right. I'm a slut._

"A werewolf, huh? And knowing what I am, you still love me?"

"I love the _man_ you are. Whatever your curse, I'd fight it by your side. I just don't have the right. What about Kat? You can't just abandon her. What is it–is Kat's baby going to be a werewolf too?"

"No. I'll kill it first. I was serious. She mustn't have this child." He stopped talking, the anger in his voice fading to concern. He looked right at her, making sure she knew who she was inviting back into her bed. "I could've killed _you_ that night, you know."

"Bondage night? "Believing you'd grown tired of me hurt almost as much, you thick-headed beast." They'd gotten up, brushed off and started walking towards the parking lot. She'd snared his arm, and leaned into him as they walked. Looking down into her dancing brown eyes he realized part of him was the happiest he'd ever been.

"Where's your Camry? Oh, I see it. Mine is here." Without turning, he pointed to the mud-spattered Ford she'd somehow missed. "Get in. I'll drive you to your car." As she moved to obey, he added, "I would have done far worse than I did. That's why I left."

"So you wouldn't hurt me anymore? Because of the moon?"

"Yes. One little glimpse when I closed your curtains. That's all it took. Brought out the meanness in me. Lacey, I need to be very clear on this. You need to understand this. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. But when the change comes on me, I would kill you without a single thought or regret." They reached her car, yet both of them stayed in his Escape, reluctant to pull apart. "There's a special potion I take. It temporarily keeps the beast at bay." He started his Escape, but let it idle, making no move to shift into gear. "The tooth I always wear works that way too, though that's partly for my protection as well. Otherwise, I have to feed the rage. I'm almost out of the drug. It's pretty expensive, and I can't get it in a pharmacy. To make matters worse, my supplier seems to have disappeared." He hesitated a few moments, staring into her eyes before he continued. "I'll show you how to defend yourself. Just in case."

"No way! I could never hurt you! There's got to be another way!" She threw herself across the console, and wrapped her arms around his neck. The elderly couple just exiting from the RV turned their way and smiled as one.

"You may have no choice. I'm hoping I have the potion before that."

"How long have you got before you can't control the change?"

"Just a few more days. Look, we'd better get going. If Kat really is pregnant, she's placed herself in great danger."

* * * *

"Follow me into town. Kat stayed home sick today. Oh God, it must have been morning sickness. How stupid can I be? Look, follow me to the tenement and come inside. I'm going to need you to be very brave, okay?" _In so many ways._

"You're not going to hurt her? Jamie, tell me you're won't."

"I won't lie, Lace. There'll be some pain. I'm trying to save her life. You've got to understand, this child can't be born."

"Because it'll be born a werewolf . . . like you?"

"Something like that."

"Why can't she just give birth, and we'll deal with the kid afterwards?"

"You don't understand. You're like Eric. You've seen too many Hollywood movies–learned too many false myths. It won't be like that. When this kid is born, Kat will die. _He couldn't tell her that his son would chew his way out, devouring bits of mom as he emerged. God help them if there was a brood._

"Jamie, I could never have your children either, could I? You're saying I would die too, aren't you?"

"No, you wouldn't. I wouldn't let that happen."

"How could you stop it? Why didn't you stop it with Kat?"

"I told Kat I wasn't ready. I told her what to do to prevent a child. She swore she had. Obviously, she lied. There is a way. A reasonably safe choice. Look, we're running out of time. Let's roll!"

# Chapter 34

Jamie had known since childhood he was different. Unable to sleep late one wintry night, he'd snuck through the dark house to peer out the window and see if the snow was going to deliver on its promise of no school. Satisfied it would, he turned to tip-toe back to bed, and walked right into his mountain of a father. His father had been looking over his shoulder, leering out the same window. They talked a few minutes about the howling winds and drifting snow before his dad scooted Jamie off to bed. Jamie didn't seem to mind the feral gleam in his father's eyes or the line of thick spittle that flew from his lips. Jamie worshipped his dad.

In the morning, Jamie's father was gone. There were booted footprints leading down the snowy back stairs, prints that somehow changed to the tracks of a beast, but no sign of his father. His aunt came up behind him, tousling his blond hair, and told her nephew his breakfast was getting cold. As his aunt droned on about playing after he shoveled the walk, he noticed the foot prints had been covered by fresh snow. He mentioned seeing his dad go out at night; had he come back yet? His aunt got a queer look on her normally pleasant face, and told young Jamie, "Stop that now. You _know_ your father's been dead these past five years."

* * * *

Now as he rushed to his girlfriend's house with his lover in tow, it all came back like vomit spewed in his face. _He'd never fit in. He'd gone to Wolf Head to drive the chaos from his mind, and in waltzed Lacey to stir it up worse_. _What was he going to do? He knew he loved Lacey–truth be told, he'd never stopped. But what did he feel about Kat–did he love her too? They'd spent many a night together in her bed. And now, she was planning on becoming the mother of his child. A kid he and his reclaimed lover were racing to murder. If there was a God, he was a pretty twisted bastard!_

* * * *

"Lacey, give me the knife."

They'd found Kat with her head half in the toilet bowl. She'd given them a cold stare when they'd burst into the apartment, waging a losing fight at retaining her civility and last meal. Her words had been brief and generally slurred, but Lacey got the message that her presence was far from welcome. She quickly noticed that Jamie cared for the pregnant woman a lot more than he'd said. She felt the first gnawing of doubt, quickly devoured by shame, and wondered again if she wouldn't have been wiser to have turned away and run when she first saw him. But she wasn't wise. She was deeply in love and a fool for sure.

"Lace–the knife? Now!"

Without thinking, she thrust the fillet knife forward, almost stabbing Jamie's palm.

"Jeez, Lace. Go get– _listen_ to me!" He sounded angry with her until she realized he was just far more upset by Kat's condition than he'd let on. "Go get a pan of hot water. Go!"

She'd risen and was half way to the tiny kitchen when she heard the bathroom door slam behind her. As she stopped and turned, she heard Jamie throw the lock.

She was back in a flash, pounding on the door, yelling both their names. Except for two muffled voices, no sounds came back. Hearing a burst of desperate crying, she banged harder. Hurting both her balled fists, she stopped, shaking her throbbing hands. The pounding kept right on though, coming from elsewhere. There was someone at the outside door.

Lacey flew to the door, and stopped, her hand halfway to the triple locks. What if it was the police? What would she say– _Oh nothing much officer. Sorry for the noise. My lover is just slashing a werewolf child out of his_ _pregnant_ _fiancée. Why? Because he's a werewolf too. Sure, that would work._ Heart in her throat, she opened the door. And there they were.

# Chapter 35

Abigail and Eric stood in the doorway, obviously surprised at finding Lacey answering Kat's door.

"Miss Rodriguez? Why are _you_ here?"

"Hello Eric. You must be Eric's sister, Abigail. Please come in."

"Kat–Miss O'Hara. Is she all right?" Abigail couldn't care less about the disheveled woman before her. Her friend Kat was obviously in trouble.

"Miss Rodriguez–is everything all right?" Lacey was used to being ogled and having men undress her with their eyes, but in spite of herself, she blushed. Eric was going to need a lot more practice at hiding it.

"W-we hope so. James rushed home to help her.," she lied. "She's sick in the bathroom. We think she may be losing the baby."

A shriek of extreme pain and overwhelming grief ripped through the apartment. All three raced to the bathroom door. They demanded to know what was taking place on the other side. There came a second scream; and one of rage, cut off abruptly.

And then, nothing but silence.

Abby thought she heard cries of pain, and something squishy being dropped with a distinctive plop.

Lacey heard gruff, concerned words of affection, and Kat's whimpered reply.

Eric heard little, too busy getting ready to smash in the door. In his pants pocket, the Colt with five silver bullets began to itch.

Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open, Jamie standing framed in its blazing light. Covered in blood, he held an unconscious Kat in his arms. There was blood all over her clothes. It was obvious what Jamie had done. The baby was gone.

"Help me get Kathleen to bed. She's pretty weak. She's lost a lot of blood, but I think she'll be all right." He saw where their gaze had flicked to– the discarded knife and ominous bag he'd left behind. "Leave those. I'll clean up. Help me with Kat." He hefted the unconscious woman, struggled to clear her narrow doorway, and ease her into bed. Abby hastened to turn down the sheets. As he maneuvered, he glimpsed Lacey slipping out the door.

"Lacey, where are you going? Come back. I need your help."

"I can't. I don't belong here. I never should have come."

"Lace! Come back!"

When she didn't stop, he looked at Eric, indicating the teen should go after his teacher.

"Eric, bring her back. We need her. Go! Please."

Shooing Jamie out of the room, Abby got Kat out of her blood-drenched clothes. She gave her a quick sponge bath with warm water, and then slipped a clean nightie over her head. At that point, she called Jamie back in, and together they got Kat settled into bed and covered her up. Jamie bent over her and kissed her, first on the forehead, then on the lips. When he straightened, Abby stood facing him, glaring with naked disgust.

"You bastard. You get Kat pregnant, and then you run right out to screw your slut. Must've been good, because you couldn't wait to come back here and murder your child. And you bring your bitch along to gloat! You disgust me!"

"Lacey's not a slut! This had nothing to do with her."

"No? Well, you're a terrible liar, and the two of you aren't very bright. Because your whore didn't even have the good sense to wipe the grass stains off her ass! Unless I miss my guess, you've a dead child in that bathroom, and a woman who loves you way too much and needs you pretty badly right here. Stop thinking with your dick, MacLeod! I'm beginning to think one of the monsters you guys talk about is right here in this room!"

* * * *

Eric caught up with Lacey crying in her car. Without looking up at him, she shook her head when he rapped on her window and asked her to let him inside. Instead, she locked the doors, and yelled at him to leave her alone. He kept at her, and finally after a prolonged bit of pleading, she let him in. Their first minutes together were awkward. Lacey was obviously very upset, and Eric just didn't know what to say. Finally, he just jumped right in, telling her that Jamie was concerned for her safety and had sent him to find her.

"Oh, if he's so concerned about me, why couldn't he come himself? He sends you, his errand boy."

For the first time, Eric noticed that her usually precise English was tinged with a Hispanic accent. Her large teary eyes virtually flared with emotion. _God, she must really love the guy._

"I'm sorry Eric–that wasn't called for. It's just that I threw myself at him, thinking it could be the way it used to be. I'm such a fool!" She turned away from her student, staring blindly out the window. When she spoke again, her voice was choked with tears. "I didn't realize he really does love _her_. She was carrying his child, for Christ sakes; what was I thinking! W-when I saw them together in her bedroom; he was so gentle with her, his eyes so full of worry— I have no right to be here. I don't belong. I-I never can again." She'd started to sob again, her narrow shoulders slumping in total defeat. "I feel like such an idiot. So ashamed of what I've done." She tried to brighten, brushing the curtain of dark hair out of her eyes, and making a feeble attempt to brush away her tears. "And now I'm dumping all this on you, my student. I'm so sorry, Eric. You must think me a very foolish woman."

"It's okay, really. You know I'll be your friend forever."

She forced a smile and allowed a weak little laugh to escape. "Thank You, Eric. I appreciate that." She wiped her eyes again, and sniffed. Her skin blazed a warm pink.

He thought she looked beautiful.

"You're so sweet. Eric, but Hon, you're too infatuated with me. We've talked about this before. The whole Teacher's pet cliché thing. You need to find a nice girl your own age. I'm way too old for you to waste your feelings on."

"You're not _that_ old, but I _get_ what you're saying. I don't care. You've always been my favorite teacher, Miss Rodriguez."

"Thanks, Eric. But you still need a girlfriend your own age."

She dried her eyes and tried to do something with her appearance, her hair. Giving up in frustration, she got ready to leave the car. Eric stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn and look at him. When she did, he kissed her shyly on the cheek.

"Eric! What's that for?"

"Because you're the nicest lady I've ever known. I get the whole girlfriend my age thing, but you can always count on me. I'll always be your friend."

"That's sweet, Eric." She smiled, and almost managed a giggle. "I am flattered." She took his nervous face in both her hands and lifted his lips towards hers, stopping just short of contact. "Just so you know this is because I care about you too. As my best student, a sweet young man, and my newest, dearest friend. As long as you know, it can never be anything more, Eric."

"I know it."

She smiled at him then, and gave him his kiss.

* * * *

None of the friends knew exactly what happened when Jamie led Lacey into the bedroom and closed the door. When Eric returned with Miss Rodriguez in tow, Jamie looked up and scowled at Lacey. She flashed him a brief look of defiance, and quickly lowered her eyes. He walked over to where a weakened Kat sat wrapped in a couple blankets, gently rocking in her chair, her eyes missing nothing. Kissing her on the forehead, he whispered a few endearing words, and then grabbed Lacey's wrist, leading her into the bedroom and slamming the door. No one heard everything said, but snatches of phrases like _I_ _Love You_ , _Okay, I love both of you, and I just killed my tiny son_ drifted through the thin door. When the couple emerged, though the tears were drying on Lacey's cheeks, confusion still raged in her eyes. Kat looked at Jamie, a private blaze of something sparking between them. Hiding behind her hollow smile, Kat motioned Lacey to her side. She grabbed the teacher's wrist and pulled her closer. A very contrite Lacey knelt before her.

"You think you'll get him back—think you can take Jamie away from me?" Kat spit at her. "You threw him away, broke his heart! I picked up the pieces, glued him back together—now you think you have the right to just waltz in here and—"

"No. No, I don't Kat. I'm sorry. We love each other—I got caught up in the moment. I-I'm so sorry."

"I gave him a _child_! What've you ever given him but grief, you frigid bitch?"

Kat kept ranting at her with harsh whispers, punctuating each point with a cruel jab to Lacey's upper chest. Suddenly, Kat's brittle smile soured and she spit directly in Lacey's face. Quivering with rage, Lacey rose to her feet, wiped the spittle from her cheek, and returned fire with a volley of gutter Spanish. She turned on Jamie, her scalding look daring him to say anything in her defense, turned abruptly on her heel and stomped haughtily from the room. Jamie turned to Kat. She glared at him like Medusa, her icy defiance freezing him to solid stone. War had been declared.

# Chapter 36

While Jamie's crew was squabbling, the gulls and ravens at Lost Hope Park were having a feast. The night before, the rocky shore approaching the abandoned lighthouse had been eerily lit by a bloated moon. A couple strolled along the narrow stretch of stony beach towards the silent relic. Except for a few scavenging ghost crabs, they were alone, the only sounds their intimate whisperings and half-drunk giggles. Gentle surf provided a background rhythm; the clattering hiss of round pebbles and broken shells never changing as the surge pushed them in and pulled them back. In daylight, a beachcomber would have noticed other things mingled in with the rocks and shells; tiny fragments of bones and human teeth. But this wasn't daytime, and the young lovers saw nothing but each other. Because the air was chilled, they scampered towards their goal. The harsh southwesterly wind had died, dragging the heavy surf and rip currents to an early grave. Its resurrection would not come for another five hours; the only weather was the damp fog slowly sneaking shoreward.

Escaping from college in Providence, the young couple had parked their gunmetal Audi in the empty parking lot a hundred yards back. They walked hand in hand, heads together, whispering and cooing in the still night air. She'd removed her strapped black heels; he carried scuffed biker boots, his worn jeans rolled to mid-calf. Their footsteps disappeared as soon as the gentle tide erased them from the gravely sand. She was hoping he'd ask her to go with him to that new play at Trinity; he was just hoping to get laid.

They reached the base of the brooding lighthouse, carefully picking their way up the rocks to the lonely sentinel. Close up, the stone lighthouse with its huddled out buildings was far less picturesque. It created a totally uninspired image, as though the house painters slapped the paint on as quickly as possible and escaped. The shoddy paint job was badly blistering and peeling. Years of neglect had chipped out chunks of crumbling mortar. The square stone tower itself appeared neglected and stark. Each of the three tiny windows dimly illuminated the inside as the twisting staircase wound its way toward the stone cold lamp. All three smashed windows fulfilled a greater role, playing host to parasitic bird nests. The probing fingers of the land-bound fog slipped through the broken windows, turning the abandoned lighthouse into a giant trap bursting with mist. The beacon light itself was dark and dead, brooding corpselike, waiting.

Stacy cried out and clutched a flaking rusted rail. She flopped to the ground, her foot cut on a piece of broken beer bottle. Her laughing date bent and brushed gritty sand off her foot, making her wriggle and giggle. Taking her foot in his hand, he licked at the tiny wound, and kissed it better. "Yuck," she said, adding more giggles. Shoes back on and clothes straightened, they almost bumped into the broken stairs. Looking around, he made sure they were alone. He approached each of the cadaver white buildings with their flaking leprous paint and tested the locks. Finally, he approached the square stone sentinel itself. He shook the crusty rail and tested the rusted lockless door. It offered little resistance to a forceful shoulder. Once inside, he dragged his date in with him, and produced a small flashlight. Although its miniature beam barely penetrated the fog, it was enough to find the stairs. Reaching the base of the staircase, he tested the bottom three stairs. Filthy with rust and sea gull crap, but firm. Holding hands, giggles bubbling from her throat, they began to climb. To her, the phallic looking lighthouse was an obvious signal that a date at Trinity meant she'd better put out. To him, the huge cement and stone structure was just a reminder how painfully horny he was, how immediate his need. _Why were there so many god-damned stairs,_ Stacey wondered? As they climbed, neither of them noticed he'd dropped his wallet at the base of the lighthouse.

Finally reaching the rickety platform outside the darkened light, the couple climbed carefully aboard the grates, overlooking their instability, and marveling at the fantastic view instead. There were the twinkling lights of Newport, far off in the east, and that must be Pt. Judith in the distant south. Was that closer light at Wolf Head still warning sailors to beware? For a second, each wondered why this light at Lost Hope remained dark. There were certainly still rocks and reefs; why no warning here of the dangers below? Neither thought more than a second or two, imminent sex quickly crowding out all other cerebral activity. Neither was to guess that the light stayed dark because no matter how many times electrical technicians made the endless climb, scratching their heads at the maze of tangled wiring, hoping to restart the beam flashing, within a night or two the warning beacon winked out.

None of this meant a damn to the amorous couple. They had bigger problems. She'd played it coy, egging him on with a little tease of flesh. He needed no coaxing, yet when the moment came, they discovered his wallet missing. With it, the all-important lovers' safety chutes.

"Must've dropped it at the foot of this thing. Couldn't we do it just this once without the damned rubber?"

Stacy's obvious answer sent him scurrying back down the rickety stairs looking for his wallet. She only hoped he'd have enough energy left for lovemaking when he finally got back. _Maybe after a small rest filled with kisses._

There was no way she could know that the sea bird's cry she heard was really her would-be lover's final words. Not until the fog crept in and tickled her with its icy fingers, did she feel irritation, and wonder what was taking him so damned long.

"P-Phil, did you find it? Oh Christ– never mind. Come on back anyway–we'll do it just this once. _But you better take me to that damned play, you cheapskate._ Come on Phil. Do you hear me? I'm getting cold."

Stacy waited another three minutes, really beginning to shiver. They'd been dating for a month; they'd slept together twice. _If Phil didn't hurry it up, there might not be a third time._ When he didn't answer her, she added another two minutes, growing more irritated with each fleeing second. She'd lost her desire as the creeping fog stole her body heat, and now she was really starting to lose her patience with Phil as well. Shrugging into her dress, she struggled with the back zipper, and looked down the rickety stairs. _Nothing._ In truth, the churning fog severed visibility about ten feet below the platform, but she should be able to hear him huffing and puffing his way up the stairs. She almost felt sorry for him. _Almost._ Putting on her heels, she eased herself onto the stairs, and clutching the rusty rail as though her life depended on it, started cautiously back down. Fifteen feet down, she looked around and almost let go in panic. The fog was so thick; she couldn't see five feet below her. Looking back up, she could barely see the stairs disappearing over her head. _It's as if they aren't even there._ She started back down as fast as she dared, almost losing her footing twice on the mist-slick stairs. She called out her lover's name as she went, hoping to hear his answering call, his footsteps thundering towards her. Still thirty feet in the air, she decided to stop and listen. _How would she know if he'd heard her and_ _answered, if he was already coming, if all she heard was her own thundering step?_ Besides, she was fucking exhausted.

She listened, her wildly thumping heart shouting how tired she was. At first she heard nothing but her own heart and raspy breath. The rest was silent, unless you counted the distant teasing whispers that seemed to come from everywhere in the swirling fog. But then she heard the other sounds.

Footsteps, coming towards her. Up the stairs. Loud and purposeful.

"Phil, is that you? What's taking you so damned long? Hon, did you find it?"

Silence.

"Phil, answer me. This isn't funny. You're not getting any if you don't stop this right now. Phil! Come on. I'm getting cold."

Dead Silence, except for the slow steady tread of climbing footsteps.

"Phil Stonington, you answer me right now. This has gone on long enough. I'm getting pissed!"

Still no answer, just the slow climbing steps.

"Come on, Phil honey. You didn't slip, did you? Tell me you're all right."

The steps were much louder now, closer. Instinctively, she backed up a step, then two. She still couldn't see anything, though now she thought she heard a strange dragging and bumping. She backed up a half dozen more steps, still unable to see anything. Then she heard a sound like sharp ragged nails scratching on raw metal; she heard her name hissed through lips unused to speech.

She froze as though fear was crazy glue binding her feet to the steps. The steps trudged closer; still she could not see through the swirling fog.

"Stacy." A dark form loomed in the mist, just beyond view. She knew that voice, though it couldn't be _him_.

His blue-grey head burst through the cloaking fog. Unable to accept what she saw climbing toward her, she backed up three stairs, toppling on her ass.

"Stacy–it's me." He lurched up two more stairs, dragging something bloody behind him. Something no longer completely there; something quickly losing blood as it bumped skyward. "Stacy, sweetheart, I brought you a present." Oozing behind the man's damaged leg she saw all that remained of Phil.

She knew the man. Rather, she'd known him, before the botched suicide had taken out the left side of his face. She'd loved him once, and smiled whenever he'd entered her life. Back before he'd put a slug through his mind. Back before the medical examiner had slashed him open in a big _Y._ Back before her shining knight, crowned in a curly silver wig and dressed all in black had taken permanent lodgings in a box and been screwed into the ground.

"D-daddy? It can't be you. Daddy–you're dead!"

"Am I, dear? Certainly not to you, pumpkin? Come give your daddy a big kiss. Nobody will see. We're quite alone out here. You deserved far better. "He indicated the dripping heap of offal oozing behind him. Screaming, she didn't look, but turned and ran up the stairs.

He moved even faster.

* * * *

Her name had been Stacy Conti. She'd been a Providence nursing student moonlighting at Fatima hospital. He was Philip Stonington, an honor student doing graduate work in corporate law. Both were bright, affluent, and good-looking. Each was intelligent, ambitious with the promise of rewarding lives just ahead. Now they were just so much cooling meat.

# Chapter 37

"What the hell are you doing? I need you two to get along! We've bigger problems right now."

"She spit in my face! Called me a back-stabbing Spick whore! What was I supposed to do? She's got her claws in you pretty deep, doesn't she, James?"

Jamie followed Lacey in to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and nailing her to the wall. She pulled away from him, thumped her arms across her chest and leaned into the wall, glaring at him, struggling to hold back the angry tears. Jamie couldn't fail to see the mix of sorrow and fury bleeding into her dark eyes.

"I told you I thought I'd _lost_ you, Lace. What was I supposed to do? You'd made it pretty clear you hated me and blamed me for your blindness. Where was I supposed to turn, Lace? _Tell_ me."

"I know! I'm sorry! I feel like yesterday's stinking trash," Lacey cried. She couldn't look at him just then, riveting her eyes into the cracked linoleum floor, noticing for the first time the knife and bagged fetus were gone.

"I _do_ love you! More than you can ever guess. But...I can't leave Kat right now. You saw how weak she is. The baby was very small; the cuts I made no more painful than had to be. Most of her pain is emotional. She needs me, Lace. She's depending on my being here with a smile and a kind word. This has been incredibly hard on her. She thought a child would bind us together. Trust me, she knows she screwed up. But she's really hurting now. I don't want her to do anything foolish. I can't just leave her–I _have_ to be here. Not forever, just for a little while. Can't you accept that I have to do this?"

"Y-yes." She threw herself into his arms, trying to bury herself in his broad chest. "What choice do I have? I won't lose you again. I-I'll deal with it–I'll have to." She clung to him, sobbing her heart out, soaking the front of his cambric shirt.

He pried her away, held her at arm's length, watching. He didn't let go of her hands. When he smiled, her sun peeked through the clouds. He kissed her then, long, passionately and full of determination. When he broke away, he smiled into her eyes and told her he loved her. Lacey's tormented soul danced.

* * * *

"Here, take this." He thrust a small cloth-wrapped bundle into her outstretched palm. "The others all know what I am. Eric has a .45 loaded with silver bullets."

" _They_ know you're a werewolf?"

"Yes." He'd looked at her a long while before he said the word, as though he wanted to add more and thought better of it. "Eric claims he saw me in my nice hairy form one moon-lit night."

Lacey gasped. As she listened to her lover, she'd idly lifted the cloth from the object in her hand, and saw an old-fashioned glass and brass syringe full of bright green liquid. She almost dropped it.

"James, what is this? W-what am I supposed to do–" she asked. As its purpose dawned on her, she almost threw the syringe against the wall. "Oh no! No–you can't expect me to–I can't!"

"Everything all right in there?" several concerned voices came from outside.

"Yes, we'll be right out!" Jamie turned back to Lacey, and drew her into him. His fist closed over hers, making sure she didn't throw the syringe away. "Maybe, hopefully, you'll never have to use this. But if you do–if I change and come at you, Lacey, please, _Please_ do not hesitate to stick it here–he indicated his left eye–it's the only thing will stop me. This will stop me. Promise me, you'll do it." He stared into her large dark eyes, his big hands almost crushing her wrists. "Promise!"

"I-I will! I promise!" She broke away then, and stood before him quivering. Fresh tears poured down her cheeks. She felt as though her heart was being crushed inside an icy fist.

"Lacey–sweetheart, one last thing. There's only the one needle. No one else is safe. Not Eric or Abby. Not even Kat. Just you. I choose to protect _you_. Remember that." Without another word, he turned, opened the door and walked away.

Lacey did not emerge for another five minutes. When she did, her tears were gone, her face looked determined, her heart resolved.

She would make amends with Kat. She would forge a friendship and share her man if she must. Maybe someday, he'd make a choice. The syringe in her hand hinted he already had.

_The needle. Damned thing. She'd never kill Jamie. Never!_ She thrust the syringe in her bag and stalked out of the apartment. No one seemed to notice; at least no one stopped her. They seemed to be having a council of war or something. Out in the shadowy hallway, she quickly found the stairs leading up, and climbed towards the sky.

* * * *

Across the room, Kat watched her rival leave. She got shakily to her feet, already feeling better. She'd been lucky. Jamie told her he'd gotten to her in time, getting rid of the fetus before it took her life. Foolish man. She smiled, feeling her own burst of determination. She crossed the room, draped her arm across her lover's shoulder and drew her body into his. His mind lost to keeping them all alive, he turned, a look of concern on his lips. She kissed him, clamping onto his lips like a lamprey. If there was going to be a war; she meant to win every battle.

# Chapter 38

He'd screwed up. When Jamie sliced the tick-like fetus from Kat, he'd left behind a tiny second head imbedded in her flesh. Healing her with his searing touch, Jamie had insured this parasitic clone's survival. Deep within Kat; severed tendrils writhed and fused together. Parasitic nodules twitched and stuck, growing bloating on their mother's blood. Slithering through mom's body, tiny tentacles wove a tangled web through her organs and began sucking life from their unsuspecting host. Jamie knew so little of his kind he never suspected that mom was still a nurturing cow. But _someone_ knew, and came creeping. Contact was made, demands given. Deep inside mutated synapses twitched, and answered.

# Chapter 39

"Okay, that's the aerial map I got off Goggle. Here's where we are now."

"Hey, Jamie–you notice how the island looks like the body of a man," said Eric. "Lost Hope here for one leg, and Wolf Head...there, for his arm. Damn, look at the size of his –"

"Eric!"

"Sorry Sis. But look at it." They all had a good laugh.

"Actually, that's the causeway to Principal Sweetling's estate. You do know our illustrious principal is a descendant of the founding fathers?"

"No shit! Which one?"

"Eric! Language." Both Eric and MacLeod gave Abigail a look. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and clammed up.

"Paine. He's related to Jeremiah Paine. Anyway, getting back on course, is everybody clear on our plans? We'll begin tomorrow. I think we need to move out of here as soon as possible and get to my house. It's more defensible." Unsure of himself, he hesitated a minute before going on, "And there are restraints ready should I start to change. Lacey, we'll swing by your house so you can pick up some things. Lace?" Jamie looked quickly around the room, not seeing the teacher. "I know she came out here. I assumed she was sulking in the background. Look, guys, we've got to find her." Eric noticed he looked really worried, Kat just as plainly pissed, her nails digging into Jamie's exposed arm. "Eric, Abby, try the hallway. Kat, I need to talk to you. _Now_." He turned around, noticing Eric and Abby still lingering. "Go! She can't be far." Scrubbing his palm down his face, he shrugged off his fatigue. He looked older, totally wiped-out. "Guys, be nice to her. She's been through hell." Turning, he prepared to endure Kat's fiery blast.

* * * *

"That's all I wanted to say. Just so you understand me, Kat. With all that's going on in town, I'm just too busy trying to keep us all alive."

"I get it, Jamie. Really. I'll try my best to make peace. _Right._ Go find her before she falls off the roof or something." _Go find your whore and give her a good shove._

"The roof again. Oh shit!" Kissing Kat on the forehead, he hurried from the room. As if I'm his fucking sister, Kat thought bitterly.

As soon as he was gone, Kat flopped back in bed, and began mulling over their conversation. He'd done most of the talking. He'd asked her to try and accept Lacey. Become her _friend_. He'd added a warning that if he turned into a beast, she was to get behind Lacey for protection. He'd given her some kind of weapon to kill him with. She was to make sure little Lacey actually used it. _Could she use it on the Rodriguez slut instead?_ She should have been more forceful; demand that he get rid of Lacey. She wished that she was Jamie's Tigress in truth; she'd rip the bitch's heart out.

Jamie didn't seem too angry that she'd lied and gotten pregnant. How was she to know he was serious about the "safe period" and all? She barely was able to accept that she was in love with a werewolf. He'd told her to rest another day and she should be fine. Extra quick healing seemed to be the only thing she'd gotten from her son. Jamie said it was a boy. She'd never even seen her kid. Kind of looked like she wasn't destined for motherhood. Two kids and she'd killed them both. _Correction, Jamie killed this one. The bastard._

_So now she was supposed to forgive Lacey for messing with her man, and become friends with her. Bull shit!_ They planned to stand united and fight the forces of darkness that were engulfing their small island home. A geek, his wimpy sister, a slut, a werewolf, and her, the village idiot. _Yeah, that'd make the bad guys quiver._

Remembering Lacey's comment about Jamie's beard making him look _dangerous_ , Kat was considering talking him into shaving it off when a knifing pain stabbed through her womb. Shit, he said she'd heal fast. He didn't say anything about the pain!

Suddenly sleepy, her eyes fluttered. Drifting off, she thought of another weird thing. As Jamie bent over her, the tooth he always wore had swung forward and bumped her in the face. Grabbing it, she sarcastically asked if his whore had given it to him. After all, he'd already been wearing it the day they met. Laughing, he said no. In fact Lacey didn't like it either. Hanging on to him by the tooth, she'd joked a bit, saying it was pretty small and weird looking, just that tooth and six little beads. He'd tried gently to remove her fingers, saying it was just his baby tooth. _That_ made her wonder. It certainly didn't look human, or even wolf-like. More like a shark's tooth with its rough serrated edges. The beads were odd too; small alternating blue and brown, they looked ancient, more a woman's than a man. There were stains in the grooved calligraphy of the beads as though they'd once been drenched in a liquid that dried and cracked, leaving a dark brown crust. No wonder Rodriguez thought it was gross. For once they agreed on something. With a frowning smirk, she'd yanked on the tooth, hoping to rip the ugly thing from his throat. Instead, the thin wire bit into her hand, cutting two of her fingers. Oddly, none of her blood stained the necklace, but spattered off as though flung away. As he turned to fetch antiseptic and a bandage, he'd said it protected them, he shouldn't remove it. And then as he hurried after the meds, she thought she'd heard him add, mostly to himself, "Besides, it's pretty much all I have left of my mother."

# Chapter 40

Lacey leaned on her elbows and looked out over her island home without seeing a thing. She hadn't felt this miserable since her older sister punched her in the face and stole her new silver scooter. Or _that_ night in college. Or the night the things came up her cellar stairs. She'd reconnected with Jamie, found out he _did_ love her But he cared for another woman too. Kat. She was expected to share, and wait. It _was_ the decent thing to do. Making matters even worse, there _were_ monsters, apparently lots of them. _Jamie_ was one of them. The man she loved. She felt so over-whelmed and completely in hell. Forcing herself not to wallow in self-pity, she took another serious look at her sleepy town. Off in the distance she could barely hear a fog horn's monotonous drone. Looking out over the near empty harbor, she noticed the absence of slapping halyards, incoming surf, or even the booming gong of the ancient buoy off Slattern's Hole. The freakishly warm day's zephyrs had died, replaced by the sneaking fingers of a sweaty smothering fog. She'd caught a weather forecast that morning before she'd driven to Wolf Head. There'd be another nice day, and then the temperature would turn sharply colder. There was a chance of snow the night of the full moon. Weather in New England was never boring.

She hoped someone would come rescue her before that. _Would they miss her?_ She was such a klutz. Wanting to be alone with her muddled mind, she'd retreated to the roof. As soon as she escaped through the door, the damned thing whacked her in the ass, locking itself behind her. She'd tried everything: yelling for help, pummeling the door, yanking it until her palms were on fire, and her arms throbbed. For the first time in years, she wished she'd spent more time developing her muscles in team sports, less striving to be the smart girl who managed to intimidate most of her dates. _The damned door wouldn't budge._ She was stuck out on the roof, and it was starting to feel pretty cold. At least it wasn't raining, although the creeping fog felt damned unpleasant.

* * * *

"I wondered where you'd snuck off to," a most welcome voice teased from behind her. _Jamie._ _Thank God._ She hadn't heard him bang open that door, or come up behind her, but then she'd probably been too busy feeling sorry for herself. "We wondered where you'd gone, and got concerned when we couldn't find you. It was actually Kat who suggested the roof." Jamie moved closer, nuzzling the back of her neck, kissing it lightly. "I know you're a big girl, Lace, but you really shouldn't be alone. It's just not safe." His lips moved to her shoulder as his fingers pushed down the strap to her spring dress. He spun her around, smiling lovingly as she faced him. There was just a hint of wolf in his handsome grin. "How about we sneak away for a little while, find someplace quiet, and I show you just how much you mean to me?" He gently ran his fingers along her cheek, onto her throat, only stopping at the neckline of her dress. I'll even massage your feet," he said, his fingers playfully tugging the neckline of her dress away from her breasts, exposing more flesh. "If that's what you want."

"The gleam in your eyes says getting a couple of things rubbed a good deal higher is more likely," Lacey almost giggled. "Seriously Jamie–what about Kat? Is she feeling that much better? Is she okay with this . . . arrangement?" She couldn't believe he could answer _yes_ to both questions. She certainly wasn't okay with _any_ of it. "You said you cared for both of us." She couldn't help noticing how handsome he looked. _There was something different._ He looked _better_. Then it hit her. "Jamie, you shaved off your beard. Looks like a clean shirt too." She moved in closer, snuggling into his broad chest, nuzzling the thick curly hair peeking from his open throated shirt. "Smell pretty good too."

"Actually, Kat suggested it. Said she was sick of the beard." He kissed her passionately on the mouth, one hand reeling her in while his other began fondling her breasts. "I'm so horny I could eat you. Let's get out of here, Babe." Kissing her lips, face and throat, she was dimly aware when his tongue flickered into play.

"Babe? Jamie, stop. Please. This just isn't right. You claimed you cared for Kat too, remember? She just lost _your_ baby. You wanted to stick around—protect her. You're making me feel like a heartless whore. I want to be sure–"

"Oh stop your whining! I've made my choice. I want _you_. Right now!" Grabbing the front of her thin dress, he tore it open. Lacey screamed. Laughing, Jamie slashed away more of her dress and threw her hard against a ventilator. Lacey screamed in pain and terror. Something was _very_ wrong!

Suddenly the rooftop door began to thud with a cluster of violent blows. On the third it ruptured outward, exploding off one hinge, and two angry males thundered onto the roof.

"Lacey! Lace, what's going on? Are you all right?"

"Jamie? Is that you? Then who are _you_?" She turned in time to see her fake lover morph into something far different from her boyfriend before it dissolved to so much foggy mist. In the instant that it showed its true form, she shuddered and passed out.

* * * *

When she came to, Lacey was lying on a couch, wearing one of Kat's cotton nightdresses. The others were gathered around, honest concern on all their faces. Jamie squatted down beside her, his hand holding hers, worry lines digging into his face. The _real_ James. Clean shaven now. _She'd miss that beard. She'd liked it._ He wore a clean shirt open at the throat, displaying his ugly tooth. The one he said protected him, and he was never without. The one the fake James had been missing. Something she hadn't realized until now.

_That creature! God, what had she been kissing?_ She fought to think about it, but her eyelids seemed as heavy as lead. She slipped steadily down toward sleep.

Rising quietly, Jamie padded toward the door. He missed the smug look of gloating hatred Kat shot at the bedridden woman. Drifting towards sleep, Lacey thought she heard him growl, "It's time we struck back!"

# Chapter 41

A few days later, Lacey rose determined to make the best of things, put on a cheerful mask, and find a way to be useful. In minutes it was clear that she was alone in the apartment with Kat. Her plans for a positive attitude hit their first bump. When she asked where everyone else was, Kat briskly told her they had better things to do than lie abed all day, and were out beating the bushes for help. Undaunted, Lacey asked Kat how she was feeling.

"Remarkably better. Amazing what a little bed rest in the arms of your loving man will do."

Lacey bit her tongue, about to blurt out that she wouldn't know. Instead she asked if there was anything she could do to help out.

Kat smiled. Although Lacey could have sworn her lips were about to form the word _disappear_ , Kat launched instead into a volatile description of how they all thought Lacey was some sort of spoilt crybaby who needed to grow up, pitch in and make herself useful. Those were Jamie's exact words, according to Kat. When Lacey angrily asked her just what she could do, Kat told her to stay out of everybody's way. Go to church and pray or something.

Lacey was in the midst of implementing Kat's brilliant idea, although she was beginning to have her doubts about the _brilliant_ part. Here she was in the town's only Catholic Church, on her knees before a God who was practically a stranger. Her grandmother's rosary was entwined around her shaking fingers while she whispered barely remembered prayers in that dear woman's native tongue. Nothing was hers. The rosary, the prayers, even the hat on her head was borrowed. Only her desire for repentance and her tearful sorrow were her own. Those and her desperate plea for guidance out of chaos. Lacey Rodriguez might be praying on her knees in a church, but her soul writhed in hell.

Getting out of the house had been easy. Unlike the cheesy horror flicks were all the hormone-laden teenagers go off on their own the second they hit the haunted house, her group had been smart enough to cluster together in adjoining rooms. First thing, they'd placed a sentry just inside the door. Eric had the duty just before dawn. Since it was her place, Kat claimed her own bed again. The first night, she'd pouted and whined until James had finally lain beside her. Now he seemed resigned to that nightly fate. Abby and Lacey slept in stuffed chairs in the other room.

Lacey made sure she was closest to the door. Within minutes, everyone except Lacey was asleep. She'd sneak out and go to church, maybe steal some holy water to help in their fight against the dark. She'd show Kat; and make herself useful.

Getting by Eric had been easy. Even though he sat sprawled beside the door with an old M16 across his lap, he slept the deep sleep of the innocent. He shouldn't be going through this. None of them should.

Squinting away tears, her gaze grew flinty with steely resolve as she left the house. She recalled Kat's last searing jab. She'd grabbed her upper arm in a brutal grip, forcing Lacey to face her.With a scalding sneer, she'd insisted she stop playing the spoilt little brat. She needed to stop acting like a frightened little girl, and start pulling her own weight. She of all of them had the connection to Principal Sweetling, the obvious monster. She had the best chance of cutting off the serpent's head. Kat's foul seed took root, sprouting into her _brilliant_ idea.

Seeing she had her rival upset, Kat slashed out one final time, burrowing deep beneath Lacey's skin, stabbing her through the heart. "Jamie might have filled your ears with sweet endearments, sweetie, but he is sleeping in _my_ bed. Remember that."

* * * *

She rocked her legs from side to side as she knelt on the threadbare kneeler, her shinbones beginning to scream at her. It had been a very long time since she knelt like this in prayer. She shuddered, feeling sour bile rise in her throat. Not so long ago she'd been on her knees, paying homage of a very different sort to a fiend she despised.

* * * *

Lacey had already stolen a small jar full of holy water from the grimy font. When she'd first walked in, the place had been like a forgotten tomb–dark, quiet and almost empty. There'd been no one in the old gothic church but a pair of sisters praying much closer to the altar. Seeing the nuns, Lacey shivered, noticing they both were dressed in old style habits, bent over their prayer beads like ancient withered crones. Unpleasant memories began chattering to break free. Turning a deaf ear, Lacey bowed her head and lost herself in saying her half-forgotten rosary. Instinctively, her fingers moved along her beads, her voice rediscovering the words first learned as she knelt beside her Latina grandmother. As she prayed, a shadow drifted by, the feeble light suddenly dimming in the candle lit church. Caught in mid prayer, Lacey didn't react until two figures flanked her, the worn crimson cushion on the kneeler crushed beneath their weight as they knelt beside her. Looking to her right, Lace saw a familiar face smirking back at her. A glance to the left revealed one of the two praying sisters. Beneath her shroud-like black veil, stern green eyes flecked with scarlet shards glared at her in naked hate.

"So, you've decided to join us after all. We wondered if you'd take the bait."

Lacey wondered if she had time to rise, put up some sort of resistance. She had no doubt where these two would take her; just as she had no doubt who'd laid the trap. She'd been such a fool to prance right in. She had just decided to fight when she felt something sharp poke through the back of her thin dress and bite into flesh. "Move, bitch, and keep your mouth closed. I can make this hurt a whole lot more. That was just a little prick. Time to go see the master."

* * * *

_What had she been thinking?_ One sarcastic dig from Kat, and she just had to prove her wrong. _God, she was so stupid._ She'd fallen for the most obvious of bait; pride. Now, no doubt, she would _be_ the bait. Or worse; Sweetling's plaything. She was terrified. She was driving straight toward the one forbidden place on the island that the dumbest kid in her class knew to avoid. The principal's house. Right next door to the abandoned institute for the Criminally Insane. The nut house. Haunted, by all accounts. Yet here she was speeding through the island's early morning fog, a helpless hostage just tempting all those haunted inmates to come out and play. All she really wanted to do was find somewhere warm and safe, curl into a fetal ball and cry her heart out. _Hadn't she been through enough?_ In the last two months she'd been assaulted, almost raped, almost murdered, blinded, lost the man she loved, regained him, learned she was expected to share him, learned there really were monsters, learned _he_ was a monster–how much more could she be expected to endure? _As much as it takes, Lacey. You were headed this way anyway, after a few prayers and you swiped the holy water. That lying bitch was right. It's time you stopped being a frightened little girl. Cut the head off the serpent. Do your share. Time you got a grip on yourself, and acted like the intelligent woman you supposedly are. In your gut you know Jamie won't back down and run, just as in your gut you know that you can never, never plunge that needle into his face even if he's going to rip out your throat. You all have reasons for staying on the island. You can't leave your kids; not knowing if their unsuspecting parents will protect them, or if those same folk, already turned to monsters, will feast on their little bones. Running is not an option. So here you are, a gift package for Sweetling. Just concentrate on getting free. This time you will be strong. You will be a warrior. You will fight back. Take back your honor, get revenge. This will help_. Lacey glanced at her purse, dumped next to her on the seat, the small 9mm handgun still hidden inside. Apparently her captor thought of her as pretty helpless prey; she hadn't even bothered checking through her bag. Jamie had given it to her, and showed her how to use it. Of course, Jamie had promised to protect her too. Well, he wasn't here. _Time to save yourself, girl._

There'd been an awkward moment when Abby innocently asked if there was any way they could tell the beasts from the normal townsfolk. Jamie said there was nothing obvious, like a sulfurous stench, or drooping tail. In fact he'd said the only thing was the presence of red flecks in their eyes, but to see those you'd have to get a lot closer than you'd ever want. Like an idiot, she'd blurted out that principal Sweetling had them. Four pairs of eyes turned on her, wondering when and why she'd been close enough to Gerald Sweetling to notice that. Eric cleared his throat, rushing to her defense, insisting that principal Sweetling was indeed like that; always in your face. The others all seemed to accept that; except for Jamie. He looked totally unconvinced.

Shivering, she peered intently through her slick windshield as she groped her way through the fog. The woman next to her threatened with her knife and told her to move it along. The weatherman had promised another unseasonably warm day so Lacey had worn another spring dress that flaunted quite a bit of tempting skin. She was after all, bait.

As Lacey inched closer to the mansion, the fog grew much thicker through the whispering salt marshes. Approaching the causeway to the old Paine estate, she risked a quick glance at her captor. The woman was looking right at her, leering.

She slowed further as the fog thickened. Off to her left she could hear the angry surf pounding ashore on Goosefish Beach. Pretty soon the road should start to rise as the rocky cliffs reared up and the cold Atlantic waters deepened. Unfortunately, she'd have to turn on to the causeway to Sweetling's mansion before that. If only she could flee back to Jamie's arms with her self-esteem between her legs.

Sticking its tongue out at her, the miserable mist grew worse, forcing her to creep along just to stay on the worn-out road. She felt the tip of a very sharp knife prick her side again.

"Step it up, Rodriguez. It's just fog, for Christ sakes!" The creep jabbed its blade just a little further into Lacey's side, ripping through her thin dress and biting into her soft flesh. Drawing blood. Smelling the red ooze, it looked at its terrified captive and smiled. "That's for all the trouble you've caused me, you little bitch. Now drive! You don't want to keep principal Sweetling waiting. He's got unfinished business with you. Drive faster, bitch!"

# Chapter 42

Surrounded by his dead friends, Gerald whistled with glee. Things were going splendidly. True, MacLeod had gathered a small group of friends around him, and in the last few days had been out beating the bushes for more. Gerry's spies told him they were acquiring a small arsenal of weapons too. _Pitiful fools._ Already, a good portion of the town's population had been infected and turned. Almost all of the key folk on Grim Island were already Gerry's, or dead. His people had control of the island's communications. Cell phone users were finding themselves suddenly without service. Lap tops and all the modern gizmos people took for granted suddenly ceased to work. People were still allowed to come to the island, in fact, some were downright lured. Nobody was being allowed to leave. _It was almost hatching time._

Those unfortunates foolish enough to try leaving the island found Captain Smiley of the island's ferry, _On Time,_ had been one of Sweetling's first converts. His family had roots deep in the island's history, almost as deep as Gerry's. Any families trying to escape Grim Island never made it to the mainland. Only the young women were brought back alive. They'd need breeders.

Gerry thought for a moment of the young red-haired mother he had imprisoned in the blue tiled cell near his lair. He liked redheads. In shock over the slaughter of her family, she'd been easy to take. Many of them were. When he had time, he intended on taking her mind off her dead kids.

His thoughts had to be as plain as his face, for suddenly two of his _dead_ friends moved, and began to drool. "Eager to play, my pets? A little more patience, I pray. Soon. Very soon." The two grumbling beasts shambled in place, staining the priceless Persian carpet before slumping back into massive dead lumps. They were bigger than most of his other dusty trophies and definitely not something found at any zoo.. The long, needle-sharp teeth and residual gills were a dead giveaway.

Principal Sweetling pulled out his great-great grandfather's railroad watch, noticing the time with obvious delight _. Julie should have her by now. Poor MacLeod, trying so hard to keep his lady love safe, and she willingly waltzes right into my trap_. _The poor little fool was trying so hard to show Jamie and his friends she was brave, with something to contribute. Hoping for revenge against me, no doubt. Such a foolish woman. The full moon was upon them. That meant that as soon as Julie brought her in, they'd better get right down to play. He was so looking forward to reducing Lacey to tears again._

* * * *

Gertrude Shaw navigated through the darkened Sweetling mansion in drained exhaustion. As she hefted her considerable bulk through the shrouded rooms, waddling and wheezing her way beneath the disapproving glares of ten generations of Paines, it never occurred to her atrophied mind that each step was an agony; each breath came harder than the last. She tried to ignore the constant dripping ooze, and the things that simply fell off. Soon she would rest; soon her decaying body would give into the stinking rot and simply lie down to die. But not before she completed her latest mission for the master; bringing him the grimoire she'd stolen from the library, along with her latest progress report.

At last she stood sweating before Principal Sweetling, her tired old heart near collapsing beneath her massive weight. Pudgy, sharp-nailed fingers drumming on his chair, Gerald waited impatiently while she wheezed and coughed. He relieved her of the heavy volume and handed her his empty wine goblet so she could relieve herself of phlegm. Finished, she wiped away her drool of blackened spittle with her bloated paw, and gurgled through her recital.

"MacLeod's woman left early this morning. Straight to church, like a good Catholic girl. She should have been taken by now. MacLeod is busy elsewhere, trying to win over the unbelievers. His ragtag band is a joke so far." She tried to laugh, ended up choking and holding on to the nearest dust-shrouded elk head until she caught her breath.

"Smiley says there were only two cars coming over on the ferry this morning. A pretty young thing and a couple of old queens. Twins, by the look of them. Flamboyant as hell. The young woman is by herself. Went right to the newspaper's office. DeCosta has Spinelli following her. That's about it, Mr. Sweetling. Will there be anything else?"

Gerry forced a most indulgent smile. He could tell Ms. Shaw was worn-out, just about used up. She'd done well, served her purpose. He could be merciful. "No Gertie. That'll do just fine." The obese woman smiled, her dimples buried somewhere in her face's blotchy flab. "Why don't you go over there, under that light? I've left you a little snack. Turn off the light, relax and enjoy." The threadbare chair he indicated was the only one within staggering distance that would support her weight, but Gertrude only had eyes for her _snack_ , a massive heap of Whitman's chocolates, and a huge tumbler of cold milk.

Once she'd shambled across the short distance and collapsed like a ton of bricks into the groaning chair, Gerald's smile vanished. He waited until she'd flicked off the light and he heard the smacking of her flabby lips engulfing a hand full of chocolates before he turned to his dead friends and motioned three of them back to life. Flecks of eager saliva burned him as they shuffled across the worn carpet to join the old librarian. Hers was a very brief struggle. In a few minutes, the room's silence was broken by Sweetling's contented giggle, and the sounds of sloppy eating.

# Chapter 43

Coming in through the door, Jamie flung himself into a kitchen chair, disgust written all over his face. Kat looked up from her reading, and brought him a beer from the fridge. Taking a hearty belt, he sat there glumly staring at nothing, until he felt her long fingers begin to knead the back of his neck. As her fingers worked, he felt some of the tension melt from his exhausted body. When she kissed his neck and ear tips, he turned and looked back at her, daring a smile. Always a tigress, she took him with her hungry lips, soothing him with her passion and driving away some of his pain. Their embrace calmed the beast raging within him, and once again, he wondered how he'd ever decide what to do. Shoving his dilemma away, he opened up, filling her in on the latest of their deteriorating situation.

"It's not good, Kat. Eric and I spent the morning trying to scare up some support. Between us, we've enlisted maybe five more troops to our cause. Pretty much like yesterday. Some of those are people who've actually seen something or lost someone–people with reason to believe. Most of them, like Larry, are just buddies or relatives who think we're out of our minds. Because they're our friends, they think they'll humor us until we come to our senses. That gives us a grand total of twenty three people, including all of us. Right now, we've more firepower than troops. How's Abby doing with my computer?"

"Not good. She says it's pretty fried. Her laptop too. Weird. You got any cell connection?"

Frustration clouding his face, Jamie shook his head.

"No cells, no email–it's like they're on to us and trying to cut off our communication with the mainland. I don't like this James."

"Me neither. Maybe it's time we rethink this and get our asses off the island. Smiley's ferry was still docked when we drove by the waterfront."

"That crusty old coot. He gives me the creeps. The way he always looks at women. Undressing us with his eyes. I wouldn't be surprised if he's one of them."

"Let me worry about Smiley. Let's get the others. I think we need to talk about this and put it to a vote. I suppose I'd better try to get some of Lacey's kids too, or she'll never go. Where is she, anyway?"

"Still at Mass, I guess. She told me last night she intended going and praying for guidance. She's been gone since first light this morning. I thought by now she would have hooked up with you." _She clings to you like a damned leech, after all._

"That damned woman! She never listens. Sometimes I'd like to strangle her. When did _she_ get religion! Any ideas where she went _afterwards_?"

"Not a clue, Lover." _I say good riddance to the bitch though._

"Eric! Larry?"

"Yeah, what is it, Jamie?"

"Lacey's gone. We've got to go find her. I've got a bad feeling about this. Got a sinking feeling I know where she's gone. Why would she do such a stupid thing?

Kat could see his black mood was getting a whole lot darker. Maybe now was the time to kill this Rodriguez thing once and for all.

"Hurry it up guys!"

Like an angry tigress in heat, Kat jumped in front of Jamie, blocking the door. He looked at her in mounting fury, his scowl barely human, and moved to shove her aside. Kat stood her ground, slashing out with fingers clenched like claws, tearing five deep furrows across Jamie's cheek.

"Let her go, damn it! Maybe this is your sign which of us to choose. Who's here, still loyally by your side? Me!"

He stood there glowering at her, his fierce sex-tiger, listening to her talk about signs, but already his mind was miles away, planning a rescue.

"She's not worth it, Jamie! Don't be a fool! Let's get off this damned island. Just let the bitch go!"

Touching his stinging cheek, he swatted Kat aside and thundered down the stairs, bellowing for his troops as he ran.

Kat stood there silently staring at the door for long minutes after he'd gone, acidic hot tears burning down her cheeks. Perhaps it was Jamie who had given _her_ a sign. A determined predator, she turned and stalked into the bedroom to change. She was resolved to make a kill.

Dressing quickly, she never heard the outside door creak open or three dark figures slip in.

# Chapter 44

"Stop."

As Lacey obeyed, Julie took her blade away from the other woman's rib cage and ran it lightly down Lacey's cheek, throat and onto her chest. Snickering to herself, she used the knife's tip to snip away the two top buttons closing Lacey's dress, and then gently eased the dress open. Lacey gasped and quivered, the wavering blade almost slicing into her flesh.

"Easy there, Princess. Don't want to go giving Gerry any damaged goods now, do we? Be a shame to bloody those nice tits ahead of time." She pulled her blade away, grabbed hold of Lacey's arm, and looked back in the direction they'd just come. Lacey wondered what she could see; if anything the swirling fog was worse than ever. "This'll do just fine. Pull across the road here. That's it. Block the road with this heap. Good. Now set the parking brake and get out. Do it!" Once they were outside the car, she came around to where her captive stood shivering in the cold fog. Listening for something, she looked behind them as she approached her captive. Seeing her look away, Lacey took a second to reach into her purse, feeling the cool reassurance of the hidden 9mm Walther.

"Your boyfriend should be along any time now with his buddies. Hopefully he is as easy to persuade as you were. Bring your purse. I've never known you to be without make-up and a hair brush. Sweetling will want you pretty. Start walking, bitch." Julie pointed with her knife and shoved Lacey in the direction they'd been traveling. "You did want to see the principal. Well, he's just up the causeway a little piece." Lacey began wondering if she should stand and take her chances with the handgun, or wait for a better opportunity. "Yeah, a couple little suggestions from our Kat and you turn into Rambo with tits. Good thing we figured you might and loaded your little car's trunk with a big surprise." Half listening, Lacey caught the mention of her car's trunk with some surprise, and stopped, an icy chill running down her spine. "Yup, Mr. MacLeod and his goons come barreling down the road like a band of foolish heroes and boom! No more boyfriend. Get your ass moving!"

It was a trap! They were planning on murdering Jamie and they'd used her to set the trap! She had to do something to stop them.

"Move your ass! We haven't got all day, bitch!"

"No!" Without really thinking about it, Lacey pulled the gun out of her bag and assumed the shooters' stance Jamie had shown her. "We're going back. You're going to move my car, and let me go. Now!" Although Lacey held the small 9mm with both hands, the slick barrel wavered with her nervous quivering. Smirking, Julie looked at her, shook her head and started walking towards Lacey.

"Stop! For god's sake Julie, stop! I-I will shoot you!" Her ex- friend started to laugh then, a hideous thing, full of crazed giggle and spit. She kept walking forward. Lacey took a step backwards, then two. She glanced at her piece, making sure the safety was off, she'd racked the slide. It would fire; could _she_ fire? Then Julie walked into brighter light as the weak sun forced its way through the thinning mist. In the distance, the anemic sun's rays danced across the unbroken windows of the abandoned asylum. Lacey gasped at the physical changes in Julie. Her sunken eyes blazed with crazed fervor as she drifted forward, the mottled flesh on her face pulled taut so she looked like a leathery skull. Her mouth was wrong; her normally thin lips were puffy and dark, her prominent teeth clogged with decay. Lacey thought of the zombie movies like Dawn of the Dead, though Julie was obviously still breathing. "Please stop, Julie. I don't want to shoot you." The woman smiled, and kept coming. Lacey fired. And fired again. Julie stuttered to a halt, looked down at the bouquet of five red blooms bursting from her chest, and collapsed in the street.

Lacey lowered her weapon and slumped to the roadway in racking sobs. She dropped her gun and covered her face with her hands, just letting the tears flow. Yet a few seconds later, she struggled to her feet. They'd turned her car into a bomb! She must move it, save her friends. Looking for her 9mm. she bent to pick it up, planning to run back to her car as fast as a woman in heels could go. As she straightened, she sensed someone oozing up directly behind her. _Julie?_ As she turned, the tire iron swooped down, filling her world with black.

# Chapter 45

Their day seemed so promising when they'd first sat down to breakfast at the little restaurant on Blueberry Lane. Food at Mary's Pancake House had a reputation among locals and tourists alike, so the place was packed. They started talking with several other early morning eaters. Two local dock workers. A real estate woman. A family from Mystic. All were having laptop and cell phone problems. The real estate agent seemed particularly flustered. "I can get calls in from clients all over the state. But can I make a call myself? Hell, no."

Finally, they'd given up and glared blindly at the menu in silence. Reginald finally got his extra large Sunrise Special, but somehow, everything tasted like soggy cardboard.

"Reggie, what are you planning?"

"Me? Planning something? Why my dear, whatever can you mean?" Reginald forked another tasteless forkful of pancake into his mouth, trying to maintain his staid aristocratic demeanor, but the blush to his pale cheeks and the crinkling of his innocent eyes gave him away. His twin patted his warm hands, and stared into his twinkling blue eyes until his gaze was returned. "Reggie, what are you thinking?"

"Well, my dear, since you ask." He paused, taking a long sip of his Autocrat coffee milk. "I was wondering if we should– maybe help out just a little."

"Are you crazy? You're going to work a triple finger-flutter _here_? Reggie, talk about Jamie not thinking! You work the slightest bit of anything new here in the heart of town, and you might as well use a bull horn to tell every one of those things who we are and that we're here."

"I wasn't planning on doing it _here_ ," Reginald answered, shoveling the last bite of Johnny blueberry pancake between his lips. Distaining the paper napkin before him, he dabbed his bottom lip with his own personal tissue. Balling it up, he dropped it to the table and glared at his companion. "It wouldn't take but a moment or two, back in our room." Unnoticed, the balled up tissue burst into phantom flames and disappeared. No sense in supplying those things with his DNA. He didn't get to be his age by being careless.

"Stop worrying. It'd take no longer than it takes to mutter a few words. Five, six seconds." Holding his amazingly trim six-pack, he allowed himself a gentlemanly belch. "Besides, my love, we don't know yet what those _things_ are, but if they're even slightly more intelligent than that homophobic priest in Fall River, they already know we're here."

His twin looked across the table at Reggie. Thin lips forced a trembling smile, but the light reflected by blue eyes glistened with pregnant tears. "Okay, I reluctantly agree. Let's try it. If it helps Jamie, I think we'd better take the chance. Are you sending _her_ to him?"

* * * *

Later that morning, Reginald Bradford III looked down his nose with obvious distaste at the small blotch of bird smeg splattered across the sleeve of his royal blue wind-breaker. Fishing around in his brand new orange knapsack he found his packet of Shout Wipes and began rubbing vigorously at the seagull poop. The inconsiderate buggers were everywhere. Oh bother, he supposed he had provided a bit of sport for these rough-hewn yokels hanging around the dock, as he inelegantly tried to dodge the gull's flying missile.

He balled up the used wipe and tossed it on top of the nearest overflowing trash barrel. The crumpled ball hit and bounced out, coming to rest with a dozen other pieces of suspect refuse circling the wire barrel's base. Reginald ignored it, eased up his vermillion cuff and consulted his gold Rolex. Seconds later the balled up tissue poofed to dust anyway. Reggie pushed up his red framed glasses and out of habit, looked both ways before he crossed the near-deserted waterfront street. Since breakfast, he'd taken care of three errands; hitting the police station, the bank, and the local bakery. Obnoxious arrogant woman, but they did have passable Cannolis. _He'd been unable to resist._ The police station had been no help. Typical small town donut barge. Police chief didn't even extend the courtesy to come out and talk to him himself. Too busy surfing the web from what he could see. Porno and EBay, no doubt. He had been surprised to see their fellow ferry passenger with the white Corolla talking to a couple of uniforms in the cop station. Because she was young and attractive, naturally she got more attention. He wasn't miffed. He'd lived in New England for quite a while now, and in spite of progressive Gay and Lesbian Rights, he was used to the fact that these normally inhospitable close-minded Yankees could be particularly frigid to older gay men. Take their tiny excuse for a bank, for example. He'd decided if he had to endure this adventure, he'd flaunt his gender preference, and burn a few puritanical retinas with some really flamboyant attire. From the silver tips of his crocodile boots, across his pearl gray slacks, over his silk, vermillion Versace shirt, to the blue lenses on his bright red glasses, he made sure he was a peacock that would set the tongues wagging over the queer faggot prancing about. Reggie felt that maybe if they ogled him in disgusted disbelief, they'd forget to wonder what he might be hiding in the back of his jet black Lexus. The two he-men in the bank had almost thrown him out on his well-cushioned tush. Finally, one shy bespectacled teller who'd continued keying in his financial info spoke up. She'd been rewarded with a full disclosure of just _who_ they were tossing out on his ass. Meekly hurrying over to her boss, she'd showed him the printout. Knowing what that printout showed, Reginald took great pleasure in watching these stuck-up yokels squirm. Honestly, it was just money, the grubby stuff. Halfway to the Lexus, he polished off the second Cannoli _. Young Reggie_ needn't worry about carbs like he did–she was always watching her waistline. _He should be watching his._ He had to bear in mind the boys of Provincetown. Reaching the Lexus, he took a look around before ducking his head inside. There was their fellow ferry passenger again, climbing into her white rental. He lingered a minute, watching her Toyota take off in the opposite direction, wondering what her story was. Then he heard the cry of several gulls overhead, and bent his six foot four frame, and got in, narrowly missing whacking his forehead on the expensive SUV's doorframe. Plopping his well-toned ass on top of his unused seat belt, he huffed in exasperation. Checking the rear view mirror, he took off like a F18 trying to get airborne in record time. He realized he was still famished. He hoped his companion had thought of lunch. A bowl of steaming clam chowder and a liverwurst and cucumber sandwich would do the trick. Maybe two. _And where the hell was Jamie?_

* * * *

Jaws moving like a masticating cow, Vinny Spinelli watched the tall man get into his expensive SUV and rocket away. Fruity fag! There'd been two of them come in on the ferry, twins according to Capt. Smiley. Vinny had only seen the one rooting around town. Probably the other one was back at one of those B&Bs, reading a copy of GQ or lounging around in whatever lacy underwear those queer boys wore, waiting for his "man" to return. Vinny shivered; just the thought made him want to puke. Thank _God he was a real man!_ Scratching the fresh scab on his forehead, he almost choked on his gum as he remembered his slight change. _Well almost._

Vinny thought he'd better pass his info on to Principal Sweetling, but then he spied one of the Patel girls picking up the good doctor's mail, and his rat-brain surged towards a fresh target. As the unsuspecting Indian kid strolled away, Vinny fell in behind, dogging her like a cobra following a mongoose.

# Chapter 46

Young Reggie _had_ been more successful than Reginald. Answering the bedroom door as his identical twin, Reginald watched as his mirror image sighed in obvious relief, turned away, and morphed into the beautiful young woman Kalini really was. He relaxed too, letting his muscular stud façade slide away so he could slip comfortably into his normal pudgy self. He liked to think of himself as a well- read, well- fed loveable Merlin tastefully attired in stylish satin Magenta. _No big deal._

Kalini had indeed prepared their repast, indulging his food fantasy as though she'd read his mind. It helped that they'd brought the ingredients from Salem, part of the more visible portion of the Lexus's cargo. She of course, had her usual nice salad. _Vegans!_

They talked as they ate, sharing everything they'd learned. Kalini did most of the talking. She had her Tarot cards out, the ancient real ones, not the trash she flashed at tourists. She had lots of questions. Reggie sighed and tried to look indulgent. Yes, Jamie was here. Yes, he was working as a cop. No, Reggie hadn't found him. He'd vanished, along with that nice woman he'd fallen for. Kalini frowned at that. Reginald placed his well-manicured hand quietly on top of hers. He knew exactly how she felt about James.

Kalini was quiet for a bit, silently forking bits of lettuce, tomato, and chilies between her lips. Reggie looked across the table. There were tears waiting in the corners of her large dark eyes. He lifted his well-fleshed hand and patted hers, careful not to batter her with his multitude of glittering gems.

"Don't despair, Kalini. We'll find him. Our Jamie is pretty good at taking care of himself. Did you try a seeking yet?"

"Y-yes. Of course. I thought for a minute I sensed him but it must have been a fluke. It was weak, but I thought he was there. Then poof and he was gone. Oh Reggie, we've got to find him before its too late! It's already the full moon!" She wandered away from their half-eaten meal, and slumped down on her still made bed. "He sounded so desperate when he called. I just know something's happened!" She did cry then, and her companion quickly scooped her into himself, feeling the helplessness at comforting all males seem to share.

"Kalini, I promise you, we'll find him. Let's finish lunch, I'll change into something more...appropriate, and then we'll go do a little snooping of our own. Okay?"

Kalini shook her head, tried to smile and dry her tears, failing miserably at both. "I wonder if we're too late for the woman." Unconsciously, one of her slender hands strayed to the long wrapped package she'd placed on her bed. Her slender fingers began to stroke its length much as she might stroke a lover. "He spoke as if he was afraid for her safety. Afraid he might lose control and do her harm."

"I certainly hope not. Foolish boy was never very good at keeping it in his pants." He glanced over at his companion, seeing at once he'd made matters worse. "Sorry, Kalini. I can be so insensitive. I'm sure he kept a leash on it. Walked away or something. From what he said, it sounded like he really cared for this one. Damn, he'll be an unholy terror if he's harmed her!"

"Reggie, I've quite lost my appetite. Can we go now, please?" Reginald quickly spooned up the last of the chowder, dabbed his lips and chin with his monogrammed napkin, and got up to change.

"Should we bring this?" She repeatedly tapped the wrapped package with her slender index finger.

" _Thirst_? I think we'd better, don't you?" Quickly whisking up his handsome stud persona, Reginald grimaced as though biting into a sour grape. "If his lady's dead, he'll be wicked pissed, and if I know our Jamie, he'll want to slash something."

# Chapter 47

Gerald had just entered the forgotten staff house when the trap worked. The crumbling brick building was separate from the asylum and joined only by a narrow underground tunnel that passed close to the dark sea cliff. On a stormy day, he could feel the angry sea far below pounding into the ancient cliff as he wallowed down the tunnel. The building housed the asylum's offices, a kitchen and the former staff's quarters. Gerry was visiting the red-haired mother he'd locked in one of the nurses' rooms when Jamie's rescue vehicle barreled into Lacey's gas-pregnant Camry. The loud bang and immediate whooshing explosion ruined Sweetling's pleasure, and set his young mother screaming again. For a moment her screams nearly drowned out the explosion.

* * * *

Lacey was just struggling back to consciousness when the crash occurred. She fought the woman prodding and dragging her, and for a moment, they both stood transfixed, listening to the booming blast. When the gas tanks went, the concussion almost knocked both of them off their feet. _He might have escaped. It might not have been his car. No, it was him. He would have been in the lead, demanding to be first. Jamie was dead._ Her captor poked her hard in the small of her back, angrily motioning for her to get walking. Lacey looked at her, considered resistance. Yet after a second, her head drooped in defeat, and she began walking down the cracked road. Nothing mattered anymore.

* * * *

Nearer town, the explosion felt like a muffled thump. Kalini and Reginald stopped to listen, as did most of the townsfolk. When nothing came again, most people just got on with their lives. Reggie and Kalini exchanged frustrated looks and hurried back to their rooms. They had problems of their own. Their search had turned up nothing but a growing list of missing people. Unable to find a trace of Jamie or his girlfriend, they'd been startled to learn he had a second lover, also missing.

When the explosion came, Reggie took off far faster than a man his age should ever move. Kalini followed close on his heels. Time had run out. They drove by the commercial waterfront. At the ferry dock, they stopped to ask a crusty Portuguese fisherman when the ferry had left, and when it was due back. He had a good belly laugh, exposing his three remaining stumps, and told them the ferry had broken down halfway across to Newport and had been hauled out for repairs. He had no idea when the _On Time_ would be back in service.

On the way back to their B&B, Reggie insisted they take a quick detour by Clark's boatyard. Searching the abandoned marina, he finally found what he wanted. As he turned towards Kalini, his normally effervescent spirit collapsed.

"They sunk her! The bastards have sunk James's _Rattlesnake_. We can't even sail away." He pointed to a trim little friendship sloop, half sunk at the dock, and bearing a mortal wound obviously made by a shotgun fired at close range. "Jamie, what have you gotten us into?"

# Chapter 48

He fought to stay forever in her embrace. To lie contentedly beside her, listening to her gentle snoring. To remain entwined within her slender limbs, wrapped in the safety of her warm love. He sensed the soft flesh of her pale arm draped across his forehead, still slick with dripping spray from her shower. The warm water trickled down across his brow and tickled its way into his eyes. Its scent was familiar, coppery and warm. He became aware of other things at the edge of his senses. He lay on one side, sprawled across a hard surface, his body at crazy angles. He could feel gritty gravel, bits of metal and glass embedded in most of his bare flesh. Jamie felt for his grandfather's dirk, brushing across the rough wool kilt. He always fought in a kilt woven in the green and blue MacLeod hunting tartan. With all the glass and grit sticking in him, he wished he'd worn jeans. His one free arm blazed with pain; the other one seemed pinned and dead. Slowly, he opened his blue eyes, fearful he might be blind. He _could_ see. Almost immediately, he wished he couldn't.

Abigail lay next to him, pinned beneath the overturned pickup. Except for nine inches of twisted steel skewering her chest, Abby seemed fine. Her blue eyes actively darting around, she certainly hadn't lost the power of speech. She begged Jamie to get her out; to make the pain go away. She'd be better in no time, ready to go at the bad guys. Just get her out. As he watched, she grabbed the shard sticking from her chest and began to wiggle it back and forth. Before he could yell at her to stop, she'd managed to yank it out and fling it across the asphalt. As fresh blood began sputtering from the wound, Abby's eyes swam with knowing horror. Her body quickly weakened from a steady stream of pumping blood. Jamie could tell that Abigail Standish was dying. He smelled it on her breath, saw it in her eyes. Large blue eyes that pleaded with him to make it stop, to take away the agony of pain. She begged. "Help me. Oh please, help me. I-it hurts so much." Deep in his soulless heart, Jamie believed that no one he cared about should ever have to beg. He moved his shattered arm, sparking a blaze of instant agony. Closing his eyes, he pushed, feeling his body begin to respond, healing itself. He pushed harder, fiery pain burning across his bloodied forehead, and spreading up his shattered arm as he forced the knitting bones to inch their way towards Abby. His second arm jerked and tore free, slowly oozing along in the bloody wake of its creeping mate. Grunting in pain, he shoved himself closer until he cradled his dying friend in his hands. With tears in his own red-flecked eyes, he gently stroked her cheeks. Looking deep into Abby's eyes, he forced a resigned smile, and told her he'd take away the pain. Then with a scream of agony more bestial than human, he snapped her neck. Both flopped back down–one exhausted and in hell; the other, finally at peace.

* * * *

After a time, he sensed voices. They were working to set him free; among them, Eric. _What would the boy think if he realized Jamie had just taken his sister's life?_ He laid still, his flesh healing quickly. Yet inside, he sensed a foul wound that would never heal. _He'd killed a friend._ He lay silently in hell, waiting. He grew aware of another being lying beside him, long and slender. He had little strength to marvel, yet lovingly ran one bloodied hand along her unforgiving form. Taking her in his arm tenderly as a lover, his other hand dipped two fingers in Abby's cooling blood. He smeared the drying blood along the glistening length of his companion, indulging in a nasty grin. Now, they had a chance. His greedy sword drank every smeared drop of the virgin's blood.

Things improved steadily. As his wounds eased, healing with the speed of his need; his surviving friends managed to get him out from under the overturned pick up. His companions noticed he was not alone. In his left hand he held his obsidian blade, _Thirst_. It had been many years since she'd tasted blood, and now, she was dying for more.With his ragged kilt and blood smeared skin, he looked like a warrior staggering from the slaughter at Culloden. He noticed the fog had blown away, carried on wet winds that promised storm. Yet it was the night that concerned Jamie MacLeod. For with the dark would come the biting creatures. This promised to be a very bloody Full Moon.

* * * *

Only Eric stood his ground when Jamie came out from under the truck. All the other would-be warriors backed off with good reason, for the detective emerged with only a few scratches and a very nasty looking sword. Eric waited for his sister to follow the cop. When she didn't, he turned to Jamie, a knowing spasm of grief rippling across his face.

"I'm sorry, Eric. She was just too far gone. There was little I could do."

As Eric stumbled around the other side of the wrecked pickup to hide his tears, Jamie turned to his waiting friends, upset by their leader's obviously inhuman traits. His blue eyes blazed to icy onyx as he told them to go home and try to get their families to safety off island. Their enemy was too strong. This was his war, not theirs. If they stayed, they would die. That seemed to get the troops aroused. It was Larry White who spoke up first. MacLeod noticed that he was flanked by Shamus O'Neil, and Sean Flynn. All three were totting M4s. He really didn't want to know where they'd gotten those, but Shamus wouldn't look him in the eye. As he wondered, they were joined by several others, including Priya Patel, looking quite brazen with her 9mm. She caught him looking, and self-consciously smiled back. Looking to her weapon, she racked the slide and took an aggressive stance. She flashed a shy, determined smile. Maybe she wasn't quite the innocent he'd thought she was.

"We're sticking, MacLeod. I lost two good buddies in the pickup. Standish here lost his sister." Jamie looked over his shoulder to see a red-eyed Eric rejoining their loose gaggle. Before Jamie could stop him Eric reached out and ran his hand along Thirst's obsidian blade. Almost immediately the teenager yanked his hand back as though the curved sword had burned him.

"Hey! That feels kind of weird. Almost alive. Like the bottom of a starfish with all those tiny tickling feet. Like when I ran my fingers along the blade, my hand was kissed by a million tiny mouths." Jamie knew that kissing wasn't at all _Thirst's_ intent. He wondered how Eric would feel if he'd known the blade he'd just caressed had recently been smeared with his sister's blood. Jamie cringed, and said nothing.

"I'm with you too. Try and stop me! My sister's blood cries out for vengeance. Just tell me you're going to use this blade to sever heads."

Jamie flashed an icy smile and nodded. "Definitely." MacLeod looked around the gang and saw only three or four drifting back toward their cars. Leaving. They'd head back towards town, pick up their families and try and get the ferry to take them to the mainland before dark. He hoped that they weren't the smart ones. With no time left to waste, he turned to his remaining allies and told them everything he could think of to keep most of them alive. They had three hours left before the full moon crept out of its coffin, and everything at this end of the island tried to slaughter them.

# Chapter 49

Sweetling was about done with the woman when his drudge shambled out of the shadows and told him their guests had arrived. Gerry licked his bloody lips, unable to hide the sharp-toothed smile that crinkled one side of his blood-spattered face. He let the poor unfortunate's body drop; knowing his pets would enjoy cleaning up the mess. Too bad they slurped so noisily. When this was done, he really must teach them some manners.

He mumbled a few orders to his waiting toady, waddled his way to his waiting _Bloody Ghost_. He loved that monster of a car, an inheritance from a distant uncle who'd scooped up the blood red Rolls Royce in 1925 when some Maharajah went bankrupt. As he approached the car, his chauffer stepped out, already swinging open the massive rear door. He could tell at a glance the rear leather seat was occupied. _He had her._ A nightmare smile crept across his bloated face, his sneer revealing stacks of needle sharp fangs. _There was indeed a God. A very dark one._

He smirked at his driver, noticing for the first time she was out of uniform, and definitely not Ms. Parker.

"Where's Julie?"

"Dead. This little Vixen shot her." Enjoying the moment, she pointed an accusing finger at the trussed up woman inside. "I hope you make her suffer."

"Oh I will my dear, I will." He patted his driver on the cheek and moved to get inside. As his chauffer turned away, he said, "Take us to my nest." His clumsy entrance caused the 1924 Classic to groan and his terrified captive to begin squirming. "Make sure you mind the bumps."

As the huge automobile started to move slowly over the shattered road, Gerald Sweetling sat back and took a long hungry look at his gift-wrapped present.

"Well, my dear Miss Rodriguez, I see you just can't get enough of me."

Above her duct tape gag, Gerry saw the women's eyes grow wide with terror. _Good._

"You're such a pretty little butterfly; I'm going to enjoy ripping off your wings. It's going to be such fun to destroy something MacLeod cares about." Fingering her torn dress, he said, "I see you haven't dressed for the occasion. No bother; I'm sure I can find you something to wear. Oh we'll have such fun; it makes my poor black heart squeal with delight." He slid his massive bulk across the oiled red leather, grateful he'd had the center armrest removed and the restraints put in. Already as far away as possible, his mewling captive felt herself crushed by his imposing girth and enveloping stench.

"I could do with a little appetizer, my sweet." His pudgy paws began to fumble with the bodice to her dress. "You do look good enough to eat."

* * * *

Near the other end of the island, Reggie allowed Kalini to fluff up the pillows behind his wavy white hair. God, he felt a thousand years old. He looked above him at the exotic beauty, deep concern sparkling in her dark eyes.

"Kalini, I'll be all right, you know. There's no need to make a spectacle, young lady. I just need a moment to catch my breath, and then we'll be off."

Smiling lovingly at the old magic-user, Kalini brushed a curling white lock from her mentor's forehead and bent to kiss his cheek. "But I do worry about you, Reggie. Where would Jamie and I be without you? You mean the world to us. And you're kind of old—"

"Old! I am not. It was the cursed blade. It's not like she'd let me hold her. Fought me all the way, the black-hearted bitch. Until she sensed it was _him_ we were sending her to. Then she couldn't get there quick enough. You ever hear that damned thing scream?" He puffed out his puffy cheeks and scratched his scraggly white beard. At the moment he really did feel every one of his two hundred years. "She must have been one unholy terror in the flesh. Why Jamie doesn't throw her in the sea is beyond me. She'd exhaust any man!"

"Jamie MacLeod isn't just _any_ man now, is he?"

"True. Still, promise me, if by some terrible misfortune, I should die, you won't go putting my spirit in that old chartreuse amulet of mine. Just bury me in that charming spot we talked about, and don't let those Salem farts yell about it being hallowed ground, and me but an unbaptized witch. Occasionally we must think outside the box, my dear. Lie a little."

"Reggie, stop your whining! I thought you said the spell was no big deal!"

"Okay, smarty pants. Make yourself useful and go lay out my robe. The purple one with the spangles. I might as well dress to impress. And do clothe yourself in something more appropriate. Maybe the sapphire sari?"

"Yes _Master_. I see it's made you grumpy too.

"Kalini!"

# Chapter 50

They came in low and fast in the middle of a blinding snow squall. Bitten down to eighteen souls, they were a resigned clan of amateurs armed with a motley clutch of weaponry ranging from M4s to kitchen knives. Only four of the charging troops had any kind of combat training. Of those, only one had taken more than a few lives, and he had no soul. Yet they made up for their lacking war skills with rock hard determination. None was eager to die, yet all had been tempered in the fire of loss, and each fought to save their families and friends. They fought an enemy far more vicious and skilled at bloody slaughter. Foul beasts eager to drain their blood, splinter their bones, and wipe their species from the earth.

After dark, they took the causeway without firing a shot. They reached the far end without incident, though the blue marker lights had a disconcerting habit of winking out just before they reached them. Most of them took it as a bad sign, feeling their element of surprise had been lost. Jamie didn't feel the need to tell them it was his blade sucking the life from the feeble lamps.

Entering a small dark wood, barely visible in the swirling snow, they stumbled through an unkempt cemetery brooding with silent menace. The survivors stuttered to a stop, wondering who had found a final resting here, so close to this nest of misery. Staring through the blizzard, each realized the only inscriptions were the names of Paine. The smaller stones, strangely devoid of the sickly black fungus, were featureless. Servants or victims perhaps. No time to ponder, all had heard the sound; a haunted keening rising steadily above the hissing snow. Knives were drawn, weapons cocked; all made ready, nervously staring into the shroud of night. _They_ came as the snow thickened; first one, then two, then twenty. In the movies they'd be zombies; to the stalwart villagers, they were friends and family. Two souls fell in minutes, too slow to fire on loved ones. Shamus O'Neil was next, transfixed on a rusted shark hook, wielded by Amy, his twelve year old niece. Survivor of a World War, his last confused sight was of familiar blue eyes above a hate-filled grin. Jamie floated through the snow, his wild hair and ragged kilt swirling about him, and with one swipe of _Thirst_ , separated Amy's head from her throat. The others watched horrified as he coldly murdered the little girl, no matter that she was already dead. But then the ghouls closed in, and the fifteen remaining friends fought just to stay alive. In the next few minutes most would kill someone they'd once held very dear.

Finally, the zombies drifted away. Eight exhausted fighters waited, sheathed in blood. Through the stinging snow they heard the battle raging on in the distance. Straining to see, they watched as one man stood alone against many. Surrounded by a dozen crazed ghouls, Jamie fought like a madman. His hair seemed longer, darkened by drenching sweat and blood. His kilt floated about his thighs as he danced with dirk and sword. _Thirst_ was drinking deeply, slicing through throat and limb; the snow stained black with blood for a dozen yards. Eric stood transfixed, watching the detective play. Jamie's cambric shirt lay in tatters, baring his broad and muscular chest. His muscular arms looked like he could crush Hummers. Eric stood staring, unable to believe what he saw. For above his muscular neck, Jamie's head had become a snarling beast.

Unwilling to believe his eyes, Eric stared on, but then the howling wind blew a heavy curtain of snow, and in that instant, MacLeod was gone.

They moved on toward the silent mansion, their numbers bleeding out. Three more died beneath slashing claws and biting fangs before they reached the heavy front door. Nor were the monsters indestructible. One went down gut shot, grey organs spilling in the snow. Then another fell, half its head blown away by a hearty blast from a shotgun slammed between its fangs. Jamie's troops rallied, fighting back to back, and letting their boiling blood sweep them through the dance. Gradually, the survivors realized they fought creatures of mere bone, gill, and scales. They _did_ die. Eric looked for Jamie. He half expected to find him as a giant werewolf striding through the gore.

He _was_ there, surrounded by dead and dying beasts, deep within the frenzy, swirling to the dance. His wicked blade slashed out, severing limbs and heads alike, but Jamie remained all human, though he fought as one possessed. Soon the beasts were beaten, a few fleeing into the blanketing snow while most lay shattered at their feet. MacLeod stood surrounded, the blood lust slow to leave his eyes. As his head drooped low, he stabbed a cooling body, allowing _Thirst_ to drink. They'd been eighteen souls. Now they were down to five. And one soulless beast.

Weapons ready, those left clustered close together. Several loaded ammo, one bent aside to puke. Only one prayed, and it wasn't to a Christian god. Looking up, Jamie saw them beginning to waver, and quickly told them to look sharp. It was far from over. Seeing Eric and Priya staring at him, he realized for the first time he must be drenched in blood. Cringing, he turned and staggered back into the swirling snow. As he moved, he raised _Thirst_ and scrubbed the blade down across his body. Had his friends been able to see him through the snow, they would have noticed most of the drenching blood was gone.

# Chapter 51

They passed quickly beneath the disapproving stares of thirteen generations of Paine. Dour-faced Yankees; they all looked like someone had just cut an evil smelling fart and nobody was admitting it. One stared down from his lofty perch with the piety of a witch-hanging judge; another looked like a sneaky weasel, as though he'd just finished buggering a young parlor maid. Several cracked and scowling faced ancestors showed their dark ships lurking behind them, with no clue of the forbidden cargo within. The portrait of Jeremiah Paine showed his _Mermaid's Curse_ , but revealed no hint of the horrors that crept ashore behind him. On and on the gauntlet of portraits stretched as bony chauffeur, defeated captive and gleeful master filed by. Their candle-lit passing threw huge shadows across the pictures' faces. More than once the shadows seemed to reshape an ancestor's visage into a nasty smirk, as though it watched the captive and silently sucked in a sample of her misery.

Lacey fought like a wildcat as soon as Sweetling untied her. His cheek still blazed with the five deep slashes she'd scored in her first explosive attack. Shrieking at the top of her lungs, she'd launched herself at him with the rage of a crazed banshee. If power had matched fury, she might have escaped. Instead, he took the angry blows, waiting until she tired before landing two punches of his own. One to her unprotected belly, the second almost unhinging her jaw. She fell like a bag of bricks and lay still. Sweetling moved quickly, retying her at once, and doing naughty things.

They passed into a bigger room, lit only by the flickering blaze in fireplace. A thousand shiny eyes glared at the trio as they ventured through. Winding their way through the maze of dead things, Lacey's eyes widened in horror as she took in the horde of animals Sweetling had slaughtered and badly stuffed. She felt dizzy, her head swimming from the wanton murders and the stench. Attracted to a single pool of weak light, she blinked as she spied a familiar face slumping in a pile of sticky gore. Had _that_ been Mrs. Shaw? Oh God, it _was_ her. Her captor rammed the knife hilt into the small of her back, sending Lacey stumbling forward. Struggling to catch herself, Lacey's bare arm brushed against a dusty Wildcat's upraised paw, knocking away the stuffed animal.

Sweetling was on them in a second, shoving away his toady and wrenching Lacey to her feet.

"Be careful! I've spend weeks on these. I don't want you lumbering around knocking over my pets!" He raised a fat arm to strike his toady, but she cowered and fell to her knees. Pale and bony hands dropped the knife and wrapped themselves around her master's knees. Gerald Sweetling's bloated face gave birth to a particularly wicked grin as he fastened one massive paw atop his cowering servant's bowed head. As she whimpered and begged his mercy, he spread his fat fingers wide, exposing the thickened webs between. Flexing his filthy claws, he dug them into the woman's naked skull. Lacey shuddered, as her captor's whimpers turned to screams. Abruptly, Sweetling stopped, and wiped his bloodied paw on the woman's filthy shoulders.

"That'll be all, Agnes, I think. Get out of my sight," he said, waving her to her feet. "Go, go, and welcome our other guests. They'll be here soon and we must give them a warm welcome. Go. Bring MacLeod to me."

The librarian fled.

"Jamie's alive?"

"Yes, yes. Apparently your old lover's hard to kill. I'll have him brought here. If he comes soon enough, he can watch us at play. If he's late, he'll have to be satisfied watching you die."

"Jamie will tear you apart. He'll make you wish you'd never been born."

"I already do, my dear. Tell me, is your Jamie going to save you, just like every other time? From my dear old grandfather Malachi? Or his pets in the cellar? Jamie does have a habit of letting you down, doesn't he?"

"He'll be here! He'll make you suffer, you monster!"

"Oh really? Let's give him a reason then, shall we?"

# Chapter 52

The move against the old Paine mansion had been costly. The snow finally stopped, making it easier to see the hellish creatures lunging out of the night. They were nearly impossible to kill. By the time Eric neared the front door, he had four friends left. James had disappeared as soon as the full moon struggled into the night sky.

As the leaderless group crouched shivering behind an overgrown Yew hedge bordering the last expanse of unkempt lawn, Larry White succeeded in getting the front door open. All five scooted in, and eased the heavy door shut behind them. They fanned out, checking halls and shadows, but it was from dead ahead they heard the sound of weeping. A pale frantic form raced at them out of the dark and three weapons almost shot her dead. Half naked, Lacey threw her bloodied arms around Eric's neck and hysterically sobbed out her warning.

"We must get away now! Back the way you've come. I-I just managed to slip away. Gerald and all his ghouls are right behind me. We _must_ go!"

The four other survivors gathered round, Eric and the rescued Lacey sheltered in their midst. Eric barely heard her dire words as his body began to respond to her near nakedness. Her full lips brushed against his ear, as she whispered, "Save me for yourself, Eric. You want me, don't you? I know you do. Save me."

He just couldn't think. _Get away. They must get away. She was free. Saved. They must get_ _away._ He felt her fingers roaming across his face, his chest. He turned; she smiled and kissed him on the lips _. Away. She'd said they must get away._ Yet she was holding him, spellbound in her seductive embrace. _He must think._

Suddenly, the door burst apart, and _he_ was standing there. _His rival._ Jamie glared at the embracing couple as the others scattered aside. He scowled and snorted, and Eric heard the agonizing song of pain, as muscle, organ and bone ripped, broke and changed. This time, it was quicker, more fluid, taking mere seconds for man to become beast. As the shape-shift took hold, Jamie spoke, his words more shocking than his form.

"Eric, get away from her. She means to do us harm!"

"James, it's me. Darling, don't you see? I've escaped from Sweetling." Lacey began to shove free of Eric's clutches, ready to float into her lover's arms. "Come closer, my love."

"MacLeod, it _is_ her. She says we've got to go now. She says Sweetling's coming with all his freaks."

"Stand aside Eric. I swear, she means you harm!"

Eric watched as the werewolf that had been MacLeod attacked his lover. Yelling for him to stop, Eric drew his father's old revolver. He watched, horrified, as it spit out five silver bullets, each speeding to splat into Jamie with absolutely no effect. All five tumbled uselessly to the floor.

Almost on top of the teenager then, MacLeod stopped, shook his shaggy head, and said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that."

Eric felt a tugging at his elbow, and looked back as Lacey thrust a syringe into his empty hand. "He's not what you think, Eric. Silver bullets can't harm him. _This_ will. Aim for his left eye. He means to kill us both! Do it!"

On seeing the syringe, and hearing Lacey's words, Jamie stopped, agonizing as his body shifted painfully back toward human form.

"What have you done," he snarled through tormented rage. "Where is she?"

"Why Jamie, I'm right here, my love," the woman returned sweetly. "Strike Eric! Now!"

In the blinking of an eye, a spellbound Eric lunged forward with the syringe raised high, ready to plunge it into Jamie's eye.

"Stop!" slashed through the chaos. "Nomarnum Chut Cuthluloggau Slithruum!" Distracted by the stern command from an unknown woman, Eric missed his mark, the bubbling syringe searing a path just outside Jamie's eye. Caught halfway to human, Jamie smacked Eric across the head with one powerful claw-studded hand. The teenager flew into the nearest wall, collapsed to the shadowy carpet and lay still. Jamie was on Lacey in a breath, _Thirst_ drinking deeply from her throat. The woman stared at her murderous lover, ran her long green tongue across bloody lips frozen in a mindless smile and dissolved into a stinking spray of fine black mist.

As the other survivors stood aside in open-mouthed shock, two newcomers strode into the room and rushed to their friends' side. Kalini swept into Jamie's arms as Reggie bent to tend the fallen teenager.

"Honestly MacLeod, you can be such a brute! Did you have to take such bestial pleasure in swatting this gallant young man aside? He thought he was defending your lady love from certain slaughter. Really, Jamie, sometimes I despair of ever teaching you any self- control."

Extracting himself from Kalini's welcome embrace, Jamie turned to Reginald, shook his head and replied, "Nice to see you too, Doc. You want to talk about bloody self-control? As you can see, I ran out of the damned serum about three days back. I've been practicing self-control ever since. You can see how well that's working."

"We brought plenty of the serum, though by the look of you, we're too late this time. You're already halfway down the path. I'm guessing each change will come easier, quicker now. There'll be no stopping or slowing the cycle until after the moon."

"Full moon? But there's a full moon now." Eric had recovered enough to sit up, chime in with eager questions. _It was obvious that "Lacey" hadn't really been her._ He felt stupid. Like a kid. _A kid in a lot of pain._ The top of his head felt like somebody had dropped a whole nest of hornets on it. "Jamie's a werewolf. Why didn't my bullets work? And if not the full moon, then what moon?"

Reggie smiled at Eric as he worked. "Such a bright lad, so many questions." His fingers moved across the deep lacerations streaking across Eric's forehead, deftly taking away the deep furrows, soothing away the pain.

"Is he going to be all right, Reggie?" Jamie turned away from the scowling old witch as Reggie dug through his bright orange knapsack for more potions, and turned to face Eric. "Thanks for not taking my eye out, Eric. Nice scar I'll have now," Jamie pointed to the jagged white line running from the corner of his left eye half way back to his ear. "Little token of our friendship." He smirked, his lips curling back enough to show sharp fangs. "I think we need to talk about trust."

Finishing up on Eric, Reggie added a little finger twitter that took away Eric's bothersome acne, and turned to scowl at his wayward child. "Give the kid a break, Jamie. You should be so perfect. You'll still get more than your share of bed-mates. Or have you finally settled on one?" He looked into the shadows, spied a pouting Kalini hovering there, fiddling with the red fur edging to her cloak. "Why don't you and Kalini take the others and see if you can find this bothersome Lacey of yours. I do hope she's worth it."

* * * *

With very little banter, Jamie mustered Kalini and the others to fan out and search for Sweetling and his plaything. In seconds Eric and Reginald were quite alone.

Reggie sat down next to Eric, their backs against the wall, weapons ready by their sides, and took a couple of eggplant and onion sandwiches from his knapsack. He offered one to Eric, who wrinkled up his nose and declined. Reggie made a face, and began to devour the first one with all the delicacy found at the center of a shark feeding frenzy. It disappeared in seconds, followed by a stylish belch. Reggie eyed the second sandwich, but put it back in his knapsack untouched. He examined his long fingers, carefully checking each nail, and then folding his hands in his lap, turned to the waiting teenager, and opened up.

"So Eric, I am Dr. Reginald Bradford, the III, late of Salem. The lovely young woman with me is Kalini. She's–"

"She's beautiful. She's Indian? She looks like a Bollywood actress."

"I wouldn't tell her that if I were you. Actually, it'd be Sri Lanka. But you wanted to know about Jamie. You thought he was a werewolf."

"I saw him–that night outside Kat's apartment. She's his other girlfriend."

"So we've heard. Two lovely ladies. How like our Jamie. And I heard he was having trouble with just the one." Reggie wriggled his back against the wall, trying to alleviate some of his nagging back pain. Finally, he blinked, just making the pain vanish. _Hey, perks are good._ "But we digress. Just exactly what do you want to know?"

Eric had good questions. There were only a few that Reggie side-stepped. He explained how it all began when Grandfather MacLeod's ship had been torpedoed and the Sri Lankan woman nursed him back to health. Only she wasn't really a woman. She was more of a beautiful demon. She and he had a couple of half human kids. In spite of his demonic curse, Jamie's half-human father married well. A human. His wife died screaming, giving birth to a brood of kids. Jamie was one. The necklace he wore came from his mother. Reggie didn't tell Eric that the blood drenched beads were all Jamie had of his mom, after he and his enfant siblings chewed their way out of her body. Unable to cope with his curse and his loss, Jamie's father took his own life and followed his wife to the grave within four months. If there was any magic in that tooth and beads, it was because Jamie believed, and Reginald had worked a little protective magic; mostly, it was just a disgusting cursed albatross hung around his neck. Jamie was only a quarter demon, yet already he'd killed ten deserving men.

Feeling almost himself, Eric got up and paced around the room. He stopped and watched as a worried looking Kalini crossed the hallway and disappeared down another passage, now searching alone. He turned back to Reggie, his obvious question plastered across his face. As he sat down next to him, Reginald took a deep sigh and answered his unspoken question.

"Yes, she's very upset. Kalini loves Jamie very much. They've been through an awful lot together." Eric huffed; as though sensing he was only getting part of the truth, but Reggie wouldn't be persuaded otherwise and continued with his tale.

"You could call them shape-shifters, though Rakshasa is more precise. Read your Hindu legends, not all Rakshasas are evil. During the battles in ancient Sri Lanka, some fought on the side of man. Jamie is descended from those. They can take many shapes, sometimes ugly as pus; sometimes as beautiful as a butterfly. You saw Jamie as a werewolf because that's what you expected to see." Reggie paused and scratched his head, wondering what more he dare tell. "There's a cycle, like your movie werewolves, only Jamie's _begins_ around the full moon. Now. He's started changing, but he's weakest now. The closer he gets to the new moon, the more bestial he'll become. Unlike your werewolves, he won't howl at the moon. Rakshasas are too smart for that; they hunt in complete silence, in the dark of the moon. For centuries, they've been used very effectively as unstoppable assassins. Jamie will be deadly. We have to restrain him before that–when the new moon comes, there'll be no "Jamie" left."

"Doesn't he know all this? Won't he surrender himself willingly?"

"Each time the beast forces its way out, the change comes quicker, with less pain. You saw how swiftly he's changing now. It will go quicker and smoother as we approach the new moon. Eventually, he'll just flow from form to form effortlessly. None of that awful grinding of bone, ripping flesh or muscle.In the end, he'll be all beast. We have to have him bound before then. If we don't, then this has all been a waste."

"A waste? Why?"

"He'll kill this Lacey. Rip her apart. I didn't want to tell you this, but since you ask, and appear to be a bright lad with such a good handle on adulthood–"

"Just tell me! What is Jamie going to do?"

"There are different kinds of Rakshasas. Like I said before, some bad, some good. But they specialize more than that. Some haunt graveyards or temples, some harass travelers. The males of Jamie's clan are irresistible to human women. They collect sexual partners like coins. Only, because Jamie's mostly human, he falls in love with the women he attracts. That's why he can honestly love Lacey and Kat, as well as Kalini."

"What's so bad about that? He just has to make a choice. That doesn't mean he's going to kill anyone."

"Ah, but there's the rub. In his terminal phase, the beast will exude a musk that any female within twenty feet will find irresistible. This Kathleen or Lacey will be defenseless to resist him; in fact, they'll impale themselves on him. And impale is the right word I'm afraid, because as a beast, Jamie's body— _all_ of it—will be far from human. He'll have a very nasty sting. We've definitely got to keep them apart, my friend."

"But you said he won't fully change until the new moon. That's about two weeks away. We've got time, right?"

"Not really. Basic biology, Eric. The simple natural law that a species will do anything to survive. In order to preserve their kind, the sexual organs are one of the first things to change. And even though he's already trapped within the cycle and well on his way towards the terminal phase, Rakshasas like Jamie are affected by strong emotion. Love, hate–RAGE. I'm afraid his chaotic emotional squall will just speed things up.We've got to snag Jamie tonight!"

# Chapter 53

Chief DeCosta clicked off eBay as the couple walked into his office unannounced. He was pissed. He hadn't completed his bidding for the plastic replica of Payton Manning's helmet; now he'd have to waste time going through the whole process again. "What can I do for you, special agents?"

Although the attractive pair could've graced the cover of any Hollywood Glam rag, DeCosta had been around long enough to smell a Fed. What were they doing on his island and how much did they know?

"Chief DeCosta? Special agents Snow and Tyler. Captain Smiley was good enough to give us directions from the ferry dock. I wonder if we might have some of your time." The senior agent took charge confronting DeCosta. His blond partner kept her mouth shut, quietly flitting about the crammed office, taking in the cluttered sports memorabilia and toys.

"Smiley's back then? Boat all repaired?"

"Actually, we found him at the Red Parrot in Newport, a bit worse for booze. It just took a little gentle persuasion to convince him to bring us across. My partner, Trudy, is a Louisiana city girl," Agent Snow indicated the attractive woman currently making a face at him. "She hates to walk down country lanes in three inch heels, so we had to bring the Ford across. You understand, I'm sure. But to the business at hand, Joe. Your name is Joseph, correct, Chief DeCosta?" DeCosta nodded without taking his eyes off Special Agent Tyler. He'd been busily sizing up the back of her legs as she stretched to read the fine print on his latest sports acquisition.

"Anyway, Joe, we understand you've been having a series of bizarre murders. A Lois Ricci, Rufus Soares, and Cyrus Skinner–you're building quite a list. Could you tell us why your prime suspect is your own detective?" Agent Snow consulted a small notebook he'd clutched in his right hand. "MacLeod, is it? James MacLeod."

Watching Agent Tyler like a slithering serpent stalking a tiny bird, Chief DeCosta consulted his long fingers with the professionally manicured nails, and flashed a toothy grin. Agent Tyler forced a brief smile back, as if well aware Chief DeCosta was undressing her with his penetrating red-flecked eyes. Never taking his eyes from her face or breasts, DeCosta leaned back in his high backed leather rocker, and sized up the two FBI agents before him. _How much bull shit would they swallow? What were his chances of getting into the panties of the woman?_

"Ah yes, the Mad Scotsman–that's what we call him around here. Our Detective MacLeod." He beamed the grin of an expectant shark. "I hardly know where to begin."

# Chapter 54

"Sweetling!"

"In here, Jamie. There's really no need to shout. It's been such a long time. Come on in, and take a load off. I imagine you've had a rather trying day." Principal Sweetling forced a crocodile's smile and patted the worn seat of the red velvet Queen Anne's chair positioned precisely opposite his own. Both bracketed a smoky fire, the only source of flickering light in the brooding room.

Entering cautiously, MacLeod approached Gerry, marveling and disgusted by the vast herd of taxidermy nightmares. "Geez, Sweetling. Did you leave anything _living_ in the woods? Don't you think it might have been a good idea to learn how to do this _well_ before you slaughtered so many?"

"Practice makes perfect I always say."

"Perfectly awful," MacLeod muttered to himself. Nearby, he spied a stuffed calico cat that looked uncomfortably familiar. It had to be a recent botch job because there was hardly any dust blanketing its back. In the dim light it was impossible to be certain, but he hoped it wasn't Lacey's Allegro. He prayed she hadn't seen it.

"Oh do sit down, Jamie. Your glaring is making me nervous. Surely we can talk about our differences like civilized men." Gerald took a good long look at the uneasy man still standing off to one side, noting his not too subtle physical changes. Sneering, he commented, "I see you've changed for the occasion."

In spite of his restraint, Jamie had been unable to totally control his shifting. His features looked strained with fatigue and pent up rage. Although his appearance had fluttered back towards human, obvious changes had taken firm root. His arm and leg muscles were stronger, far more pronounced. The limbs themselves were sheathed in short white fur striped black like a tiger. Halfway down his forearms the fur bled off, replaced by rich cerulean blue flesh that ended in long black fingers tipped with three inch claws. When he flexed those fingers, Sweetling could see thin translucent webs joining each finger. Although his handsome boyish face remained the same, his eye teeth had lengthened to fangs, more like sharks than wolf, while his long hair barely hid pointed ears covered in patterned white fur. Sweetling tittered. To think the Standish kid had thought he was a werewolf. Kids today. No imagination. He estimated Jamie was about halfway through his change. He'd have to tread lightly; strong emotion would send him hurtling over.

"Enough! Where is she? What have you done with Lacey, you worm!"

"Ah, you always were the impatient one. You've come for the ladies then. I actually expected you earlier Jamie. Run into a little trouble, did you?"

"Cut the shit asshole. Ladies? Who else would you–oh no! Kat?"

"Why yes. The lovely Miss O'Hara. Like opposite bookends, one's no good without the other. You _do_ love them both, I believe?" Gerald Sweetling took a second to lick his fingers and take a keen interest in a reddish brown something stuck beneath his nails. He hoped in the dim light MacLeod wouldn't notice him checking for movement in the shadows. "I do have to say I prefer Miss Rodriguez's womanly screams. She brought tears of joy to my eyes. The other one, Kat squeals like a stuck pig, don't you agree?"

"If you've harmed either one of them, I'll kill you."

"Oh I've done far more than that my dear boy, I assure you. I've taken all I need. I have to say, Rodriguez put up quite a fight, but she's really quite a slut when you get her going. Nothing quite like a fallen Catholic."

Jamie's face darkened in bestial fury, his handsome features distorted by primal rage. His left fist clenched until the knuckles turned bone white and his black claws grew longer, biting deeply into his thick palm pads. He itched to draw the ever-eager _Thirst_ , his fist quivering with the effort to control his fury. Amused, Sweetling let loose a giggle as he watched the rage burning through his foe, and nonchalantly licked the last of Lacey's blood from his fingers. "Oh my, you didn't know. I gather she's never told you? Naughty girl." Gerald worked an ugly smirk on Jamie, but his eyes stared over the detective's left shoulder. Aware, MacLeod's blue eyes narrowed, but gave no hint he'd seen. "Ah, I see you've brought your little pig-sticker. What a repulsive toy-sword, Jamie."

"Smile you smug bastard, for I've definitely found me a repulsive pig."

"I don't believe you've ever met _Thorn_?" Gerald thumped his pudgy hand down on a dark and twisted shaft that looked incredibly like a giant roughhewn nail. "This handsome darling comes from the court of the last Barrow wolf. Some old Rhine war lord in the 9th century. A dabbler in the Black Arts, I'm told. _Thorn's_ an armor-piercing war spike. I've seen it go through double breast plates–piercing your bare chest should be like punching through melted butter. A mere touch and you'll die screaming. The flesh around the wound turns necrotic, and the infection spreads like a black flame. Works in minutes on humans. _You'll_ probably linger longer, an hour or two in agony. Do it _now_ , Grandfather!"

Although Jamie's partial shape shift had given him bestial power and speed, Sweetling's trap almost worked. Rough nailed hands grabbed at his arms, while Malachi Paine smashed him across the back with a blood-drenched sword shaped like a Satanist's cross. Jamie jerked his sword arm free, and swept _Thirst_ in a wide arc, slicing through a deer's neck before hacking off the reverend's upraised arm. Crouching, he spun in a wide defensive arc, realizing for the first time that not all the stuffed nightmares were dead. Among the silent glittery-eyed corpses, some things slithered and crawled, stalking towards him with murder in their blazing eyes. Jamie looked behind himself, catching Sweetling disappearing across the room. The principal moved with a speed belying his lumbering bulk. Wallowing through the shadows he quickly reached a hidden door on the far side of the room. As Jamie watched, he muttered some sort of guttural incantation, threw the door open and disappeared within. Jamie had a momentary glimpse of an endless stone tunnel slick with damp sea growth before the door slammed shut. By then Sweetling's creatures were on him. He turned and began to fight for his life.

# Chapter 55

_Oh my god, there's somebody in there!_ Kalini stopped her frantic search and listened to the muffled murmurings coming from the other side of the chamber door. "Hold on, I'll get you out!" Looking down the row of nine rusty cubicles with identical brass doors, she gently pried opened the one before her. A terrified woman with large dark eyes stared out at her.

"Gods of my father–what have they done to you? What are all these nasty knives for? Oh shit! That's so sick! Try not to move! I'll get you out as quickly as I can."

Kalini took a moment to look at the maze of moving gears, levers, and springs mounted outside the ancient chamber. According to the grimy brass timer, she had five minutes left. Hearing the helpless woman trying to talk, she turned towards her and quickly removed the duct tape stuck across her mouth.

"Sorry. I'm Kalini. You must be Lacey. I'll have you out of this soon. Just don't move. Where's Sweetling?"

"H-he's gone. There's another woman in one of the other chambers. Kat. You should help her first. I'm pretty sure he cut off a few of her fingers. She's hurt really bad."

Still trying to figure out the working order of all the slowly turning gears, Kalini shook her head. "And you're not?" She had taken in the scratches, deep cuts, and bite marks as well as the blood trickling down Lacey's legs. "I'm getting you out first, sweetie."

"Please hurry––h-he may come back."

Kalini nodded, absorbed in her discovery that the dozen wicked blades poised to pierce Lacey's body were harnessed to a large spring. Although the gear system was steadily inching the knives closer to her flesh, when the timer went off, it would release that coiled spring and all the blades would suddenly stab forward, biting deeply into the woman's body. Maybe the wiring to the timer was the key, or jamming one of those gears. Even now, the longest blade was beginning to press Lacey's tattered rags into her soft breast. It'd only take a few more slipping cogs before it bit into flesh. Kalini bent forward to remove an orange wire from the timer. As she did, a familiar necklace swung away from her chest.

"Y-you have Jamie's tooth necklace. Is he all right?"

Busy trying to stop the nasty apparatus, Kalini answered mostly with nods and grunts. "This old thing? Token of our love." Satisfied she'd disconnected the dangerous wire and temporarily jammed a couple gears, Kalini began working on Lacey's bonds. As she leaned in closer to work on the knots tying Lacey's wrists behind her, she noticed the woman's spirit seemed to have crashed. "Don't worry, Sweetie. I'm pretty sure I've stopped it in time. Just don't squirm. I'll get you out. Then we'll go find Jamie. You've got a couple of pretty serious wounds. My god, you've been ill-used."

That seemed to deflate the captive's spirit even more, so Kalini shut up, concentrating on the stubborn knots. Judging by the severity of the captive's bloody wounds, Sweetling had been having a great old time. _The bastard._ They had to get this woman to a doctor soon! Jamie's rage would be unstoppable.

"So-so you love him then? Jamie? You love e-each other?" Coming through puffy bloodied lips, her speech was barely understandable.

Absorbed in one last knot, Kalini answered without hearing the tearful catch in the other woman's throat. "Of course we do. Why wouldn't I love him; he can be annoying as hell, but usually, he's quite sweet. We've known each other forever. Let me get your ankles now. I've missed him terribly. I love Jamie so much I'd fight to the death for him."

Biting back tears and a sudden ripping pain, the other woman managed to croak, "me too."

Ignoring her, Kalini bent to work on a stubborn knot binding her ankles, while Lacey, terrified and confused, stared blindly at her rival's back. Neither woman saw the huge dark shadow rise suddenly from the gloom. Only when the phantom brought the flesh-bound grimoire crashing down on Kalini's head did Lacey scream. By then Sweetling had stepped into the feeble light, a monster raging with thwarted purpose. He smashed Lacey across the face until she passed out. Seizing her limbs, he roughly rebound her. Then he began reconnecting wires, clearing gears. Fuming, he cursed to himself as he gathered up the unconscious Miss Kalini, and dumped her in another cubicle. Giggling, he reset all the timers for four minutes. The last thing he did before disappearing down the spider's hole back to his damp sea tunnel was to scribble a large note and attach it to the front of one chamber door.

# Chapter 56

MacLeod was the last of the surviving rescuers to enter the room filled with hellish confessionals. It had taken him a while to fight his way through the monsters Jamie had once considered his friends. Pausing beneath the painted ancestors' stares, he'd called Kalini's name, and as he waited for her, he'd found time to run the flat of _Thirst's_ blade across his body. He met his friends fairly clean. Human. His friends turned as one when he walked in, strangely quiet. Only Reginald cleared his voice to speak. Jamie sensed something in the wind besides the sweet stench of blood. He looked around the room, obviously counting those still dear to him, and coming up short.

"Where's Kalini? Why have you stopped searching? We must find Kathleen, and Lacey. The fiend took both of them. What is it– for God's sake, Reginald––tell me!"

"They're right here, my boy––all of them." Choked with unusual emotion, Reggie thrust a crumpled piece of paper into Jamie's clawed fist. "The bastard has got them all. In these infernal contraptions. Read it Jamie, though I fear the words are the one blade that will pierce your bestial heart."

* * * *

Greetings MacLeod. It should be obvious by now even with your limited intellect that I have won. I have collected each of the three women that you love–you do love them, I trust– and placed them in random cubicles in my grandfather's infamous line of confessionals. As you can see by the moving gears on top of each chamber, something is going on inside. A line of razor sharp blades is slowly advancing towards each of your women's flesh. You may also notice a time on top of each chamber. These were set for four minutes when I left. I imagine you've a bit less time now. When the timer stops, all the blades will shoot forward at once, ending the lives of your miserable twats. Should you get here in time, you must pick one door, one woman to live. Releasing her will trigger all the other blades, disposing of the pair of losers. Choose wisely. Get going Jamie; after all, there can be only one. If you should get here too late, then my bad. Oops.

P.s. I would imagine after you've rescued your fair damsel and gotten her the medical attention she'll no doubt need, you'll want to track me down. I'll make it easy for you. I'm in one of the rooms or tunnels somewhere in the old asylum. I will warn you, I am not alone. Do bring a snack, as I imagine you and your friends will be searching quite a while. And please, please, bring enough to share with everyone. Tic Toc. How time flies when one is having fun. I'd choose now if I were you, Jamie MacLeod.

Jamie stood there a second looking at the crumpled note in his hand. It obviously had been written earlier. Sweetling had no doubt hatched this diabolical scenario a while ago, and been working on it for a while, the monster. The _two_ had been crossed out and _three_ hastily put in, so it was a safe bet he hadn't planned on getting Kalini into one of the confessionals too. Jamie quickly looked at the timers; he had less than a minute left. No time to lose.

"Now we got here a bit before you my boy, so I've been observing the nine confessionals," began Reggie. "Judging from the outside scuffing, and the little bit of muffled cries we've heard, I'd say they're in #1, 5 and 6, or maybe 8. Now if we take those four chambers and eliminate the possibility of—–what are you doing? Jamie! Wait! How you can be sure which woman is where? Do you even know which one you want save?"

While the other survivors stared in horror, Jamie approached the long line of torture chambers. Sputtering, Reggie urged Jamie to wait, feeling the younger man would benefit from his learned opinion. Cold as ice, Jamie ignored his mentor's babble, sniffed the front of four different doors, then twirled around and raced straight for confessional number three. Reggie yelled, begging Jamie to wait. There had to be a way to save all three. Jamie flashed an icy glare at Reginald and the others, turned, and tore open the chamber's door. Recoiling in startled horror, the frantic woman inside tried to squirm away until she saw the face of her rescuer.

Instantly, all down the line massive springs let go. A stinging swarm of knives slashed forward, at least a dozen slicing into soft flesh with a sickening sound. From the row of chambers came one agonizing scream and a yelp, both cut short. The doors to numbers one, five, and six vibrated and grew still. Then each began to leak blood. At first, the human rescuers stood in numb horror. MacLeod had made his choice; the two other young women had died.

As Slocum and the old mage began to move towards the bloodied chamber doors, a much shaken Eric grabbed Reggie's arm. "He's back to normal. Human again. No sign of the Rakshasa demon. How's that possible?"

"Eric, I really don't know. He's never had to go through an entire moon cycle before. Maybe it comes in waves, set off by strong emotion. More importantly, can you tell which woman he saved?"

"N-no. He's blocking her with his body. I can't even see her hair. It could be any of them. My god, there's a lot of blood."

"Oh dear. Three of the chambers are leaking blood. That certainly can't be good. Look, Eric, you'd better go stand over there; I don't want you to see this. Go!" Reggie waited until the teenager retreated across the room, and then he turned, using the bulk of his body to block Eric's view. He and Ben Slocum pried open the door on one of the chambers, the bloodiest of the three, and slumped before the open cavity, unable to hide their crushing grief. The young woman inside was quite dead. "Oh my god. This is absolutely horrible. Who is this poor dear child?"

With tears pouring down his beefy sun-burnt face, it was obvious Ben Slocum knew. "Alice Perkins." Unable to pull his horrified eyes from the mom with the short red hair's skewered body, he choked out a little more. "She was our town nurse. God, I wonder if Bill and her two little kids are all right."

"So our two unfortunate ladies are in the remaining chambers. God, I wish I could see which one he saved."

"He made his choice, Reggie," Ben patted the old mage on his purple shoulder. "I just hope it was the right one. I don't envy him. He's going to have to live with this." They closed the door together, leaving the impaled young woman's body inside. Rising together, they hurried to the next chamber.

* * * *

"Reggie!"

Stuck off to one side, Eric was the first to notice a change in MacLeod. The big shape-shifter was shoving aside some furniture and stalking with his unconscious burden toward a previously hidden door.

"What is it Eric?" Reggie gave the teenager the smallest notice, concentrating his attention on the jammed door of the second chamber. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

"It's Jamie. He's changing into a beast again. And he's leaving!"

That got Reggie's attention, and he turned, leaving the stubborn chamber door to Slocum. What he saw horrified him.

Jamie was indeed preparing to carry his choice away, but from what Reggie saw of the woman, perhaps the lucky ones were still bleeding out in the chambers. The poor woman's hair was mostly gone, hacked off or pulled out. What few wisps remained were blood-drenched. Her face was grotesquely distorted: the nose broken, lips split and puffy, eyes swollen shut. There were cuts and bites all over her body. Even from across the room, he could tell that at least one arm was broken and all of her fingers. The ones she still seemed to have. Which woman she was: Kat, Lacey, or Kalini was anybody's guess. There was just so much blood.

"Jamie! Where do you think you're going with her? That poor woman needs immediate medical attention! I can see two or three serious wounds from here! She needs immediate medical attention. Get her an emergency flight out of here! Think man, think!"

"I _am_ thinking Reggie!" Jamie roared. "The damned phones don't work! And in case you haven't noticed, nobody is being allowed to leave this island! Look at her Reg! She's hurt really bad. She hasn't got another hour of life in her! There's only one thing I can do!" Jamie turned and began to head towards the door. As he did Reggie realized their emotional shouting match had sped up Jamie's shift. The man's appearance was far from human. As he moved towards the door, the bestial shift continued.

"Jamie, wait! There must be something we can do together. Let me try my magic. Wait!" But the old witch was too late, shouting now to a closed door. Defeated and exhausted, he slumped were he knelt, mumbling that at least Jamie could have told him which one he'd saved, his lady or his tigress.

"Doc–you've got to come see this! I don't believe it!" Slocum had kept working on the chamber door while Jamie and Reggie had their shouting match. Now, as the door slammed wide open, he'd made a startling discovery. As Reginald turned to peek inside, he felt the feeblest glimmer of hope begin to spark.

# Chapter 57

Even as he carried her away from the others and through the hidden door, her torn arms wrapped tightly round his neck, her weeping face pressed against his hairy cheek. Eyes nearly swollen shut, blinded by bleeding tears, she kissed him openly. Her hot tears washed away some of her blood, exposing ugly bruises and a rash of cuts covering her ruined face. Jamie hoped what he was going to do would work; he really had no other choice. She was hurt far worse than the others guessed. There'd really never been a question of choice; he'd willingly sacrificed the other two women he loved just to save this one. _The one now dying in his arms._ Shoving aside his own chaotic urges, he held her in one arm while he bent to remove his weapons, then strode with determined steps across the room, his sharp nails clicking on the cold stone floor. _He had to try. She might not survive; most didn't. She was so weak. But he had to try. He was almost out of time._ _It had to be now._ As soon as he was done, he'd shove her out the door to the safety of the others. _Lock himself inside. Keep the beast away from her until it was safe._ The change was coming fast now. _Too fast._ An emotional landslide. He moved closer to her. Bent his head over her, getting ready. She forced open blood sticky eyes and whispered I love you through broken lips. He didn't answer, but moved in closer. _It had to be now._ Tears bright in a battered face, questions begging on trembling lips, Lacey looked up into the face of the man she loved, saw what he'd become, and screamed.

#  Continue the Legacy of Terror series with The Blackest Heart. Please enjoy the first two chapters

Chapter One

High in the sky over Grim Island a sharp-eyed raven patrolled the ragged coastline south of Lost Hope light, scouring the rocky scrub for any sign of food. Though an early winter morning, the usual clinging fogbanks had blown out to sea, and the scavenger's beady black eyes could see for miles in any direction. He floated over the abandoned shell of the old lighthouse, silent witness to so much gruesome slaughter. This was an unfriendly coast of jagged rocks, violent storms and foul deeds. Yet not all the deaths involved the angry sea. In recent years, this had been a favored killing ground for at least one serial killer, and in the dead of night, far worse things stalked the lonely shore. The raven flew on, pumping wings with tattered feathers the color of filmy oil bleeding into a shimmering puddle. He dropped down lower, inspecting some burnt out auto wreckage spewed across the empty road at Goosefish Beach. A few low level passes and he began to climb; confident he'd ignored nothing but a sizeable splatter of dried blood. Banking hard to port, he screamed in low over the sparkling snow, checking out the blood trails and frozen lumps that crept up toward the front door of Principal Sweetling's brooding mansion. The Paine estate, once the private lair of Jeremiah Paine, infamous founding father of Grim Island. He'd been a wealthy self-indulgent man, a hard cruel Yankee, and a man of most unusual tastes. Principal Sweetling, Paine's most recent fruit, had not fallen far from his ancestral tree. If anything, it was rumored this latest bloated fruit had been born already rotten to the core.

Although the melting snow was beginning to exhale misty steam, the raven was attracted by a bleeding lump he'd spied across the marsh. Nearly blinded by the early morning sun glancing off the hundred grimy windows of the abandoned asylum, the carrion bird spied a tender morsel just below the one dark rectangle in that blazing wall of light. In a forgotten structure deserted as long as this one, at least half the windows should have been smashed, the crumpling brick walls held up by overlapping runes of foul graffiti. Yet there were almost no broken windows, obscene drawings, or discarded trash; as though the islanders instinctively shunned the place, going well out of their way to avoid walking in its shadow. Not only man, but all the natural creatures of the surrounding woods and marsh skirted the place, although the neglected grounds were festooned with rusting vehicle hulks and crumbling ruins, perfect for animal lairs. Still, it was extremely rare to see any furry creatures hiding there. Those few were usually quite still; quaking in terror or violently dead. Like the crow's rigid lump. Something big and furry had burst out through a third story window and lay face down in the snow, oozing an irresistible stench. The raven flew higher up the crumbling brick wall and fluttered to a watchful rest atop the rust and slate roof. Hopping across crusty rivets, it stationed itself on the guano stained head of a sentinel gargoyle, and took a long cautious look at its lifeless meal below. The demonic duo that'd financed much of the building of this facility for the Criminally Insane had possessed an odd sense of humor. Undoubtedly, Dyer and Paine thought themselves quite clever when they adorned the face of each of the thirty-nine gargoyles with the visage of a particular mental aberration. Had the raven cared as he picked at the festering rash on his denuded chest, he was squatting on _Murderous Rage_. Judging his dinner truly dead, he withdrew his ragged beak from his own stippled flesh and fluttered down to stalk up to the stinking corpse. It was obviously not human. Darting pecker full of steaming gobbets of flesh, it didn't matter to him. He would've gorged himself until he couldn't fly. A random chunk of brick bounced off the corpse and drove him skyward with an annoyed squawk. He settled seconds later, still intent on feeding. The second chunk bounced off his rump, and sent him winging angrily up the old brick wall. Clinging to a copper downspout stained with rich verdigris; he had a clear view in through the shattered window. Looking through the rectangle of broken glass, the raven saw a fat man giggling and capering in the mouth of the yawning hole. Was this one of the drooling felons left behind, forgotten when they closed the asylum forty years ago? The raven didn't care, but cawed angrily at being cheated of a ready meal. Glaring right at the dancing idiot, he squawked again, before winging further south in quest of easier prey.

* * * *

Gerald Sweetling had every reason to be smugly self-satisfied. His plans had worked out perfectly. After months of planning, he'd finally enjoyed the prim Miss Rodriguez. Throw in the unexpected bonus of the other two ladies, and he felt like an ecstatically bloated kid wandering out of a devastated Candy shop. Add to that the fact that he'd managed to elude MacLeod; leaving the frustrated detective to make a hasty life or death choice before his screaming curse devoured him. Ah, life could be so diabolically sweet!

He couldn't help but wonder which one MacLeod had finally picked. He'd left all of Jamie's ladies bound and gagged in a long line of engineering marvels. He'd taken great pride in maintaining his adopted ancestor's Confessionals of Death. Each tight metal chamber was fitted with a slowly advancing gear-driven wall of knives, enough to drive a screaming confession out of the most resolute of throats. Gerry had thrust MacLeod's three women in random chambers, and charged the cop to pick one to save. Releasing his chosen prize would have triggered the knives in the remaining chambers to spring forward, plunging straight into the hearts of his two abandoned lovers. But which had he chosen to live? O'Hara, Rodriguez, or the pretty Indian woman?

Gerald tittered to think the fool might have picked the school teacher. How ironic if MacLeod saved her, sacrificing his other two precious women, only to have his chosen love bleed out in his arms. But then, of course, the moon was already working on MacLeod. The detective had been half-beast when he'd confronted Sweetling in the room full of stuffed creatures. As the dying moon weakened, his bestial shift would intensify. How delightful if he lost control and took the life he'd just saved, savaging her in his primal lust. Damn! If only Gerry could know which one he'd picked. He was half tempted to stop, turn around and sneak back to spy on that cluster of inept friends. _What were there, five survivors? And two of them were kids. No–he'd better not._ He threw his last chunk of brick after the departing crow, and chugged on down the damp sea tunnel to safety. Knowing what was going on behind him would've been delightful to watch, but if MacLeod had shifted, he'd be in a murderous rage, and if there was one thing that Principal Gerald P. Sweetling valued most, it was his own precious hide.

Chapter Two

There is an ancient highland legend that claims an old laird of the Western Isles took a young bride of such incredible beauty that after their wedding night he was never able to sleep. He kept one eye open at all times, convinced she'd betray his love, or be carried off and ravaged. The maid, with no wealth of her own, clung to her grey chieftain, if not deeply in love, at least fiercely loyal. The highland laird engaged a witch from the far eastern region of Hindustan, as much a master of the blade as of the Dark Arts. In time, the old man, at last confident that his wife was truly his, had her trained to fight with a sword so that she might defend her honor when he was called away. As his clan was large, and his holdings vast, the laird was more often away than not. The maiden learned to love the blade, and like many a Scot, delighted in the skirl of swordplay, the spatter of hot blood. Very soon the chieftain's chest swelled with pride; his lady had become the most skilled warrior to stand beneath his banner. She fell deeply in love with battle. She yearned for the sounds and sights of war, the drenching bath of gore. At the same time, she also fell in love with her dashing blade master from far across the Arabian Sea. Hakim Akbar Abdullah.

Filled with pride in the accomplishments of his treasured student, Abdullah gave her a beautiful curved scimitar. Its blade glittered bright, sacred fish scales worked into the much folded steel. The cross guard was solid brass, ending in roaring tiger heads. The covering for the hilt was fashioned from some rough hide, neither beast nor human flesh, wrapped in fine gold wire. Perched atop the pommel was a snarling Rakshasa's head with fiery sapphires for the eyes. This was an exquisite scimitar, light and graceful. Deadly.

Time passed and their growing love would not be checked. Together they plotted the old laird's death, though in truth, it was she who plunged the nameless dirk. They fled east, hoping to escape by booking passage on a southerly bound carrack out of Aberdeen. But that very foggy night, Abdullah's horse plunged into a bog hole, shattering a leg. After mercifully killing his mount, they were forced to spend the night on the fog-shrouded moors while she nursed Abdullah's own sprained ankle. They burnt no peaty fire; instead for warmth, they made love beneath a gibberish moon, rutting in the crumpled heather. The old chieftain's clansmen caught them there, attracted by their noisy love-making.

The lovers fought like mated lions, slaying many of their hunters, enduring many wounds. At last they both lay dying, their lives bleeding out on soggy ground. Weakly, Abdullah looked at his fading lover, and as she grabbed his arm and kissed his cooling lips one last time; she winked. He muttered five strange words before both fell dead.

* * * *

After severing Abdullah's head, the bloodied clansmen turned their attention to the old chief's bride. Living or dead, they'd been instructed to bring her back to the new laird, the old one's eldest son. Smiling at one another, they moved in on the woman. Afterwards, they never spoke of what each had done before she died.

Seven hearty men turned to leave the boggy moor. The last bent to pick up the woman's foreign sword, now strangely black and cold. As soon as his fist closed on the hilt, he screamed, pulling away fingers bloody with bursting sores. Three more of his comrades tried to hold the blade. All failed to heft it, shrieking in their agony. Shaking his head in disbelief, their leader stepped forward, throwing an old tartan rag across the cursed hilt, but as he bent to retrieve the sword, the blade began to scream. It was a young woman's voice they all knew too well. Their murdered mistress shrieked a bloody rage. Forcing himself to endure the searing pain, the leader threw the blasted sword as far into the moor as his throbbing arm allowed. As lively as they could, all the clansmen scattered across the moor, like swamp mice before a hungry osprey. With his dying words, the young sorcerer had bound his lover's soul _within_ the cursed blade. Immortal now, she would forever crave the sound of battle, the stinking taste of split bowels and fresh spilt blood. The sword lay forgotten on the moor, buried beneath an age of soggy rot, until the one who _could_ hold it, began to wield the blade. That was the legend, but of the sword named _Thirst_ , there were many fanciful tales. A few were true, most were definitely not.

