 
THE WASP INITIATIVE

By

Travis Barr

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Travis Barr on Smashwords

The Wasp Initiative

Copyright © 2014 by Travis Barr

Chapter 1

Three days after Erin and Jessie nearly lost their lives in Cantor Woods, Stanford Jordan was informed that his genetic prize, Janice, had been killed.

This shook him from within though he was outwardly calm. He had been sitting in his office chair and looking over proposals for future endeavors—including a few that were being prepped for Jessie to carry out one day. But now that he knew of the disturbing truth and fate of his precious pet project, he couldn't concentrate on anything else.

He always knew that circumstances could arise to the point where Janice might be cornered, overwhelmed, bested by too many opponents with the proper armory. But to learn that his gifted prize had been outwitted and destroyed by a crippled young woman was almost too much for his intellect to fathom.

Once again, Erin Belaski had astounded him with her courage and tenacity. He swore to himself that he would not underestimate her or her family ever again.

But it wasn't just the loss of Janice that now caused unnerving internal alarm; it was also what that loss now represented in the hearts and minds of his brethren, his business associates. Who were also forever his wasp-like competitors.

Oliver, he knew, would have a right field day with this at the next conference meeting. Though if Stanford was thinking hard about it, he could always mention the fact that the girl got the drop on Oliver as well. That in reality, Erin _and_ her brother had made fools of them all.

Regardless of this fact, however, Stanford had to realize that in the eyes of Foster, his faith in his cherished underling had been called into question.

Unless Stanford came up with a bonafide miracle alternative in the way of an effective and clever assassin—and fast—he would be usurped or passed over for that all-important executive promotion. Phillip would be the one to look out for. Oliver would too, for Stanford knew they would likely work together to see that his faltering would be their gain. He did not despise them for this, merely understood the cut-throat manner of the mentality. For if the situation were reversed, he would clearly make the same moves to advance; to step on the backs of the bruised and the fallen.

Stanford was vulnerable now, that was apparent to him. What wasn't so clear to him was how he would repair the damage of this embarrassing fiasco and reclaim his executive standing within the company. Within the eyes of Foster and _his_ answer-to man, The National CEO of Pear-Paul: Nelson Carnegie. Lord, how Stanford dreamed one day of allotting himself in Carnegie's deeply revered position of power, the ultimate seat to the massive corporate kingdom known as Pearson and Paul. The supreme nest of hornets...

...Or wasps...

Why...could that possibly be it?

It just might work.

Where a genetically spruced-up arachnid failed, a flying genetically spruced-up insectoid might succeed.

If they'll even hear me out on it, he sobered his bout of inspiration in his crouching thoughts.

It was, of course, no surprise to his psyche that he went with another eerily segmented creature for his possible saving grace in the eyes of his comrades. As a boy growing up in Calgary, Canada, he adored all things of an exoskeletal, crawling nature. If it creeped and skittered in multi-eyed glory, then he was intrigued, enthralled, hooked. If it flew with membranous wings of zipping, buzzing fury, he was immediately entranced. He was an insect and arachnid man and always would be.

And if he could usher in a new era of evolution—of their psychological and physiological development—as he had done with the enhanced version of the black widow spider in Janice—then he was unequivocally in.

Janice had taken two years to develop at a cost of four million—though only two was reported in Pear-Paul's financial statements and ledgers. Stanford, himself, had financed the rest. And, of course, he would have, possibly more if it was needed. He was committed to the cause, to the "New Evolution" as he saw it.

He doubted that a new specimen would cost as much to create; many of the necessary genetic enhancers were already in place and, as far as he knew, would be compatible even with the DNA/RNA variation inherent of the wasp species. Instead of years and more millions, it should only take a few months to a half a year to put into play...with minimal cost to Pear-Paul's monetary reserves.

He just had to sell it to the board, to Foster.

If he could just do that....

Chapter 2

Erin was true to her word with her older brother, Dean. She would go out with Curt "Hey Girl" Melendez and had. Their rendezvous for coffee one evening proved awkward and tentative at first as both were fleshing each other out. Of course they knew one another and for years now, but only as acquaintances—with, it seemed at the time, peripheral and comically masked attractions. And now that they were faced with their feelings head on, it did provide a certain air of uncomfortableness that needed to be overcome should they choose to proceed further with their association, with "going out" as they say.

They tried the requisite "Do you like this? Do you like that? What's your favorite whatever?" with the usual calm and collected demeanors. They found that they had a few things in common such as the fact that they both enjoyed classic rock music. A few tastes in food were shared between them, namely Couscous and Fried Tempuras. Both were into running—and held each other to a session of jogging at Bittner Park when they could find the time.

A few more dates ensued as the weeks went on, and thus far, things were going well. Curt had even cut back on his "girl" referential habit where Erin was concerned. By the fifth date, a bit of kissing began. But before it got any further, Erin had to clear a crucial matter with her hopeful suitor.

She had to discuss Jessie.

She needed to make him fully aware that if they were to proceed with a real relationship, Jessie would have to be a full consideration and not just some separate entity in Curt's sphere of interest. Erin and Jessie would be a complete package deal—and Curt needed to maturely accept that should he want things to concretely develop between them.

To Erin's mild surprise, Curt had no issues with what she had laid down as the relationship law. He informed her, and with a smile no less, that he had fully anticipated that things would go down like this, and he would be ready. As Dean indicated, the once free-spirited persona of Curt's had done some serious soul searching in the days following the Pear-Paul near-death experience. He even took a few personal days off from work to retreat into himself for some crucial spiritual reflection. And in that time he realized that it was foolish not to acknowledge just how much he truly cared for Erin simply because neither had hit the age of thirty yet.

And he knew that he simply adored Jessie and, in a sense, already felt that he was in some way an honorable uncle of the precocious little one.

So for all intents and purposes, Curt was already in, already committed to the full package deal.

This made Erin inwardly and outwardly smile.

The next date after, Erin and Curt went to bed together. Initially, it was, like their first date, a bit awkward. But not for long. Soon, it was natural, comfortable, invigorating, intense. And ultimately satisfying in the end.

When Curt wasn't working, and Erin wasn't finding a job while judiciously letting her leg heal, the two were spending as much time as they could with Jessie. And since the small child had never known her true father, Curt had become the only father figure she had to emotionally attach herself to.

Months into Erin and Curt's relationship, the three had become somewhat of the closest thing to a family. Eight months in, they moved into Curt's apartment.

A year later, discussions of getting engaged and planning a future wedding were frequent between Curt and Erin. Usually the talks were met with unending smiles from both.

Yet one conversation resulted only in straight and grim expressions. The one regarding the absolute protection of Jessie where the Pear-Paul devils were concerned. Both knew it had to be discussed, that there had to be a plan in place should those filthy bastards try some sort of retaliation.

But Erin was most trepidatious in bringing up the horrid subject for now it had to be revealed what Jessie truly was to Curt. This was the thing that Erin feared most above all other concerns or hang-ups she might have had over the relationship. How would Curt react to learning this life altering—hell, _reality_ altering—revelation about Jessie's identity as a chosen? Would he even believe it? Well, here was her chance to find out.

After she had finished explaining the whole astounding story, Curt merely sat there on their couch, speechless and a bit wide-eyed. When he finally spoke, he told her that he wasn't entirely sure he believed that that sort of thing could be true...but he wasn't going to argue the matter on and on until things turned ugly. If Erin proclaimed it as true, then he was prepared to accept it on faith. And whatever precautions she felt were necessary to ensure Jessie's safety, he would unquestionably go along with.

It was after this very important discussion that they admitted to each other the depth of their love. They had said "I love you" several times already, and had talked of future plans, of course. But it was only now that they could reveal the extent of their feelings, how far entrenched they were to one another's souls.

And so the years went on, with their plans to one day get married and have Curt officially adopt Jessie as his daughter. This last thing was accomplished only after Jessie had reached the age of three, and the two adults had specifically talked the matter over with the child. At that point, they figured Jessie would be cognizant enough and able to accept Curt as a positive influence in her life.

Jessie agreed to the adoption after they explained exactly what was involved. In that space of time, all three were happy in the decision, and four months later Curt officially and legally adopted Jessie as his daughter. And even though Erin and Curt were not married yet, the little girl became Jessie Bedelia Belaski-Melendez.

Erin eventually got another job, oddly enough, as an executive assistant at her old place of internship, Coleman Designs. They had actually called her about the position and seemed highly interested in her joining the company. Which initially gave her pause in wondering if someone from Ell-Bau hadn't put in an extremely good word for her. But no matter, it was a decent paying job and further in the direction of what she really wanted to do, which was concept art for advertising.

Curt had become the second man in charge at Consumers Now and gained his own office next to Palmer's. This, however, presented two problems. One, the position was given to Curt on the express agreement that they avoid any more investigation into Pear-Paul. Palmer was paranoid about the death they had caused and didn't want it coming back on them. The second difficulty stemmed from now not sharing an office space with Dean—which both longtime friends resented. But both knew that Curt would be stealing time working with Dean whenever he could. In the end, nothing much had changed. Even Palmer agreed that the arrangement was beneficial to the organization...but again, the two had to swear on a stack of bibles that neither would do any probing into Pear-Paul. "Let that rabid dog lie," he demanded. Reluctantly, they agreed.

Besides, there were plenty of other organizations to focus on, many other cheaters and crooks that would constitute the variety of corporate white collar crimes in America. Con-Now had kept busy.

Jessie, of course, kept busy as well, as she grew to schooling age. She adapted well to a classroom setting, socializing with several of her fellow Pre-K students. The teachers had found her charming and rarely combative or fitful. In this period of her educational exposure, none of her brethren chosen good or bad had surfaced in her life.

It was, in fact, not until the second grade that Jessie was to fully experience one of her own. And fortunately for her positive development at such a crucial age of growth, it was an honorable and kindred soul in the form of Pahti Afahri.

Pahti had just moved to the United States from his homeland of Pakistan after his mother and father had found work in the area. Both parents were physicists and lucked out on being accepted for two coveted positions at the city's university.

Pahti was quite afraid of the move knowing that there would be a massive shift in social practices and visual environment. Pahti would miss his cherished friends from his own country—even though at this point he hadn't met any chosen either.

When Jessie and Pahti met each other, there was an instant pull. The immediate reaction and realization that they were two of a kind, and that they should know each other as soon as possible.

"I'm Pahti Ahfari," the boy announced to Jessie at the first recess of school day.

"Jessie Belaski-Melendez," she gave back with a trusting grin.

"I like your name—Jessie—because it has the 'ee' sound at the end like mine."

"Jess _ie_ and Pah _ti_!"

"Ee-ee-ee!"

They giggled together.

Then Jessie said, "Silly."

"I am silly, yes."

"We're different, aren't we? You feel it, right?"

"We are. It feels strange yet good. I had to say hi."

"I know, me too. Where do you come from?"

"Pakistan. Khunali Village. My parents got jobs at a school here so we moved. I miss all the people I knew in my country. But now that I've met you, I don't feel so bad."

"I know a lot of kids here. I'll show you around so they can meet you."

"That is nice of you, thanks."

And that's where it began for them.

The two were a playful and mischievous duo at times, though they were never mean to others or sadistic in their actions. Which, of course, made them targets for the more aggressive and ego-fueled factions within their social and educational settings. Particularly with Pahti. Often he would have to endure jibes about his unusual name: "Hey Pahti, is it St. Pahti's Day yet?" or "Hey Pahti, do you like to par-ty?" or the ever-favorite among the bully sect: "It's Pahti, the Pot-ty Boy!"

The young Pakistani was usually quite tolerant of the ribbing, choosing to avoid the kinds of frustrations that could lead to bodily harm—namely his. Typically, he would try to be diplomatic about it by creating his own clever joke depending on which version of the verbal ribbing was thrown his way. But predominantly, he would retreat back to the friendly sphere that was Jessie and those she knew and trusted—that which held no ridicule. It usually came to pass that at least once a week someone or other was giving them some sort of wholly unnecessary grief.

Yet none of these childhood social traumas could prepare the two for their first encounter with the darker, more malevolent chosen.

Which came in the form of ten-year-old Michaelis Bernard, a blond-headed extrovert who transferred to Jessie's school after the Christmas break.

The effect on the other fifth graders of the school was, of course, negligible—to them, Bernard was just another new kid at school. Big deal, it happens a lot; many other kids also transferred in halfway through the school year. But to Jessie and Pahti, Bernard was like news of a new disease or a vicious, unstable animal that should be avoided at all cost. The revulsion was palpable and felt on both ends; Bernard made no attempts to approach either of his opposite and was loathe to look their way. It seemed as if all three had come to some unspoken agreement to keep their distance and go about their business. Jessie and Pahti, of course, had talked about Bernard's presence at length and wondered what he could be to be such an obvious offense to their senses.

"You feel it, don't you?" Pahti asked.

"Of course, I do," Jessie replied.

"What do you think he is?"

"I don't know... _not us,_ that's for certain."

"I agree with you there. It's weird, I can feel him here at school, especially when I walk by him in the hall...but when I leave for home it fades away."

"I know, it's almost like a smell would be, isn't it? The closer you are, the stronger the smell gets."

" _Right,_ exactly."

"So, do you think...he's like the opposite of us?"

"He must be. I mean, you and I, we were drawn, pulled together and it felt normal and natural...but with him, it's like we're being—"

"Pushed away."

"Right."

"Like magnets where one side has been turned around and now—"

"Now it doesn't stick...well that guy certainly doesn't stick with me. What do we do? I don't want to have to go through school feeling this every day, do you?"

"No. But we might not have a choice if our parents don't move anywhere else. At least he's staying far away from us, maybe it's hard on him too."

"Maybe..."

"We'll probably just have to get used to it, just like he probably will have to too."

"I guess so...why did he have to come here of all schools?" he complained with a purse of his lips and sour eyes.

"Our sore luck."

It would turn out in the years to come to be some of the worst luck of their lives.

And the shortened life of one.

Chapter 3

When Nickolas Bauer left Ellison and Bauer Inc. it was not before thinking long and hard about the decision. Certainly he had felt the urge before the Pear-Paul debacle to jump ship considering some of the incidents he and his associates had weathered. He wasn't even sure after he had finally turned in his resignation that he had done the right thing. But it was ultimately his decision to do so because he simply couldn't look his fellow chosen in the eyes any longer. He did not despise them or think that they were monsters of any sort, yet he knew something had been lost now. That their cherished principles for which they had so long held dear had been tarnished; bested by something so clever and purely insidious. Outwitted by those who were the most morally bankrupt souls crawling the planet.

He had thought about his alternatives should he choose to stay on with the company; some creative out of their burdening dilemma with Pear-Paul. Perhaps they could go to the family, the mother of Jessie particularly, and discuss the situation. Possibly they would allow Jessie to be "prepared" in whatever possible way for her "transfer" to those slugs at Pear-Paul. There would be much resistance at first, naturally; the family may even try to flee with the child and go into hiding somehow . But even if they _did_ come around to seeing things the chosen's way, and Jessie _was_ trained to deal with _"the_ day," truly, how prepared could they make her? Physically she could be enhanced with combat and defensive techniques, all Ell-Bau security details were given the same treatment by a contracted team of martial arts experts and military specialists. Bauer didn't see an issue with that, in fact he would see it as a healthy outlet for inherent aggressions or frustrations. But he also knew full well that they would have to condition Jessie's mind in the process—gear her in the recesses of her subconscious to resist any highly suggestive tactics that Pear-Paul might inflict upon her. That was where the real soul atrocity would come into play—and not just on Pear-Paul's end.

No, Bauer couldn't consider that as a viable option in any way, shape, or form. Once you go toying around with someone's brain, it almost always came to be that unforeseen psychological consequences would surface...and possibly to the ultimate ruin of the person's mind, body, and soul. He would never risk it on anyone; for untampered with minds had a tough enough time solidifying themselves to begin with—even if they were chosen.

Sometimes, especially if they were chosen.

Bauer also knew that he couldn't support a move to hide the family. Because to do so would interfere with the solemn vow the honorable chosen had made to handover Jessie to Pear-Paul, despite how venomous and devoid of humanity those highbrow vipers were.

And what good would it do anyway—he was well aware of the far-reaching influence of Pear-Paul across the world. If they wanted to find the family, find Jessie, there was no stone that they couldn't unturn to do so.

So Bauer left. He knew he couldn't be there on the day when Ell-Bau made good on its agreement— _knew_ he couldn't take anymore of the forced blasphemy to his senses. And spent a better amount of time with his family—his wife, LaShawn, and their two daughters, Kayma and Geena. Although his wife was not a chosen, nor were either of his daughters, they all understood his plight, knew the toll it was taking on him—and were a bit surprised it took him two weeks to finally make the move. Besides, they were happy for his heightened presence in the home. LaShawn was especially glad to have him around to assist in the daily rigors of raising two girls.

Bauer could sustain his family with the savings and holdings he had in his name for roughly the next twenty years, he wasn't concerned too much about keeping them afloat. And roughly around the end of that time, both spouses' social security and retirement would be kicking in. Though they would not be able to live as comfortably as they have been, it mattered not. They all loved each other and were prepared to make things work—Bauer was prepared to make it work...as much as his conscience would allow him to.

Chapter 4

Albert and Sophie Belaski had been embroiling themselves in quite serious discussions regarding the fate of their granddaughter. The main points of contention naturally stemmed from: one, when to tell Erin and Dean about Pear-Paul's horrid release requisite of Jessie, and two, whether to allow Ell-Bau to go through with what they swore to do.

Sophie's point of view took the position that they should tell their children now—now being a few months after the cabin incident—and convince them to send the family into hiding far away from where she presently lived.

Part of Al agreed.

However...

"But things are going so well with Erin and Curt," Al countered, "do we really want to derail what could be between them by telling them all of this?"

But Sophie responded, "I like Curt, he's a good boy, but if we have to sacrifice Erin's relationship with him in order to save Jessie, then that's the price we'll have to pay."

"What if they're already in love? What if he's the one she's supposed to be with for the rest of their lives? Would you truly want to destroy all that they could have together? He could be a terrific father to Jessie. He's obviously got a good heart and you know what he's already done for us in what's happened."

"So you're seriously suggesting that we avoid telling them and go along with giving Jessie over to those bastards?!"

" _No,_ not about giving Jessie up, _no._ But telling Erin or Dean about it now...I just don't see how it's going to help things."

" _Al,_ we have to leave here and hide ourselves, and we have to do it now!"

" _Why?_ Those...Pear-Paul people, they agreed to let Jessie alone for the next seventeen years—"

"Do you trust those filthy devils?! I sure as hell don't!"

" _No,_ but it makes sense. Once she's eighteen, she's no longer legally bound to her mother _or_ school—they can take her with lesser consequences—"

"Well, they're never taking her! We have to _leave!"_

"Well, let's talk about that for a moment—where could we go? And how much will it cost us to do so?"

"As much as it takes! This is our granddaughter! And I don't care _where_ we go as long as it's far away from here!"

" _Okay,_ okay, I agree, we have to do something...but let's—

A knock at the door interrupted.

Al went to answer, he opened the door and found Tobin Ellison standing at his doorstep. "Mr. Ellison..."

"Good evening, Mr. Belaski," Ellison evenly greeted.

"Evening. Listen, I'm not sure exactly what you're visit's for, but this is really kind of a bad time—"

"Is Erin or Dean home?"

"...No...they're both—Dean lives on his own...and Erin is out with a friend—what's this about?"

"I'm sure you can guess, Mr. Belaski. You're looking much better, by the way."

"Yeah, both my wife and I are healing...I, uh, I suppose you want to come in, don't you?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I really need to talk to you and your wife if I may."

"Well, like I said, it's not really—"

"Please. Just a few moments. Please."

"...All right, but not for long, Erin will be back soon."

"Not to worry."

And Al allowed Ellison in. They made their way to the living room where Sophie had been tensely waiting. When she caught sight of their guest, her rigidity increased, tightened.

"Mrs. Belaski," Ellison said as he eyed her with heightened brows. "It's good to see you on your feet again."

"Thank you," she answered flatly.

"Listen, I know I've come at an inopportune time, and it's possible that what I need to discuss is the very reason for the difficulty, but—"

"Mr. Ellison," Sophie cut in with a thickness to her tone, "don't think that we aren't grateful for what you have tried to do for us. I know that because of your efforts, we now have our Jessie back with us...but do not think for one second that we will ever allow you to hand over our granddaughter to those sick, sadistic pieces of garbage. It simply won't happen."

"...I understand how you feel—"

" _Do_ you?" she challenged, anger and fear charging her. "Do you? You have children? Grandchildren, Mr. Ellison?"

"No...I'm afraid not."

"Then you couldn't possibly know the fear, _the utter dread_ of what you are proposing, what those _insects_ might have planned for her."

"I think you should know, Mr. Ellison," Al cut in coolly, "that we are planning to leave and go far away from here."

"Far enough to where they'll never find her?" Ellison added with skepticism underpinning his tone.

"If that's what it takes."

Ellison nodded, his eyes blinking and lips pursing, as if he fully knew this was coming. And he certainly did. "I see...well I want you two to know this about us, the chosen of Ell-Bau—or any honorable chosen for that matter—we are not your keepers, or wards, or oppressors. We will not force you to do anything that you feel will be contrary to your consciences or against your nature. To do so would be to sully the very core of what we are. If you choose to run far, _far_ away and hide as best you can, then we will do nothing to stop you.

"But there is one thing you must understand and please take to heart. Pear-Paul, whether you know this or not, is global. The poisoned chosen are world-wide...and whether you choose to accept this or not, Jessie _is_ part of us and can be detected by them no matter where she goes. Your faces will be plastered over every global police network, and possibly you will be labeled as international terrorists, occult members, whatever it takes for you to be ill-branded and pursued. _Please_ understand, you _will_ be found, even if it takes months or years, something will slip...and you will be forced back here by those who are the true oppressors of this world." And in deflation of his tone, his expression drooped to follow suit. "Anyway...I realize that by explaining this I may come off as someone who is being self-serving...habits of running a company...but one thing I haven't done here is lie to you...that is what _they_ do, not us.

"I should go. Thank you for your time. Call me if you wish to talk more. I would enjoy your company—seeing as I am not with a family of my own." He smiled gravely at them then began toward to the door. Neither Al or Sophie followed him as he let himself out, closing the door after him.

"Well...what do you think about what he said?" Al asked Sophie.

"...He could be lying about not lying," She gave him.

"...Maybe."

Chapter 5

Percy McAllister was not one of the darker souled chosen. But he did possess a rather blackened heart, made more tainted by the emotional neglect of his psychologically formative years. He had grown up quite well-to-do and received many advantages in the realm of material requirements: clothes, housing, food, and education—the best of the best was provided. But more than that he had accompanied his mother and father on some of the most lavish of holiday getaways and vacations. Occasionally, the boy had been met with smiles from his aloof parents—if they were happy and things were going well, Ephraim and Jean McAllister were capable of passing a little of that joy onto their child.

But if things were tense and stress factors were high, then Percy could only prey for merely a chilly demeanor from his mother and father. Because when the rage flew, it flew fast and hard, as if a screaming eagle had swooped down to stab itself into your chest and tear out your heart.

Percy's father had just been transferred from the eastern division of Pear-Paul to the mid-western branch as a result of a newly-opened up position. Therefore, the McAllister's had to move and buy a house that was, naturally, much closer to where Ephraim would be working. His boy despised the move, the upheaval of all they knew, and the lessening of peer contact with all of Percy's ninth grade friends. There was still the social networking sites for him to keep in touch, but it certainly wouldn't be the same as being there with them. Experiencing together, _doing_ things together. Now he would have to start over. And Percy _hated_ starting over.

But start over he would because his highly revered father was damned if he was going to pass up this promotion in corporate status. Now he would be working with the likes of Phillip Jenner—who was awarded many times over and internationally renowned as Pear-Paul's marketing genius. Now he would work along side the infamous Stanford Jordan—the clever Junior CEO who, at one time, seemed in danger of being ousted from the company altogether, oddly enough. But he had saved face, it appeared, with another of his genius genetic creations—a giant wasp that could strike and be gone in the space of a few seconds. Now wasps, as Ephraim and all others in the Pear-Paul corporate sphere well knew, were standard issue. For one of these enhanced and insectoid assassins was now used for every divisional branch in the world.

_I would have loved to have been in the board meeting when Stanford had proposed that wild idea of DNA "tom-foolery,"_ Ephraim mused to himself. _They must have been either petrified that one of their trusted executives was losing it or laughing their asses off for much the same reason._

But no one was laughing now. Jordan was currently a legend—his "pets" were perfect assassins with perfect kill records since practically day one. Corporate horrors with heightened sentient abilities yet totally subservient to the Pear-Paul executive agendas. Obedient because they had been engineered that way.

Now Ephraim admired his new fellow boss—the second in command. With Stanford and all the others who shined at the mid-western branch, he felt that there was no limit to the personal and professional benefits he could acquire. The transition had to be made, damn the petty protests from both his wife and his son—though predominantly from Percy—the insubordinate, ungrateful little brat! But no matter, they would get over it, they would adjust. They would have to. Nothing was going to derail this new and exhilarating opportunity to rise within the Pear-Paul conglomerate. It was a perfect fit.

Because even though his wife and son were not of the feared chosen, Ephraim most certainly was.

Chapter 6

Two months before Jessie turned two-years-old, Al and Sophie had a master plan in play.

Or at least, this was the perception of their plan.

Both needed to know for certain that Mr. Ellison was telling the truth regarding Pear-Paul's global tracking resources. They devised a strategy consisting of a test run in, well, running, hiding, eluding their "hunters."

They put forth the idea that they would take Jessie on an extended, three-week vacation—just the three of them: the grandparents and the granddaughter, having fun and traveling together. They sold it to Erin in the form of realizing how serious things were getting between her and Curt, and thought the two young loves might enjoy some private time to further get to know each other.

Erin agreed but asked if they could make it only two weeks. Three seemed like too long to be without her little one, her sweet, sweet girl.

Al and Sophie laid out an itinerary of where they'd be going and what they would be doing for the trip. But this list was false and shown to Erin only to placate her curiosity and hopefully not rouse any suspicion of their real "flight" plan.

The false itinerary had them first stopping off at the Coriander Hotel a hundred miles out in the town of Virgil. In reality, they would be staying at a Motel 5 forty miles away in the neighboring town of Messinger. They paid in cash and used a borrowed credit card from a trusted family friend for the deposit purposes. Luckily, the place didn't check ID for verification. All went well.

Until two in the morning.

When the phone rang.

Not their cell phones. The hotel line.

Al picked up and answered in his bleary-eyed state after being awoken. "Hello?"

A man responded on the other line. His morbidly lifeless voice said, "Mr. Belaski, do you remember me?"

"Who is this?" Al asked with a tensed, lined brow.

"You don't remember me? Don't recall my voice? You should. We were in close quarters not too long ago."

Al was silent for a second. "...Yes, I know who you are..."

Sophie had sat up now, shaking off sleepiness from her mind. With her own squinting eyes, she looked at the back of her bed mate and husband's head to inquire, "What is it? Who—?"

Al continued on the phone, "You're that security man...Oliver."

Sophie gasped.

Jessie, fortunately, was still asleep.

"That's right, Mr. Belaski," Oliver concurred in his deadened tone. "You're wondering how I found you, I know. Well, it's very simple really. I found you because there is absolutely no place in the world you _can_ go where we cannot find you. You might be cleverer in your attempts next time around, but I guarantee you this now, we will best those efforts. We are plugged in worldwide, and determined to see things through to our best interests. Your granddaughter is now apart of that. Accept it or don't. But you cannot hide.

"Now, Mr. Belaski, I ask you, do you believe me?"

"...Yes...I believe you."

Sophie had shifted herself closer to Al, placing her hands on his shoulders slowly and gently. She peered over to stare terrifyingly at the phone.

"Good," Oliver said. "Now enjoy your stay with your wife and little Jessie for however long you told them you were going to. But then you return home."

_Click._ And the line went dead.

In mental shock, Al eased the phone away from his head. Before long, he could only stare blankly in front of himself, eyes cinched in dejection.

"It was them," Sophie correctly assumed in a horrified tone.

"...Yes," Al flatly announced. "Ellison was right...this won't work."

Quickly, Sophie shifted her arms to wrap around Al's chest and bury her face in his right shoulder.

She began to cry incessantly, and for the next hour.

Chapter 7

Two months before Jessica's seventeenth birthday, Michaelis Bernard had a master plan. Or so he had perceived. In the last few years, his avoidance and revulsion for the opposite chosen had come to a head. And he simply couldn't deny anymore that he wanted to kill them. Jessie especially—the feeling he got from sensing her was so much the worse that, at times, he could hardly contain his disgust. If either of the two chosen had to die, then it would be the girl. She was the one he would target first.

And he knew how he was going to do it. If he could position things right, and he knew he could. He knew because of two things: one, he was desired by many for his damnable good looks and impeccable fashion sense; and two, he was sly beyond words. If anyone had been born to finesse and manipulate to achieve their own sociopathic ends, it was Bernard.

The first part of his plan would be the most difficult to execute. He would need to steel himself considerably before he could initiate his strategy.

He would have to try and get close to his enemy, to the one who sickened him the most.

To prepare himself, he read up a lot on breathing therapy and meditative conditioning to train his mind and body. For the last six months he had been slowly but surely learning how to deal, how to lessen Jess' assault on his senses. And still be his calm, cool, and charming self.

The second part of his killing agenda involved enlisting the aid of his two closest companions in his social sphere, his true mates at school or otherwise: Jennifer Nellis, a boney beauty of a vamp whom he'd been dating for the last two years, and his loyal terrier in the form of Percy McAllister. Of course, there were others in their circle that Bernard amused and was amused by. But when it came down to the nitty gritty of social connection, Jen and Percy were the strongest lynchpins...if they could be properly manipulated for Bernard's purposes, naturally.

And if he could persuade them to go along with his plan, then so much more he would appreciate their presence within his tumorously black heart.

Percy, he felt, would be the easiest to convince. His father was a brethren for crying out loud, and thought that the young Bernard was an exceptional specimen of the accepted chosen, the more powerful of the mysteriously selected. _"You follow this boy's charge,"_ Ephraim had, one day, told Percy, _"and you will go far in school, in friends,_ and _in the future."_

Though the young McAllister felt a painful twinge of envy for his father's obvious connection and favor in Bernard, he chose not to act on this ill-will. For he well knew within himself that he, too, had a deep affinity for "M.B." He loved Bernard and considered him his best friend—and if his friend was one of the dark lights of the world, then he was going to illuminate himself next to it, his petty jealousies be damned.

Yes, with Percy, Bernard could reveal his plan in full without any subterfuge. "C-Boy," Bernard said to Percy one day after school, "come with me, I think you're going to like what I'm about to propose."

Percy followed him to a secluded alleyway whereupon Bernard revealed, "What do you think about being in on something _major?_ I mean, we're talking ultra-ballsy stuff here."

"Well _you_ sound excited," Percy commented on Bernard's enthusiasm, "What are we talking about here? What is it?"

"You know the girl, the chosen of those pathetic types—?"

"Jessie, yeah."

"Yeah, well...her number is up." And a malicious sparkle touched Bernard's eyes and curled his lips.

Somehow, Percy got it. His own eyes widened. "What the hell, you can't be serious! How are you gonna get away with _actually fragging someone?!"_

Keeping the poisonous look, Bernard explained, "Oh, I've got it all figured out. But I'm gonna need you and Jen to help me with a few things. You in?"

Percy took a step back and breathed in. "Huh-ho..."

"Come on, you in?"

"...Um...um, _yeah,_ I'm in, this is just major, that's all. We've never done anything like this before..."

"I know, I'm psyched, especially now that you're in on it."

A nervous laugh came from Percy, "Like I wouldn't be."

"That's my _boy._ Listen, here's the plan, and if we play it exactly right and everyone does their part, it _will_ work. What I'm going to do is work it like this: I'm going to make it look like I've broken things off with Jen. She'll be in on it, of course. And then I'm going to put the sly on two other girls—one is a friend of Jess', Bea Hemner...and the other is Jessie herself."

" _What?"_ Percy gyrated a weird loss of balance.

"I know, I know, how'm I going to pull that off? I've been practicing to learn how to be around her and not want to lose my lunch. It's still kind of iffy but I'll manage. Anyway, I'm gonna smooze her and her friend at the same time— _and_ I'm gonna make sure everyone knows I'm doing so. I won't make it so obvious that I'm trying to date either, but let's face it, people will talk—they'll suspect anyway, I'm sure of it."

"And Jen's gonna go along with this?"

"I haven't talked to her yet. I wanted to hit you first with it, see what you thought. I know she'd be hip to it though...to a certain point. I mean, she wouldn't have a problem seeing that pathetic girl die...but Jen getting paranoid about being caught for it, well, _that_ she would have a problem with."

"So, how are you going to sell it to her?"

"Okay, see, she going to know that I'm talking to the girls, trying to make nice and all. And she'll know that I'm going to try and get 'em both to meet up at the Sutherland Cliffs at the same time—both thinking that I want to hang out with them alone, one on one and all. And I'm going to tell Jen that I'm going to show up all surprised, like I screwed up the times we were supposed to meet, something like that. And if the girls get into a fight or get all screamy at me, then I'll make sure I'll get it captured on video from my phone. Jen, for _sure,_ would love to see that—especially if it all ended up online and all. But in _reality,_ I'm just going to show up and frag 'em both, throw 'em both off the cliff and then just tell Jen I erased the video because, you know, to her it'll seem like I didn't want to have evidence like that on my phone."

"And people will say it was because they were both in love with you and the fight got out of hand..."

"And _boom,_ off the cliffs they go. And I'll say I got there too late to stop it."

"Aw, that's effing inspired, I love it."

"Thought you might."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Initiate. Get the two girls to see that I want to open up to them, especially Jessie—that's gonna be the hard sell. But I just need you to lay the groundwork, as my dad says. But also keep an eye on Jen, talk to her if she gets too squirrely, okay?"

"No problem, count on me, M.B."

"I always do," Bernard announced with a snake's smile as he put his arm around Percy's shoulders and lead him away.

Chapter 8

"Why won't he go out with her?" Curt asked his wife of ten years, Erin as they were putting away groceries on a Sunday afternoon.

"I don't know," she answered in a frustrated, put upon tone. She had shrugged violently. "Who knows what goes on in that warped head of his."

"But I don't get it, Dean and Trish were hitting it off so well at Thanksgiving. She was asking me like a _thousand_ questions about him—and my cousin never asks me about guys. She's really into him, I don't understand—and he won't talk to me about it. What's the deal?"

"I don't know, he's busy. He's always busy."

" _Hey, I'm_ busy. But you don't see me not having a life."

"He's never been much on dating, you know that."

"Honey, he's forty-five-years-old, what is he waiting for? And if he's going to just blow off my cousin, who I love and almost never get to see, then I'm sorry but I'm going to take offense. He's family but so is she!"

Stopping her grocery distributing, Erin faced Curt. "Look—okay—you really want to know what I think? I'll tell you— _I think_...that what happened to all of us all those years ago has had too much of a negative impact on his life."

" _After all this time?"_ he came back with, ceasing his grocery placing as well.

" _Yeah,_ I think that he is too paranoid that if he gets involved with someone and has a kid, that it might turn out to be like Jessie is. And he just wouldn't be able to handle it. _That's_ what I think it is."

" _That's absurd."_

" _I agree,_ but he is who he is."

Curt expelled a frustrated breath and looked off. "...But she's such a great girl: smart, ambitious, funny, goofy...he can't pass this up."

"Is she still thinking about moving out here in the summer?"

"If she can transition. She'll know about her job thing next week...will you talk to him? At least get him to call her?"

" _No._ It's not my place to force him into something he might not want. If he's really interested, he'll do it on his own."

"Okay, so you won't do for him what he did for us?"

"That's a different story, _you had_ come to a better understanding of yourself and what you really wanted."

" _Yeah,_ and if you nudge your brother a little bit, _maybe_ he'll do the same."

"Look, Curtis, my darling, you reacted in one way after what happened to us all those years ago, but my brother reacted in another. And that's just the way it went. Lord knows none of us have been the same people since..." She stared off, blank for a second. But then a twinkle came to her eyes. "...And if you think about it, you actually didn't put Dean up to asking me. You _were_ going to ask me on your own at the cabin, weren't you."

And now Curt expression lightened as well, remembering that, in fact, she was right about that. His face morphed again to a sly expression as he began easing himself toward her. "Ooooh right...so now if there wasn't anything to mess up our meet up there...how would you have reacted to my 'surprise, surprise' visit?"

As he continued his swaying and slow approach toward Erin, she responded, "Well, first I would have said, 'What are _you_ doing up here?'...and then I would have jumped ya."

"Oh _really?"_ he blurted as he came close enough to slip his arms around her waist—which, of course, he did. She accepted it, doing the same to him—everything so smooth and inviting. "It would have been that easy, huh?"

"Mm—well, if you had shown up a little earlier than you actually had, and killed a gigantic, unholy, freak-of-nature spider trying to eat me and Jessie, and had chopped the damn thing into pieces with a big shiny ax, per say...you might have gotten something close to that."

"Damn the traffic that made me wait to come meet you."

They drew close together and brought their faces almost to touch.

"Sure it was traffic? Or...maybe you were just a little bit big time scared?"

"Wellll, a combo of both, I admit...mostly fear...but I'm not afraid anymore..."

"Nor should you be..." slid out of her mouth as she closed her eyes and brought her lips to his. They kissed pressingly, opening their mouths in unison and letting the rest come naturally.

They were able to enjoy each other's firm embrace and their wanting mouths a minute longer—and then the backdoor opened revealing Jessie, Pahti, and Bea. Erin and Curt backed off from each other and faced the new arrivals.

" _Oh God,"_ Jessie said as she and the other two entered, "Isn't the honeymoon _over_ for you two yet?"

"Never!" Curt barked in a jovial tone.

Everyone laughed.

"Yeah, never," Erin concurred with vigor. "So, suck it up, girl, your parents are going to get touchy-feely." And she reintroduced herself to Curt's enfold and began kissing again.

The three teenagers looked at each other—and as if in some sort of psychic understanding of what they should all do next—they all doubled over in the mock of becoming wrenchingly sick, spewing vomit sounds repeatedly.

Erin and Curt disengaged their lip lock and glared at the kids in exasperation. The three hunchovers continued their false wretchings.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, _hey_ now, cool it, it's not like we're both eighty here, a couple of prunes making out."

"May as well be," Pahti assessed and then fake-puked yet again.

"Pahti Afahri, don't forget that I know your parents," Erin half-sternly warned the boy.

Pahti straightened up and ceased his strange behavior, "Oh—yes, ma'am, Mrs. Melendez." But he knew that the threat was predominantly empty and a slight smile remained. Jessie and Bea finally acquiesced their mocking sick-play as well—but still giggled a bit.

"That's better," Erin barked lightheartedly. "You kids have studying to do, I'm assuming."

"Science project," Bea revealed.

"Yeah," Jessie chimed in, "We're going to make the coolest DNA strand that Mrs. Adair has ever seen."

"I don't doubt it," Erin agreed with a glimmer to her eyes.

"You kids staying for dinner?" Curt asked, "We're having enchiladas."

"Yes!" Bea blurted with enthusiasm.

"Yes, please," Pahti concurred in equal fervor.

Jessie, however, falsified more vomiting. But then quickly changed her demeanor to good spirits. "I'm just kidding, that sounds great."

"Your friends can have enchiladas, you get a raw potato," Curt doled out with a comically cocked eyebrow.

" _Awww, again?"_

Pahti and Bea chuckled.

"Get out of here, you punkheads, go do your DNA swirly," Erin said to them.

"Dinner at six," Curt announced as the kids were heading further into the house.

As they moved into the next room, Bea commented, "DNA swirly—I like that, that's what we should call our project!"

Jessie added, "Pahti, Bea, and me—off to do the 'DNA Swirleeeee...'"

"Ee-ee-ee!" Pahti belted, and the giggling from the teens revved up yet again.

As the teen's laughter faded further away, Erin and Curt, still in their close embrace, faced each other once more. Erin jokingly said, "Punkheads."

"I know, future of our world, I'm terrified beyond reason," Curt said, "What should we do?"

"Weee...put mind control drugs in their enchiladas."

"See, I _knew_ there was reason why I love you."

She rejoined her lips to his.

Chapter 9

Nicolas Bauer broke from a nightmare that had frozen his soul. The violent jerk of his torso moving upright was enough to also awaken his dear LaShawn. The white of her eyes contrasted heavily with her dark skin. Reacting to his halting movements and desperate gasp, she shot out, "WHAT! WHAT IS IT, NICK?! YOU ALL RIGHT?!"

Fissuring breath after quick breath, Bauer couldn't respond right away. When he finally did manage an utterance, it was not in response to his wife's concerns. "...Oh God...Oh dear God..."

"Nick? _Nick..._ talk to me, honey..." she pleaded, lightly gripping his upper arm.

But he only arched forth bringing his legs up to a fold, his hands to his face in fear. They covered his entire face, as if to do so would blind him from the terror of what he experienced in his slumber.

"Nick..."

Twenty minutes later, the two were downstairs and in the living room, seated shruggingly at the table. LaShawn had brewed some chamomile tea and their smoke-rising mugs of hot liquid rested before them. Nick and LaShawn both had tasseled hair that would certainly need washing in order to whip into presentable shape. The light from above casted the only illumination in the house, and presented unflattering shadows to their dreary eyes.

Bauer spoke to his wife, "It was awful...the worst yet."

"Was it about her again?" LaShawn asked.

He nodded quickly, blinking.

"Tell me. Please."

"If I tell you...I'm afraid you'll start having nightmares."

"I'll deal with it."

"...I was back with the company...back with Ellison, back in that room on the sixth floor of Pear-Paul..."

"And the little girl, the one that's like you."

"...Yeah...She was yet again trapped in that purifier tank...only this time it was like...tumorous, hideous growths were attached to it...like a cancerous heart or a...cocoon of some sort. Strange, horrible cords had grown from it and were hooked right into the machine itself. But not only that...they penetrated the containment and...inserted themselves directly into Jessie. Into her belly, her chest, her arms, her neck, her legs, feet, hands, her face...and her skull—"

"Dear God..." LaShawn dazedly said.

"But that's not the only person it was attached to. That man was there too. The security man—"

"Oliver."

"Oliver, yes...the thing, the tumor, was hooked into him as well. And _he_ was also growing these sickened connectors outward to the tank, to the girl...I don't know if I should go on—"

"No, tell me."

He drew in a bracing breath, let it out. "Two of the connectors were coming from his eyes...and they were lined directly into _her_ eyes. And Oliver...he had his head craned back as if something was commanding his attention upward, commanding _him_...and when he breathed, _Jessie_ breathed—in the same manner, same pace...So, I'm there, but the others aren't there yet—Ellison and the other people who were almost killed that day. And I'm just witnessing this, horrified but unable to do anything to stop what's going on...like somehow I'm complicit in what's happening, like I'm passively not disapproving, even though it sickens me...Finally, the others show up behind me and Oliver, even though he's got these things growing from his eyes, turns his head to our direction, like he can still see. Jessie turns her head to us as well—like _she_ can still see. And I can hear Ellison speak about something but I can't make out what it is, probably because it doesn't matter what he says. But instead of responding to Ellison, Oliver directs his stare, if you wanna call it that, right at me...right at me and he says, 'Do we have a deal then?' And I say to him, 'Deal about what, I don't understand.' And he says, 'You don't have to. You just have to agree to it.' And I tell him, _'No_ , I won't agree to something when I don't know what's involved.' So he tells me this—but not in _his_ voice, in _Stanford's_ voice, 'That's fine, she'll just pay the price then...' And he breathes in deep, opening his mouth _wide_...and out of it comes another tube-like, tumored connector. It starts winding downward like some snake...it touches the glass of the tank...and...just...seems to pass on into it without breaking any of it. Just keeps snaking down and right into Jessie's opened and seemingly waiting mouth. It seems to go down her throat maybe a few inches... _and then_ that bastard, Oliver breathes deep yet again, breathes out...into the tube connecting them...into her...I looked back at Oliver...and I could _see_ a word forming on his forehead...it reads 'BIOHAZARD'...then two letters formed on either of his cheeks..."

"What letters, honey?" LaShawn insisted.

"...'V' and 'X'...for VX nerve gas...I look quickly down at Jessie, as she was when I had last seen her...just a one-year-old, a sweet and frightened child...and in the next instant, she was choking, shaking, convulsing violently, like she was having the world's worst seizure...I could see a sickly brownish-green, horrid smoke come out of her tiny button nose...and that was...right before her skin began to burn off—"

"Okay, stop," she ordered him abruptly. Clearly, this last detail disturbed her too immensely.

"I'm sorry. But you did ask—"

"I know...I know I did..."

"It's been sixteen years, LaShawn...in another year, Ellison is supposed to hand her over to those monsters...And, dammit, I have to do something about it."

Chapter 10

Erin jolted herself into shocked consciousness as her nightmare with the spider, Janice, came to its head. As she did, she shrieked and brought Curt up with her.

"Erin!" he shouted.

She yanked her head to face him with wide eyes and a wrecked expression. She quickly jerked herself into his embrace, holding him as she was on the ledge of a 50-story building. She buried her head in his shoulder and broke out crying in spasming bouts.

"It's okay, I'm here," he tried to sooth, "I'm here."

"Curt," she bawled out, "please, don't leave me!"

"I would never...I would never..."

Ten minutes later, they were lying together; Erin was cuddle up on the right side of Curt's chest. He had his arm around her. Erin had calmed a bit, enough to cease her crying, but her eyes were still watery and reddened around the lids.

She offered, "It was the spider dream again."

"That one, huh?" Curt said, "Been a while since that one cropped up...what do you think brought it up again?"

"I don't know...maybe it was because we were kind of talking about it this evening...maybe."

"That's right, we did kind of, didn't we."

"This time it was so awful, Curt. Usually, it happens to me in the dream exactly as it happened for real...but this was different—this time you _had_ shown up right in the middle of the whole thing. And you _did_ have a big and shiny ax to chop that huge thing to bits...but it didn't matter. Because in the dream it had become so quick, _so,_ like, agile that it just...easily knocked the ax away..."

"And got me?"

"...Yeah...it got you, bit you...and began drinking you up right in front of Jessie and me...and instead of me having just one broken leg, I had two. And one broken arm. And the one that wasn't broken had to hold Jessie...and just simply wait for the spider to finish with you...And I couldn't look away, no matter how hard I tried to close my eyes, it didn't matter. I was forced to watch it tear into you...and you felt it all, you were alive...it was slurping up your blood like...some desperate animal that hadn't seen water in days. It was so disgusting and horrifying...and when it was finally done with you, it came for Jessie and me, still hungry, still wanting more...And again, I was forced to look...as it started on Jessie..." And she wrenched her face back into tears, bunching her eyes shut.

Curt held her tighter and said softly, "It's just a dream, honey...I'm okay, Jessie's okay...we're all going to be fine, okay?"

She nodded briskly, as if not to do so would be jinxing his words to her. But then she said, "But the most horrible thing about it...was that, instead of screaming and turning away from the spider...Jessie...actually grabbed for it...like she wanted it for a pet or something...Oh God, Curt, I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep tonight."

"That's okay, I'll stay up with you, girl...if that's what you need."

"Hey, you called me 'girl'...you haven't done that since before we got together."

"...I always did that because I usually got nervous around you."

"I guess I got under your skin with this one, didn't I?"

"Maybe slightly," he admitted in a rising tone betraying his sense of unnerving.

Chapter 11

While both Bauer and Erin were being robbed of precious sleep as a result of their traumatic nightmares, Dean Belaski, the newly-minted forty-five-year-old, was dreaming on.

Or more accurately nightmaring on.

He was back in the car with Curt, Palmer, and the driver—the massive one from the soulless den of Pear-Paul.

And again, they were attempting to murder the driver any way they could.

" _Oh God, I just killed a man,"_ Palmer would say a minute later after the driver had ghastly expired. After all three had played their part in ending the behemoth. And again, Palmer would profusely wretch out the door as Curt and Dean rapid-fired desperate breaths. Palmer would swing back up once more and jokingly threatened to fire his compatriots next to him while chiming in his own respiratory battle. _"Let's all get hammered—"_

But then something changed—and certainly not for the better.

Instead of remaining secured and anonymous as they had in the real situation, people began to come about—peaking into the car windows as they came closer. Many had very confused yet disturbed looks on their faces— _"What_ is _that? Is that a dead guy in the front seat? Is that guy alive?"_ one would say. Another: _"Oh my God, look at that guy, his tongue and eyes are bulging! He looks blue...Oh my God!"_ Another: _"Holy crap, look at those bullet holes in the roof!"_

And then more arrived, anxious and concerned, converging on the car with roving curious eyes and mouths gaping. These people now flagged down more bystanders who were filing out of the hotel, the seminar now concluded and letting out. And soon there was screaming, and shouting to the three men inside the car to come out and answer for what they had done.

Dean, Curt, and Palmer were petrified. None of them could say a word as to what to do now. They were all in the backseat, the driver's corpse still plopped in the driver's chair—and no way to get him out of it in time. Not before the surrounding crowd outside tried to enter and yank the living men out of the car.

Unless, of course, they could lock all the doors in the space of a second, have Curt hop over the seat, displace the driver into the passenger side, and start up the car to drive far away from the ever-increasing mob.

Which is exactly what the three put into action inside Dean's dreaming mind. The problem was—many of the individuals outside had folders with them. Binders of hardened vinyl surface that wouldn't have much of a problem successfully bashing through a car window, either side glass or windshield.

The doors were now locked—but the binder carriers had come forth to begin slamming their makeshift weapons into the half-inch thick glass.

Moving the corpse was not an easy chore for Curt, despite the harried motivation of Palmer and Dean screaming to hurry! Quicker! _Quicker!_

The glass was beginning its spider web crackings from the generous impacts of the swung binders. The screaming and shouting outside was immense, deafening.

Curt had moved the driver over enough to sit himself properly in the driver's seat. But as he reached to place the already running car in "drive" gear, the side and windshield protectants exploded inward with sprays of glass shards. Specks of razored projectiles stung both of Curt's eyes and blinded his vision. The mobs had broken through—enough to unlock and open Curt's door, drag him out of his seat, and pull him into the hollering crowd.

Dean and Palmer howled Curt's name—but were cut off from this by bursts of glass showering them. Through the newly-made holes in the windows, worming and maddened arms jammed through to grab at their shirts. Other speeding hands unlocked their doors, shuddered them open, and violently extracted the two from the backseat.

Now all three were out on the open and being viciously handled by many clenched hands. At least two hundred people were surrounding them, bringing them forcingly to a central point where there could be no escape.

One man of the encircling group shouted, _"You killed a man! All three of you took a man's life!"_ And more indistinct cries rang out.

Dean attempted to reason with them. _"Listen to me! There isn't much time! My family is in serious danger! They'll be tortured and killed if I don't—"_

" _Shut your fat, lying mouth, you filthy murderer!"_ shouted some frenzied women who looked like a seasoned, long-haul trucker.

" _I'm_ not lying _to you!"_

But in the next split-second, Dean was struck hard in the cheek by a cracking fist. He moaned abruptly and harshly.

" _Oh_ God, _my eyes..."_ Curt wailed in piercing agony. He was bleeding from the corneas.

Palmer roared, _"Listen to me! You've got this wrong! That man in the car was going to kill us! He had a gun!"_

" _We found the gun!"_ someone near the back of the crowd and near the car boomed. _"It was in the backseat with_ you!"

" _That's not what it looks—! OOF!"_ Palmer belched in agony as he was socked in the belly. His head lulled forth with a jerking motion. He couldn't double over for the people about him had a firm grip on both his arms and shoulders. Someone behind took a clench of his hair and brought his face back up.

" _Stop your lying!"_ another man ordered and others corroborated the sentiment with _"Yeah!"_ and _"Tell it to 'em!"_ and so on. _"Just admit to us now that you killed that man in cold blood!"_

" _Yeah, confess now—so we can get on with the judgment, with punishment!"_ another belted.

" _Confess!"_

" _You killed him!"_

" _Admit it now!"_

Dean yelled above it all, _"What is this, a courtroom?! You're all judge, jury, and executioner?! This is insanity! That's what this is—!"_

" _This is_ street _justice—the only real justice there is!"_ announced a mob member. Many around him signaled their approval with nodding heads and _"Yeah!"_ echoing all about. _"And you three_ are _on trial here...and will be dealt with as_ we _see fit—and there ain't a_ damn _thing anybody can do about it! Least of all you three scums of the earth!"_

" _Yeah!"_ echoed through the mob again from various mouths.

" _What should we do with them?!"_

" _I think it's pretty obvious, really...we just simply...rip 'em to pieces—!"_

In the next instant, the crowd squeezed in from all points of the central clearing and repeatedly pounded on the three accused. The hits were rapid and damaging. And while this was happening, others were madly trudging in to grab a hold of their legs and pull them upward—so that now they were horizontal and hovering above the ground. With each limb of the three in the grip of a crowd member or two, the accused were stretched thin; the barrage of poundings to their body raged on. All three were screaming in abject misery.

" _Do it!"_ someone shouted.

" _Yes!_ Do _it!"_ another barked.

And so it started.

The limbs were being pulled with taut force...

And Dean, Curt, and Palmer's screams heightened with the insane, torturous ripping of their—

Dean shot awake in tight jerkings of his entire form; a bursting "AH!" tore from his mouth. It took him a few seconds to mentally adjust to the fact that he was in the here and now. That it was his apartment he was in, in his own bed with sheets permeated of his body sweat.

And not in massive crowd of psychotic, self-possessed appendage-as-trophy-takers.

When he had adjusted his mind to fully realize his surroundings, he checked the alarm clock's readout on the night table next to him. It read 2:42 in the morning. He turned his gaze from it and cinched his eyelids together, burying his head in his hands. He folded his body inward to better comfort himself—both physically and emotionally. He drew in a breath, held it for an instant, then let it go.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting slack on his couch in the living room; a glass of half-drank water rested in his right hand. He stared off in front of him, not really focusing on anything in that direction. His thoughts were lost, swirling around in the mental re-enactment of the dream he had just endured.

It was times like these, ironically, that he was glad he lived alone. The last thing Dean desired was to have to explain his dream to someone. To have a significant other become highly despondent of his recurring nightmares and demand that he seek some professional help.

Conversely, however, he was grateful that the others who lived through the real nightmare of Pear-Paul had those special someones to aid them through their own resulting traumas. To make them try to forget what they had lived through and start becoming whole persons again.

But Dean could not forget. Couldn't move on. How could he? When the dreams, the nightmares, persisted year after year—and each time masking itself as unknowing of the time before; each time masquerading as such tangible and nerve-wrenching reality. When Dean was hit, when he was torn limb from limb, he felt the enormous surges of pain as if they were real and in no way imagined.

No, he certainly couldn't forget...not until something big had been done. Something that had been years in the planning.

While it was true that his supervisors had specifically, and in no uncertain terms, restricted Dean from putting together an investigation of Pear-Paul, Dean couldn't let that go either. Officially, he was concentrating on other organizations with ConNow's time and technological resources.

_Un_ officially, Dean had never stopped gathering information on Pear-Paul, its dealings, and who were involved.

And what he had amassed in the years hence was extensive and detailed...and intensely disturbing.

It had cost him a small fortune—a good amount of his potential savings—to obtain the tech advances needed to search every corner, every tidbit of everything about Pear-Paul's organization. From its most crucial employees to its sub-organizations and affiliates to its future plans to dominate the corporate resources of the world.

He also had kept a generous list on file of the numerous political connections Pear-Paul had firmly under their thumb. Their puppets as Dean correctly labeled them. This was one of the disturbing areas of his investigation—because it included actual cabinet members of the U.S. Congress and Senate. Not to mention Parliament in Great Britain. And The Proletariat in Russia. Any third world country you could throw a rock at had members within the file's list. Pear-Paul was just simply everywhere, _everywhere._

In the course of his off-the-books investigation, Dean learned to be something that, sadly, he was supposed to be railing against in his "on-the-books" responsibilities—he had become a world-class hacker. He now specialized, to his shame, in ghosting servers, in piggybacking on Pear-Paul employee program users.

In discovering just what the soulless cogs of Pear-Paul have been up to, and what they had in the works.

This aspect of his unauthorized probe also had a profoundly unnerving effect on Dean. Particularly in the discovery that, since the spider angle had been abandoned, the company's now vice-president, Stanford Jordan had put into play an even more sickening and dangerous plan of using DNA juiced-up wasps.

Had Dean merely come upon this bit of craziness without ever having encountered Pear-Paul's genetic handiwork before, he never in an infinite lifetime would have taken the proposal seriously.

But he had seen that type of nonsensical insanity up-close, in person. Had witnessed the freak spider with his very own eyes—the corpse of it at any rate. Because Curt had chosen him to be the very first to come and see what had nearly ended his sister... _and_ his precious niece!

Curt had done this before calling the police because he needed to confirm that he actually was seeing what he was seeing. That he wasn't going buggo in the brain somehow, fallout of his trauma from a month before.

But no, Dean saw it too, after hugging Jessie tight and checking on his unconscious sister. Dean had seen the obese-bodied spider, the black widow sprawled over the wrecked outhouse—and thought perhaps he was losing his own grip on reality.

But soon he had to come to grips with the abominable sight and began to examine the enormous thing from as many angles as he could. Eventually he got in real close to the head and discovered the under-jutting of the wooden makeshift weapon Erin obviously had jammed into the insect. It was firmly planted into the segmental divide between the head and ballooned hind quarter of the corpse.

Then went back to Curt and said, "It's there, buddy boy...you're not losing it...let's call 'em."

And there was yet another mind-bending factor that caused Dean to take the newer Pear-Paul initiative deadly serious: it had already been used to tragic effect. Within the last fifteen years there had been several corporate executives from Pear-Paul rival corporations that had been attacked and killed by these aerial insect abominations. The toxicology reports had always come back with gross amounts of wasp venom injected into the bloated victims.

And with each death, Dean had wanted to warn the companies, the executives in danger well beforehand. But he knew that he would never be taken seriously—or he might be tracked himself and blamed for the past incidents involving the wasp attacks.

The best he could do was to mount enough information on Pear-Paul to finally and incontrovertibly bring them to their knees. It certainly wasn't easy as Pear-Paul was well known for covering its tracks, making things look like they were accidents...or silencing those who might bring a serious federal investigation against them.

But Dean had been working diligently for the past fifteen to sixteen years. And he now had a solid plan of action, an angle which might allow him some damning influence inside the executive walls of Pear-Paul.

And it came in the form of a man named Boradin Grishenko.

Chapter 12

The airport was a packed nightmare, and that didn't serve as a hopeful omen for Bauer's self-assigned mission. His wife had accompanied him to the entrance and was now standing in front of him, embracing him, staring into his eyes.

She said, "Last chance to forget all this and crawl back into bed with me..."

"God, that sounds tempting," Bauer said back as he gazed into her own eyes.

"But you have to do this, don't you?" she asked rhetorically, flatly.

He answered anyway, "'Fraid so."

"So what happens if you can't find this man, if it's all just a wild goose chase?"

"I've got some pretty strong leads based on a reliable source. But even so, even if it takes longer, I have—"

"Have to find him, I know. And what if he tries to kill you?"

"Hopefully, I can reason with him before that happens."

With that, she buried her face despondently into his chest. "Why did I have to marry one of you?"

"You mean a no-good cracker boy?"

"Yeah, that too."

And they laughed.

"I better get in line if I'm going to make the flight."

"Take a later one."

"Don't tempt me."

She lifted her face up from his chest to stare an intensity into his eyes. They drew their lips together and kissed pressingly, longingly. They stayed in their embrace for a good half minute before gently separating. When they did, they still tenderly rested each other's faces against one another.

"You'd better come back in one piece," she warned, "or I'll find this Grishenko myself...and he won't see _me_ coming."

"I believe it." He smiled a bit but then said, "Gotta go."

"Okay."

They kissed again, shorter this time, hugged firmly, then let go, staring at each other for as long as they could before they got a certain distance away. Bauer filed into the check in line while his wife, LaShawn, made her way back to the parking structure and her car.

Chapter 13

"Hey, Bea, psst, Bea," Percy whispered in study hall to Beatrice as she sat in front of him. She turned from her notes and textbook to glance at her vague acquaintance.

"What?" she whispered back.

"Can you come over here for a moment?"

"Wait a second..." She gathered her things and brought them over to his table to sit near him. "You need help on this?" She pointed to his assignment.

"Huh? Oh, sure. But I also wanted to talk to you about a friend of mine. Can I?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess," she answered, shrugging.

"You know my friend, Michaelis Bernard?"

"Yeah, I've seen him around."

"What do you think of him?"

"I don't. I don't know him. Not really, anyway."

"Well he thinks you're, like, awesomely cute."

"That's nice."

"No, I mean, like, _really._ He _really_ wants to meet you. What do you think?"

She looked off with contemplative eyes. She pursed her lips to reinforce her judging of the information. "...Mmm—I guess so. Tell him to meet me at Kerrigan's on Saturday in the late afternoon. I'll be there with Suzie Moran."

"I'll tell him. He'll be pretty happy about it and all, trust me."

"Cool. Now, you ready to get to work on this?" She motioned with her pointed finger at the school work.

"Hm? Yeah...I guess," he answered without much enthusiasm.

Chapter 14

"I still don't understand why you have to do this," Erin said to her brother as he was preparing to leave for the airport. For a plane that would take him across the ocean. To Europe. Where another plane would take him to Italy.

Dean responded with, "You know, it's just something I have to do, Ricks. I never really dealt with certain things, I've pushed them away for far too long. And I think this trip will help me cope with them better. You know, a change of scenery, a new perspective, and all that. I just have to get away."

"But this is so sudden, you just spring this on me—"

"I know, I know," he said as he was zipping up his bags.

"Are you even going to say goodbye to everyone?"

"You'll have to do it for me, my flight leaves in two and half hours." He zipped up the last bag and fully erected himself to face Erin; he took a breath.

"Dean, did it ever occur to you that...maybe you should let somebody in and...I don't know, as time goes by, open up to them—"

"Oh God, is this about Curt's cousin again? Look, she's a nice girl, she's smart and terrific, but I'm just not in that place right now."

"You're _forty-five_ , Dean."

"Don't remind me."

"All I'm saying is, why go somewhere far away when your solution could be right here staring you in the face. I mean, look at me, that whole horrible, unreal situation nearly destroyed me. But because I had the guts to let somebody in—"

"No, no, that's different and you know it. You got heavily involved with someone who was also _in_ that whole nightmare. There was a connection there right from the start. How's this girl who I barely know even going to understand exactly what we went through. How is she even going to _want_ to understand it? The gigantic spider, the super evil, worldwide corporation, the whole thing with the chosen...Jessie—"

"Now wait a second," Erin warned, "that's not fair, don't use Jess as an excuse to run away from living a life."

"I'm not..." Another breath shot from his mouth. "Look, _please_ understand, I _have_ to do this, that's all I can tell you about myself right now. I have to...okay?"

"No...but all right...Come back better, or I'll grind them into dust."

"You always say that," he said with a half-grin.

"And I always mean it."

"Gotta go, Ricks," he said as he hefted a couple of carry-on bags. "Help me with this?" he asked, motioning to the bigger cases.

"Sure," she said with not much flare.

Chapter 15

The public relations representative for the Landers Corporation, Xander Briggs was leaving work for the evening. It was around 10:15 PM, a typical leave time for this workaholic. Briggs had a steady girl, but she was clearly a second tier priority; Landers Corp and its business dealings would always take precedence. Even for a forty-five-year-old, Briggs still had no intentions of marrying, settling down, and gracing the world with more of his bloodline. He was still young, still in shape, and always moving like a man twenty years his junior. No need to slow down—particularly since he hadn't even put his ultimate plan in action: creating his own high-powered PR firm. With himself as CEO.

It was this driven aspect of his psyche that filled the forefront thoughts as he made a path for his car. There were very few other vehicles sitting in the parking lot used specifically for the employees of Landers. And Briggs rather liked it that way—both in the very early morning to this time of night. It allowed him easy access to his vehicle as well as easy access in and out of the lot. _And_ he could think as he strolls peacefully to his ride, without the distraction of other Landers cogs endlessly droning on about their social problems. He could seriously ponder his fervent ambitions to run his own company. He almost had the right amount of start-up capital in play. If he could help win the new auto contracts over that spoiled glut of a conglomerate, Pear-Paul, Landers would dominate in its field. And Briggs would be paid more for his genius efforts.

And the move to create Xander Public Relations would be made. And that move was close now, so close he could taste the power.

He was twenty paces from his sports car when something winged and buzzing lunged down from the shadow of the night-sky to land directly on his upper back and neck. Before he even had time to react in panic, the enlargened insectoid dug its tail stinger deep into his spine, injected its full load of venom, released its dripping stinger, and, quick as a whip, flew off into the dark once more.

And as the freakish thing had done this last part, Briggs viciously bucked, his arms jerked lamely out in front of him. In the next instant, it was extremely difficult for him to breath; his lungs gulped in increasingly tighter spasms. His entire form began to tremor and convulse as the wasp's poison worked its way into his entire system. He began to falter to the ground, his face locked in wide-eyed, O-mouthed shock. He plopped to his knees but barely felt it as more immediate, body-wide misery had engulfed him. He fell forward and sprawled himself dumbly to the concrete. By this point, his breathing had been reduced to brief snips of gasping, wheezing air, trying to reach his poison-swelled lungs at one second intervals.

Now two seconds.

Now three.

Five.

Now an infinite gap.

Chapter 16

"Hey, psst, Jessica..." Percy whispered to the near seventeen-year-old Jess Belaski Melendez as both were toiling away in study hall. Once again he was seated behind his mark.

"What do you want, Percy?" she asked in a low yet annoyed tone. She knew that Percy was one of Bernard's close friends.

"Can I talk to you?"

"You are talking to me."

"I mean about something important."

"So do it, talk." She still eyed her work in front of her.

He switched tables and sat next to her. "Thanks. I wanted to talk to you about a friend of mine."

Still not looking away from her work, she asked flatly, "What friend—and don't say Bernard."

"Now see, I've always wondered about that—what have you got against him? Did he do something against you one time or what?"

Now she faced him. "Percy...what has Bernard said about me? When he mentions me or sees me, does he reveal anything _specific_?"

"Well...he says he thinks that you're super cute and stunning and all."

"Right, whatever," she blurted with a roll of her eyes as she returned her attention to her assignment.

"No, _seriously."_

"I find that extremely hard to believe."

"There it is again, this prejudice. _Why_ do you find it so hard to believe? Has he looked at you weird or something?"

"No, but...I don't know, let's drop it, okay?"

"Well see now, I can't, he's my best bud and I'm—I've already told him I would talk him up to you."

" _He_ wants to associate with _me?_ Take me out on a date? Unbelievable..."

"What's so hard to believe? He's a good guy, you're a cool girl, why shouldn't you hook up—or at least try to?"

" _He's_ a good guy..." she echoed disbelievingly.

" _Yes_ , I wouldn't hang out with him otherwise. I really do think you've got the wrong idea about him—for some reason or other. Lord knows, I'd never be able to figure it out. All I know is, he's my bud, and he seems to be interested in you big time. So what do you say? Come on, _please?_ It would really mean a lot to him..."

"I don't know, Percy. I really don't see it happening."

" _Pleeeeeeease?"_ And he gave her the sad puppy eyes.

She turned from her work and caught the pathetic yet comical look. She cracked a tiny half-grin but pursed her lips in the process. She wasn't one to like to be goaded or manipulated by anyone. But she didn't want to be wholly unreasonable either. So she thought things through a bit: if Bernard wanted to meet her, it would have to be around a circle of friends that she trusted. Pahti and Bea for sure. Not that she was terribly frightened of meeting him on her own—or anyone for the matter. She had been taking martial art lessons since she was five, and felt confident that she could handle herself—beyond someone brandishing a serious weapon, that is.

But it still felt right to have her most trusted friends about her.

"Would he," she started, "be cool with talking to me around my friends? Like Bea and Pahti—"

"Well _actually,_ he wanted to just meet you one on one; otherwise, he'd be just too nervous—"

"Michaelis Bernard...boy of a thousand friends...?"

"I know, I know, go figure, right?"

Her eyes narrowed. _"Wherrre_ does he want to meet?"

"At Bittner Park, near the swings."

"When?"

"Today? Right after school?" He lifted his eyebrows.

"...Tell him I'll meet him—but only for ten minutes—and _only_ if there're other people around at the park. If no one is around, then I don't do it."

" _Hey—_ there're _always_ people at Bittner."

Her expression lightened a bit—as she realized that this was certainly true.

Chapter 17

"Hey, hi," Bernard abruptly offered with a warm yet pensive smile to Jessie as she approached him. He was sitting on a dual-chain supported swing, but now that he had seen her, he rose quickly and stood a tad fidgety. She kept a distance of about fifteen feet away from him. Even at that spacing, she felt tensed and jittery from sensing his "otherness." Like something just wasn't right.

"Percy doesn't know then?" she said more accusing than asking.

"Um—no, he doesn't know. I didn't want to freak him out, I value my friends sticking around."

"Sure...so... _you_ like me, huh? Wanna date me and all that?"

He smiled while hissing a breathy laugh. "No, I'm sorry about that—that was more for Percy to sort of...legitimize our meet...So, I'm guessing it's just as difficult for you and Pahti as it is for me...being who we are..."

"It's no picnic," she announced curtly.

"No, it isn't...but I wanna ask you something... _why?_ Why am I like this, why are _you_ like that? Why does this thing define us so much?"

"I don't know. Neither does Pahti. But it is what it is, so..."

"Look, I've been thinking a lot lately. We could, like programmed monkeys, simply accept our preordainedness or whatever you wanna call it...or...maybe we could actually talk to each other and find out who we really are."

"Why didn't you want Pahti here too?"

"Once again, I had to sell the meet to Percy, and he knows I don't swing that way, so..."

"I see."

"And besides, this is difficult enough with just you here; baby steps, you know."

She didn't respond, merely zigzagged her eyes once.

"Anyway," he pushed on, "My point in all of this is—just because something has been put upon us by...whatever controls all of this, it doesn't—at least to me anyway—have to dictate how we treat each other. I mean...has it ever occurred to you that this...automatic wedge between us was maybe put there so that we could push past it and _maybe_ come together anyway? I mean, think about it, do you like being totally programmed to be one way when you're capable of so much more? Think of something like, uh, uh, a whale, right? A whale was predestined to just swim around the ocean, even though it's been proven that they're capable of great intelligence. But what if somebody came and allowed them a way to express that greatness. What could things be like after that? That's why I wanted to meet you and see if _we_ could be more than what something or someone told us we should be."

She looked away from him and stared off at nothing, lost in thought, considering his proposal. Finally she brought a hard gaze back to him. "How am I to know that I can trust you?"

"You can't, I guess—anymore than I can trust you...but ask yourself this: where would all of us be right now if the world simply accepted the prejudices it was brainwashed into believing? We'd still be owning people, wouldn't we? Or killing millions like The Holocaust or Stalin. Do _you_ like being told exactly who you are and what to think about something—or _someone?"_

She had to admit inwardly that he had a point—though she still remained silent about conceding it.

He added, "Listen, you don't strike me as someone who is a coward...and neither am I. Let's take a conscious and slow leap into something new...and maybe we could be, I don't know, the start of a better understanding and coexistence between both our kinds."

"But we repulse each other, Bernard."

"I'm not saying it'll be easy, Jess, but maybe, after so much time, the effect we have on each other will be more bearable...perhaps not even that noticeable after a good while...I'm willing to try if you are. In fact, I have to try, I can't simply be defined by this condition, I have to be more." He gave her an intense, purposeful look. "How 'bout you?"

She pursed her lips and stared down slightly as she seriously considered his invite. "Slowly," she finally said, "very slowly, we will try this."

He looked downward himself and began nodding. "...Makes the most sense..." Then he dug into his pocket—which made Jessica's eyes widen and tense a bit in apprehensive fear. But all he pulled out was a small wad of paper, which he tossed at her. She caught it as he was saying, "That's my cell number. Call me whenever so we can find out more about each other."

She pocketed the wad and said, "Sure. Well I have to go." She gave him a bland smile then turned to leave.

But as she did, he asked, "How'd you do on your finals?"

She turned back and said, "Still doing 'em. But I know I aced the trig test. And social studies."

"One of the cool things about being one of us, isn't it? Being whip-smart when it comes to the academics."

"Yeah...talk to ya," she flatly, casually left off and turned back to walk away.

"Sure." He stared on after her; his eyes filled with possibilities.

Chapter 18

Dean was deftly tired.

He had been flying almost non-stop for the past two days before finally reaching his destination of Roma, Italy. After being wedged into a packed and pressurizing airliner for so many hours, he was very much glad to have landed and finally stretched his legs. Not to mention being able to use a non-ultra-cramped restroom. He had collected his bags from the baggage claim conveyor and exited the structure to hail a cab. He instructed the driver to take him to the Montessori Hotel where he already had a room booked for himself.

And a particular guest.

Who had arrived ahead of him.

The driver said, "Sí, prego." And drove him on.

The drive was to only last roughly twenty minutes, but in that time, Dean would contemplate all that was to come. In his wildest imaginings he did not see this personal mission of his ever realistically panning out. In all likelihood, it was more apt to end up simply with both he and his cohort killed—and not in any quick, pleasant way. Still, he had to come—all options no matter how illogical and preposterous had to be explored.

And the one they formulated seemed to be their best option, their best chance. It's high probability of failure aside, Dean just wished that he didn't have to travel half-way around the world to see it through, to initiate the insane mission. The one years in the planning.

The driver helped Dean unload his bags from the trunk of the car and, after being paid, bid Dean _ciao_ and drove away. Dean grabbed a pole-framed luggage trolley, placed all of his bags upon it, and made his way to the hotel room on the fourth floor of the Montessori. He didn't bother to check in at the desk for he knew that his partner in this wild scheme had already done so. And was awaiting Dean's arrival.

Dean knocked on the door of room 432 and heard footsteps come near. They ceased and the door swung open to reveal the expecting one.

Nicolas Bauer.

"Hello, Dean."

"Nick."

"Please, come on in."

And so Dean did, pulling his full trolley along after him. Once the door was cleared, Bauer closed it shut and approached Dean as he was allotting a viable spot for his trolley. He would leave it there for the time being. He turned to face Bauer.

"Welcome to Italy," Bauer said without much hype.

"You mean, welcome to Insaneville, population: us?"

"Right—that's, that's what I meant. You wanna sit, have a drink or something?"

"No, I'm okay."

Bauer nodded with a blink. "Well, I assume since you're actually here now that we are a go."

"We're a go. But I assume _you_ have probably made the same personal wager, like I have, that we're both gonna die before this even gets off the ground."

"Oh, of course. But there's nothing for it. Are you sure you don't need a drink? I know I did when I got here."

"...Yeah, all right. Drinks, both of us. We'll drink and talk if you don't mind."

Once the mini-bottled concoctions were in their hands and both seated facing one another, Dean said, "So I know that we have gone over this several times already...but humor me anyway."

"Sure. _If_ our intel is correct then we will meet a woman named Alessandra Pazzini tomorrow at 4PM at Corino's Bistro. She will screen us and hopefully tell us where to find Grishenko and when. His fee will likely be upwards from twenty to possibly eighty thousand Euros for a contract. We may have to have a down payment upon meeting Pazzini—which you will carry with you and pass to her if needed. Ten should do it but I have more just in case.

"If all goes well, you will make the meet with Grishenko in the guise of wanting to hire him to kill Stanford. You will watch his reaction to this— _and_ hopefully he doesn't want to end you horribly as a result of your proposal.

"But if somehow Grishenko is accepting of our plan and chooses to work with us, then we'll travel back to the states, reinsert Grishenko, if possible, into the good graces of Stanford's branch of Pear-Paul. And then see if he can't extract Stanford."

"And then," Dean added without much enthusiasm, "we try to convince Stanford to abandon the agreement he forced on us regarding Jessie. And we get it in writing for whatever that's worth."

"More than you would know, actually. They're high-powered businessmen who live by the signed contract."

"So do you."

"Yes, so do we. Which is why Ellison will accept it as an out as well. And the young woman who we both care about a great deal will be free of this total madness.

"All clear on the details then?"

"Oh yes, I'm quite psyched," Dean deadpanned, "especially about meeting Grishenko."

"You'll do fine, I think. Although I'm sorry I can't initiate or back you up, for as you know—"

"He'll sense you coming, I know."

"I'm also sorry...that you've had to keep things so secretive from everyone, especially Erin. I can't imagine how this has affected you over the years. When I told you about things, it really was with the intention that we would have found a way to resolve this long before now."

Dean looked away in restrained uneasiness. "...Yeah...if Grishenko hadn't have been so difficult to track down...and so many distractions from work...hm...this really has been...so much of my life..." He dazedly, slowly shook his head.

"There is one more thing that I should tell you...your parents knew."

Dean returned his stare to Bauer. "They did?"

"Yes. They were in the same room with us when the deal was made."

"Why...didn't they tell us?"

"Why didn't you tell Erin?"

"...Because it would have made her crazy and paranoid—and sick inside everyday."

"Like it's done to you."

"My God...what they must have endured to keep this from us...or believe they have in my case...No _wonder_ my mother was so—"

"I know. Ellison told me."

"So you still talk to him."

"Once in a great while...As much as has happened, with all that we've done...I still respect and love him...as I do all my kind. And all they hope to protect. These others, the Pear-Pauls of the world—they have taken a great deal from us...years that I could have stayed with Ellison and the others to see a better corporate situation in the world...Perhaps you could have found someone, started a family, and known some real happiness in your life...

"And they did it without conscience or consideration to any but their own... _So..._ here we are, resolved to see this through."

"Here we are."

"Another drink?"

"Oh yeah," Dean replied emphatically.

"Last one, though. Big day tomorrow."

"You mean I can't just drink my way through all of this?"

Bauer smiled and hissed a small laugh.

Chapter 19

There was a knock at the front door of Curt and Erin's house, to which Erin answered. When she opened the door wide to see who it was, she found Tobin Ellison, now in his early seventies, staring back at her. "Hello, Erin."

"Mr. Ellison," she tensely returned, "Hello. Been quite a long time..."

"Yes it has. You look well, still young."

"Forties doesn't feel young."

"No, it doesn't...until you hit your seventies."

"What can I do for you?" she asked flatly, guardedly.

"Do you have a moment to talk? I'd like to offer you something if I could."

"I have to be getting things set for dinner pretty soon here; my turn to cook tonight and all, so..."

"I understand, what I have to say will only take a few moments of your time."

"Is this about Jessie? Because if it is, I'd rather she not be anymore apart of what happened—"

"I assure you, Erin, that what I have to propose is only in terms of a youth outreach program that we offer to all young chosen—and to all those who are sympathetic to our ideals."

"What _are_ your ideals, Mr. Ellison?"

"Please, may I come in to speak to you for just a few minutes? If after you hear me out about our offer and don't think its appropriate, I won't come again about it."

She stood for a moment in uneasy and contemplative silence...then finally announced, "All right, come in." And she allowed him to enter. She closed the door and ushered him into the living room. When they reached it, she offered him a seat, he took one and so did she. They faced each other. Both were leaned forward.

"How is your business, Mr. Ellison?" Erin asked evenly.

"Treading water. We've always had our difficulties but it's never been the same without the other half of our company's namesake."

"Bauer's not there anymore?"

"No, he left years ago, sadly."

"Do you still keep in touch with him?"

"Now and then."

"But you kept his name in the company's title?"

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, his presence is still felt within our organization—particularly in some of our federal and state funded programs...such as the one I wish to purpose to you regarding your daughter."

"Which is what, specifically?"

"Well first, let me say that this is not a military auxiliary—we don't cart them away into some secluded camp facility, it's nothing that sanctioned. The kids stay home with their parents if they have them. And they continue to go to school whenever they normally attend. What we simply offer is a support group to help the younger of us come to terms with any questions or concerns they may have. Which brings me to ask you, has Jess ever come to you with any difficulties regarding her special status?"

"Here and there. Mostly, it's 'why am I so much smarter than any of the others?'"

"That does follow. Yet has she skipped grades?"

"No. Refuses to. Wants to stay with her friends in the same grade."

"Also follows. Any bouts of depression?"

"No more than anyone else, I suppose."

"That's good. What are her hobbies, her favorite activities, if you don't mind me asking?"

" _Well..._ " Erin looked off, accessing. "...she likes books, ummm—"

"What books?"

"History books mostly, she highly fascinated with all things World War Two. But there's novels too: Steinbeck, Christie, King, Grisham."

"Sports or outdoor activities?"

"Martial arts. Been at it since she was five, but mostly for fun, I think."

"I see. Well, if she's interested in learning other techniques of martial arts and self defense, then we do have affiliates who are willing to train her—and, I might add, at no cost to you."

"I see. Are you fishing for my approval to turn her into some kind of soldier, Mr. Ellison?"

"Hardly— _unless_ that's what you and she want. Again, let me stress that this is a support group and in no way mandatory for someone with her special ilk. All we do is offer possibilities. Sometimes it can be very difficult for someone in both your positions to deal with this kind of thing. You, yourself, could attend with her and possibly speak with other adults who are parents of chosen. Again, it's up to you, what you're comfortable with..." He briefly did a _what else can I tell you_ gesture with spread out arms and hands while stating, "...I guess that's about all I came to say." He rose from his chair causing Erin to do the same. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card to hand to Erin. "This is my card but I've also written my personal number on the back. Please call me if you have any questions...or if you just need to talk."

"Thank you," she said politely as she accepted the card. "I'll see you to the door." So she did, opening it for him and allowing him to pass through.

But before he fully passed, he turned to face Erin and asked gravely, "One more question, if I may: have you or Jess had any intense or recurrent nightmares?"

"We did at first, but in the last several years it hasn't been that big of a problem."

"That's good, I'm glad for your family's resilience. I...I want you to know that I think that you are all truly remarkable individuals. Many others might have folded under what you all went through."

"Well, I look at it this way—a really bad wound is very painful at the time it happens. But soon, that wound turns into a scar. And scars don't hurt, do they? Even though they remind us of the wound."

"That's a very healthy way of looking at things. Something to be admired...like I said, please call if you need anything."

"Thank you."

"Good evening, Erin," he said as he turned back and left down the sidewalk.

Chapter 20

"Hey, thanks for meeting me here," Bernard announced to Bea as he took a seat next to her and her friend. "I wasn't sure if you were going to."

Kerrigan's was crowded on a Saturday afternoon with its typical assortment of pool players, lunchers, coffee aficionados, group socializers, and a few vintage video game players. The place was buzzing with various sounds.

Bea introduced her friend to Bernard, "This is Suzie Moran."

"Hey, Suzie."

"Hey...so you like my friend here, huh?" Suzie blurted thoughtlessly.

"Oh my God, Suze," Bea barked, embarrassed; her eyes bugged as she quickly faced her friend. "Seriously?"

Bernard smiled and issued a brief laugh.

Suzie defended with, _"What?_ That _is_ why he's here, right?" She eyed Bernard and echoed, _"Right?"_

"Well, uh..."

But Bea saved with, "HEY, miss social graces, THREE ICED COFFEES. ASAP."

" _Fine,"_ Suzie said with annoyance, "Miss touchy..." And she uprooted herself from her chair to make her way over to the food ordering counter.

"Sorry about that," Bea said to Bernard.

He merely shook his head casually, still holding his amused smile. "It's totally fine."

"It's the first day with her new brain."

"Ah, well, that explains it. But you know, it kinda sounded to me like she was just looking out for you a little bit."

"I suppose," she said with a roll of the eyes.

"So how did you two become...?"

"Oh, we were brownies in the same troop, so..."

"I see. Still involved with all that scout stuff now or...?"

"Not really. There's so much work to do in school these days."

"Psh, tell me about it."

"You know what my dad tells me? He looks at my work load and says, 'My _God,_ I never had this much work when I was in high school.'"

"It's like the global competition thing, from what I've heard. Kids over in Asian countries are doing, like, way better than we are in academics. Gives them the edge in the job market and all."

"Well, they can have it, I just wanna get some extra sleep."

"I know, right? It's like, 'Where are those coffeeees?'"

She giggled a bit.

He changed up with, "I like your eyes, I can't tell exactly what color they are though..." He bobbed in a bit closer to her to focus better on her irises. "Sometimes they seem grey, but then blue or green."

"That's because there're so many colors mixed in. I've _always_ admired your eyes though. In fact there have been conversations about them in our circles, if you didn't know."

"I didn't, what do they say?"

"That your eyes are—" And she got theatrically dramatic, "—the _dreamiest_ of ocean blue." And she giggled again in jest.

He joined in but responded, "They are blue, I'm afraid we couldn't mistake 'em for anything else."

"You're right on that." Her giggle subsided. "So listen...I don't mean to spoil the good times here but, aren't you going out with Jennifer?"

" _Was._ Broke up last week."

"Oh, I'm sorry, what happened?"

"Time. We'd been dating for over two years now. We just felt like it was time to move on and all that."

"Oh...and so..." Her eyes swiveled a course upward and down as she asked, "...you're heading down a new path then, I take it...?"

"That seems to be the general plan, yeah..."

"...And how's it looking so far?"

He smiled good-naturedly, warmly, as he replied, "It's looking green..."

"Green, huh?" she playfully challenged.

"Yeah, green..." Then he bobbed in close once more, "...and blue, and grey..." She giggled yet again as he continued, "...and what is that, light brown, and a little touch of black—"

"It's _many colors,_ it's many colors," she finalized in her giggle bout.

Suzie had returned to the table with the three iced coffees, large ones in clear plastic cups, straws poking out of the lids; she set them down and sat, stating, "So you like him, huh?"

Embarrassed even further now, Bea almost screamed, _"Suze, rrrrrgh..."_

" _What?"_

Chapter 21

Dean had been waiting at the crowded bistro for over fifteen minutes now. He sat outside in the open-aired eating section, a searing-hot cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Though the cup had arrived only a minute ago, he had no trouble waiting for it to cool to a reasonably warm temperature.

The wait for the woman however...now that was the edger of the nerves, though outwardly he was attempting to appear calm, collected.

The table in back of him featured a man and a woman who were casually conversing about the pros and cons of The Vatican in the seventeenth century, of all things. Dean found the debateful chat moderately fascinating but nothing that fully distracted him from his personal trepidation at the absence of Grishenko's contact. The banter seemed to reach a certain point of impasse when the man excused himself for the restroom.

When the man got a fair distance away, the woman said, "Mr. Belaski, you've been—don't turn around—you've been waiting for me. My name is Alessandra Pazzini." Both were facing away from each other, staring ahead in opposite directions. "I don't want you to turn around and look at me for any reason. If you do, I will bolt and this meeting will not go any further, now or any other time. Understood?"

"Yes, understood."

"Good, now, you wish to hire my associate, correct?"

"That's correct."

"Do not tell me who the mark is, that's for my friend to hear alone. I will need a show of good faith in the form of ten thousand. Do you have that much on you now?"

"I do." Dean felt surges of anxiousness generate through his body, his mind.

"Good. Place it underneath your chair and then grab the envelope that is also there."

He did so, trading his sealed, large, orange envelope full of cash for the thinner envelope, also sealed; he pocketed the new one.

She now said, "This is a down on the seventy thousand you will be required to pay my friend should he decide to take up the assignment. Upon completion of work, you must have the full sixty ready for handover. If you do not, he will take certain action upon you until payment is complete. Do you take my meaning?"

"I think I do, yes."

"Good. Follow the directions to the letter and all will go well. Once again, do not look at me or my lunch friend when he returns. When he does, I want you to wait a minute, then leave. I'm sure I don't have to say this but I'll say it anyway—leave the envelope you brought under the chair; are we clear?"

"We're clear."

"Good— _hey,_ you're back!" she said with vigor as her male companion returned to sit and face her. "Did you fall in?"

"I did actually," said the companion, "Did you know there's a secret wonderland down there with a rabbit as your guide?"

"Of course I did, The Vatican's been hiding it for years."

"Since the seventeenth century?"

"Yes! How'd you know?"

"Because everyone there was still dressed like the seventeenth century!"

" _Aaaahh."_

Dean waited his minute, then left; his instructions packet firmly buried in his coat pocket.

Chapter 22

Dean got back to the hotel and opened up the instructions in front of Bauer. He read them allowed. "Okay, let's see. I need to meet him at the Vitorio Docks at 2 PM tomorrow and, of course, come alone. I need to wait twenty minutes for him to show. There's apparently a small pin in the envelope that I need to wear in order to identify that I am the one he will approach. He will then instruct me further on what to do."

"The twenty minutes is probably his scope time," Bauer said.

"Scope time?"

"Yeah. He'll surveil you, size you up. See what kind of threat you might be. Also, he'll likely check the surrounding areas to see if you've gone against his instructions to come alone. Or if you might be working with Interpol."

"Right, I knew that."

"Did you?"

"No, not really."

They shared a pair of good natured smiles.

Dean added, "Tomorrow's a Sunday, I'm guessing no one will be working the docks."

"Most likely not. Make's it easer for him to do his work...Listen...it's still possible for you to change your mind at this point. There might be another way to solve this."

"We already gave them ten thous—"

"Which is far less than what you're worth."

"My...life, to me...will always mean less than what my family means, especially Jess...especially since she's... _you_ , one of you, what you are—"

"Dean, _what_ we are is just different, another variation of who _you_ are; we're not supermen or women, or wizards practicing the holy magic from high on our pedestals. We're not even religious, some of us; we're just fallible human beings, Dean. Our lives are not to be spared at the sacrifice of yours—"

"But you _are_ supposed to be representative of the best in what we can be, isn't that right?"

"...Well, yes, but again—"

"Then if Jess is apart of that and I claim to love her as much as I do, then the answer is simple, isn't it."

"I guess my point is, son, is that meeting this man is not going to be an easy thing."

"I've been among these guys before, you know."

"Not like this one. He's his own entity now and not beholden to any Pear-Paul restrains. Any wrong tick of the face on your part and he may just end you right then and there."

Dean blew out a breath then said, "We've been through this, and you know he's our best option, psychopath or not."

"...Okay. Two PM tomorrow."

"Two PM tomorrow."

Dean performed a quite difficult swallow.

Chapter 23

And so Bernard was playing out his plan.

As his school studies and family duties allowed, he spent time hanging out with both Bea and Jessica—mostly with Bea, as he anticipated for the initial stages of his strategy.

It was the typical evolution of a slow building romantic association. As he and Bea did the date nights with movies and quick bites at the most attractive fast food joints—always in popular hangouts where they were predestined to be seen by their social peers. Bernard performed what he could be: a charming and intellectually stimulating young man, winning over even the most centered and guarded of academic types.

Inside, however, she was still weary of the fact that Bernard had wanted to initiate an association with Jessica. He did say that it was just to try and mend fences over some ill that happened long ago. But it felt suspicious to her that neither would go into what that particular bad incident was. Bea had only known either of them for about seven years, so it was possible that they may have been close friends before she had come into the picture.

The omission aside however, Bea was not going to allow it to derail her relationship with her best friend...and the burgeoning romantic one with Bernard. If the two were hesitant to mention what had happened, perhaps it was something too embarrassing or painful to discuss. Bea was a reasonable person willing to give the ones closest to her benefit of the doubt.

And perhaps, someday when things were different, they may feel more comfortable opening up about their past, Bea thought and hoped. For now she would just let it go.

Bernard's meets with Jessica, however, were naturally a different matter. There was always a distance that was kept, both literally and psychologically.

Their second meet after the park consisted of lunch whereby they opted not for a table or a booth, but a counter where they sat with three stools between them. Even if someone sat in those stools, it was fine. So long as they were able to test out their abilities to tolerate one another at a fairly close distance.

"How's it going for you?" Bernard had asked at one point while in the middle of their meals.

"The same," Jess evenly replied.

"So, no easier then?"

"No."

"Same here. But I suggest we try two stools between next time."

"Okay, we'll try."

Eating their food was a difficult thing in each other's close proximity. It's not that they weren't both hungry, it was simply that attempting to enjoy their food while both were feeling so pressurized and anxious tended to seriously mire that enjoyment.

The third meet was Jess' idea of a library visit where they would attempt to sit at opposite ends of a fairly long table and read.

The outing was a small disaster in that those around them kept being distracted by the two's constant fidgeting and Turrets Syndrome-like outbursts of whispery "Damn!" or "Crap!"

The blurts of frustrated expletives resulted from their having to reread the same passages over and over again. They simply couldn't concentrate with each other in the same room.

When they met outside the entrance of the library, Bernard said, "Oh my God, that went so well! Could you feel the instant improvement in our tolerance levels?"

She whiplashed her head a bit while revealing a slight grimace. "You're joking, right?"

"I am, yes, that totally sucked. I vote we put that off for a while, how 'bout you?"

"Absolutely...Things seem to be going quite well with you and Bea, though. From what she tells me, you've been 'wonderful!' and 'charming!' and 'funny as hell!'..."

He grinned as he looked down a bit in humility, embarrassment. "...Yeah, well...don't tell her I said this 'cause I don't want her to get a swelled head or nothing, but...she pretty much makes it easy to be all those things, you know? Everything's so natural with her...Does that sound trite and sappy?

"Extremely...but, as it happens, exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Oh, good."

"Hey, listen...not to try and sabotage our efforts—anymore than we apparently have done today—but...I think you know that Beatrice is a very good friend of mine. If she were hurt in any way..."

"Listen, I get you, I understand. Let me just say that I like her a whole lot...and being who we are, regardless of our oppositeness and all, you know that I'm not prone to stupidity or foolishness. Bea is a smart move. I'm not saying it will be something that will last forever or anything because, you know, we're still getting to know each other..."

"But you like where it's going."

"Yeah...so, don't worry, okay?"

"Okay...how?"

He cracked a smile then said, "Catch you later."

"Yeah, see ya."

Chapter 24

A few days after the library meet, Jessica celebrated her seventeenth birthday with a party at her home. Her parents and grandparents as well as many good friends and other family members were in attendance. There was dance music and party games in plenty as well as a slide show of Jess "through the years" playing on the sixty inch flat screen TV. Pahti and Bea, of course, were there to help celebrate the special day. The place was abuzz with voices and laughing and, naturally, the booming, bass-heavy music.

Jess had been inundated with hugs and kisses from virtually everyone—both sets of grandparents especially. Yet it was odd when she gazed into Al and Sophie's eyes in the midst of their approaches to hug—a faint heaviness had weighted their eyes. Faint but distinct, and upon noticing this, Jess' jovial expression faltered slightly. But she didn't want to jump to conclusions in thinking anything serious was wrong. So she deluded herself into thinking that it had to do with the sadness that she was growing up so quickly. However, this minor anomaly of the day's general good feel would not be the real buzz-kill, as they say, of the festivities.

That would come later in the day as Jess happened to accidentally eavesdrop on Bea and Pahti arguing.

Jess was merely going into the kitchen to grab another carton of ice cream when she witnessed her two best friends in a heated discussion in the backyard. As the backdoor was wide open but the screen door was closed, Jess could fully hear what was being said.

And it unnerved her almost immediately.

Pahti was saying, "How well do you really know this guy, _seriously?!"_

"Not well," Bea had responded defensively, "but what little I know I like!"

"Well, he's bad news, I've told you this before!"

" _How_ do you know he's bad news?! He's never once treated anyone with disrespect!"

" _Think it through, he's playing you!"_

"Playing me for what?! Why?!"

"Look, you just need to trust me on this!"

"No! I'm going to trust my own instincts—!"

At this point, Jess had made her presence known by opening up the screen door and storming forth. _"Hey,_ what the hell, guys? Do we really need to do this today?"

"Apparently so!" Pahti belted as he faced Jess. "It seems our good friend here wants to invite Bernard to the party!"

"Well why not?!" Bea protested, "I am pretty much going out with him at this point, and even _she_ —" She pointed at Jess. "—is hanging out with him!"

"Wait, wait, hold it a second," Jess interjected with a confused brow, "I thought he had plans today anyway."

"He did, they got cancelled at the last minute."

"Oh, everybody here knows his social calendar!" Pahti raged in exasperation. "Terrific!"

"Calm down, would you?" Jess advised her chosen friend.

"How can I?! When the two friends I care about the most are hanging out with a monster!"

"That's a little over the top, don't you think?" Bea defended.

"I don't think so at all! If you only knew him like I know him—!"

"Well then tell me!" Bea blasted. "You seem so hell-bent on condemning him but you never reveal why or what he might have done! He's been nothing but a gentlemen to me, so you know what I think?! I think that you're jealous!"

"Jealous..."

"Yeah, jealous that he's now taking up some of our time away from you—me and Jess!"

"That's utterly absurd!"

"Is it?!" And she suddenly stormed off back into the house, letting the screen door slam a bit.

Jess and Pahti had stared after her, but now faced each other.

She chided him, "I thought I had explained things to you, that we were going to give the guy a chance."

He blinked, expelled a breath. "I _know,_ I know...but I'm sorry, I just can't abide this when everything in my gut tells me this is _wrong..."_

"Instinct is not all we are, Pahti. You know, the same kind of attitude that you have right now has been used by every sickeningly prejudiced, deluded fascist-type throughout history."

"Where's this coming from? Is that what _he_ told you? Are you his mouthpiece now? _Look,_ part of what we are is, of course, to be honorable and compassionate and everything—but not to be _fools!_ I can't believe that you of all people would be taken in by this human jackal!"

"Pahti, isn't it remotely possibly that he doesn't want to be what he has been branded as? I mean, all dogs are supposed to hate cats—but that's not necessarily true, now is it?"

" _Okay,_ Jess, since we're devolving into second grade analogies, I'll accept your thesis here—so long as we agree that Bernard is definitely the _dog_ in this scenario!"

"Yeah? Well, I've known some cats that can be pretty vicious and cold from time to time."

"This is going to blow up in your face! And it's going to blow up in _hers!_ Just you wait!" with that he stormed away—and not back inside, but around the house to obviously leave altogether.

But before he disappeared from sight, she roped him with, "You like her, don't you? Bea—you want her..."

He turned and faced her with pursed lips surrounded by a strained expression. He drew in a deep breath, let it out through his nose as he slowly shook his head. As if to say, unbelievable. "Have a great rest of the party, Jess." Then he turned back and was gone.

Chapter 25

Dean was standing at the Vitorio Docks feeling like a bug under a very big microscope. He had been waiting for seventeen minutes now since he had arrived at two PM. And had, in that time, seriously reflected on what Bauer had told him—had warned him, really—about what kind of man Grishenko could possibly be. And it was greatly playing on his nerves.

But he had to remain calm—at least outwardly, he had to play the part of "one cool customer" in order to make this work. It was becoming increasingly difficult. Right at the twenty minute mark, a man emerged from between two towering storage crates and began walking toward Dean.

He was a tall, bulkish man with close-cropped hair and intense, thick eyebrows. He looked to be almost fifty but with the health and agility of a man thirty years younger. He was clothed snugly all in black.

Dean turned and noticed that he was being approached, that Grishenko was almost on him.

Moment of truth...

"Hello—" Dean tried as calm as he could.

"Don't speak unless spoken to," Grishenko interfered as he stopped just a few feet away from Dean. "Understood?"

"Yes." _Keep it together, keep it together..._

"Place hands behind head and spread legs apart."

Dean did so, and Grishenko came forward to vigorously pat him down—shoulders to feet.

Once done, he backed away to where he had stood and said to Dean, "Give me phone, watch, and belt."

Dean was mentally frozen for a few seconds before he fully registered that he must fully comply without protest. So he did and removed all requested items. He handed them over to Grishenko who took them in hand.

"Good," the man in black evenly said. "Here." He tossed Dean a wadded up piece of paper, Dean caught it. "Go to this address, alone. Then wait for me, twenty minutes." And then Grishenko turned and walked back to again merge with the shadows in between the towering, massive crates.

Forty-five minutes travel time to the address on the wrinkled piece of paper, and twenty minutes wait time later, and Dean found himself face to face once more with the man, Grishenko.

"You wish to hire my services, yes?" the assassin coolly inquired of Dean.

"Yes," Dean managed, quite nerve-wracked but trying to conceal it. The meet place was not helping his sense of psychological or physical security.

It was a barren and dank one-room space that was clear to Dean to be far from range of any living soul.

"Europe or Americas for your mark?"

"Pardon?" Dean almost stammered.

" _Where_ do you wish me to go to _perform_ my services to you?" Grishenko tensely clarified.

" _Right..._ right, The U.S."

"The U.S. That will cost you a little more."

"That's fine."

"Good. Now..." He reached into his coat—which made Dean's heart stop yet again—and produced a pen. He tossed it to Dean who caught it with a jerk of his arm and torso. "On back of piece of paper I give you, I want you to write down name of mark."

Dean composed his posture and put the pen to the small slip of paper. He wrote down the name of the target.

"Now toss pen away, wad up paper again, and throw over to me."

Dean obeyed on all counts.

And Grishenko, while still eyeing Dean, unwadded the paper and brought it close to his face. He flicked his eyes for a second at the name written on the tattered scrap, then back at Dean. He reached into another pocket of his coat and brought out a lighter. He flicked it to flame and set the shriveled square of paper on fire. It was rapidly being eaten by the cinder. He dropped it to the floor before it would continue to consume his fingers. He stood motionless and unreadable for a brief moment.

And then he snap-lunged straight at Dean.

In the next instant, Dean was flat on his back, Grishenko predatorily atop him, _on_ him—one hand fisting his now knotted-up collar and the other with a serrated knife pointed directly at Dean's right eye. The pointed tip was only and inch from his precious organ of sight.

Dean gasped horribly and got out, "Wait—WAIT!"

Grishenko tightly spat, "This is test, yeah? You and Pear-Paul want to test _me?! Talk,_ bug!"

"Just hold-hold—I-I-I am not from Pear-Paul—!"

"Then where _are_ you from?" Grishenko gritted, eyes set on death bringing.

"I'm-I'm from Consumers Now, I'm an analyst for them—just an analyst..." Dean's tone and expression became desperately pleading, "... _Please_ don't stab my eye...p-please..."

"Why do you want _him_ if this is not test or some cleaning up of old business?"

"...Okay, okay, we don't want you to—"

" _We?"_

"A friend of mine—"

"From Pear-Paul?"

" _No,_ no, someone—someone who wants what I want."

"Go on," he barked.

"We want you to not...you know, do what you do, but...to convince him to stop something he's about to do..."

"And what makes you think I have influence over him?"

"My friend would be better able to explain that."

"And who is your _friend?"_

"...I can't say..."

"Why?!"

"...Because...if I do, you might hurt me..."

"Will if you don't."

Dean eyes madly jittered all about. "...All right..." Then he jammed his lids shut in a tense network of wrinkles. "...My friend's name...is Nick Bauer—"

"Nick Bauer, of Ellison and Bauer—the enemy chosen..."

"...Yeh-yes." Dean's breaths heightened and grew in rapid issues.

Grishenko's eyes averted and narrowed in intense contemplation. He stayed frozen in this look for a loaded, frightening second...then vaulted himself off of Dean and backwards to a standing position in almost no time flat.

He did not, however, replace his knife back into his belt-clipped sheath. Instead, he continued to keep it firmly grasped in his hand.

He said, "Nick Bauer...wants to hire me..."

Dean had jolted when Grishenko briskly had removed himself from atop him. But now he was merely flushed with a wave of unnerving uncertainty as he opened his eyes to gaze up at the assassin. What would happen next?

And in the next instant, Grishenko's eyebrows drew in yet up—as if to convey his mental consideration of the absurd. "...The man I was once contracted to kill...wants to hire me to kill my former employer..."

Dean flutteringly corrected, "Um—not—kill, persuade...to-to eliminate an-an agreement—"

"So you allude," Grishenko bit, "But my services are for elimination of mark. I am not half-assed negotiator for hire."

"...Right-right—but—so-so, you know those people...all we ask is that you somehow reinsert yourself with them, get close to Jordan...and extract him to...use your...methods of persuasion."

"To go back on agreement... _what_ agreement?"

Dean told him of it in its entirety. Of Jessie's importance to all...and what she was.

"This figures," Grishenko uttered in disgust. "Stanford and his ridiculous plots..." he jabbed the knife out repeatedly in front of himself and at Dean's direction as he emphasized, "If it _weren't_ for his _blasphemies_ of _unnatural creations,_ I would _still_ be a _respected_ member of their organization! _A part_ of what I was _meant_ to be a _part_ of!"

Dean stared up at him in trepidatious fear—but with spark of hope as he said, "...The ssspider?"

" _Yes!_ Spider! Janice!—how do you know of this?"

"I saw it. What was left of it."

"It is dead then?"

"Dead, yes."

"You kill it?"

"No." Dean thought of saying who did—but then thought better. Why bring Erin into this now when he had already gone to great lengths to unburden her life with his and Nick's dealings.

"But you see its carcass?"

"Yes."

"Good...good for whoever did it in—it was abomination!...But now it makes sense why he has moved on to these new heresies—these _freak_ wasps!.

" _Yes,"_ Dean blurted, "I know about them too." He licked his lips with a zip-motion and popped his eyes as he suggested, "Shouldn't a man like that, who has spread these freaks across the globe now, pay a price for his obvious blasphemies?"

Grishenko sobered his fury and focused a stone-stare at Dean, pointing his knife directly at him as he warned, "Don't mock my intelligence, boy. I can tell when someone is working me."

"So you won't take the job?"

The knife hand casually retracted back to Grishenko's side. "Now I didn't say that..." He began staring off, over Dean and at nothing distinct as his mind sifted through all possible considerations for the acceptance of the contract. As soon as he had worked it all out to his liking, he honed back in on Dean's eyes and flatly announced, "Listen carefully—I take job—but only if you have way of eliminating _all_ of those genetic heresies... _and_ making it look as if I have nothing to do with it. Can you promise this?"

"...I—how would I—?"

"Then no deal. Leave now."

"All right, okay," Dean said quickly. "I promise to somehow make it happen...Do we have a deal—?"

" _And_ pay the seventy-five thousand."

"Yes, yes, of course."

"We have deal." He finally sheathed his knife.

"...Super," Dean nervously breathed.

Chapter 26

Bauer had been pacing.

_Was_ pacing still, back and forth across the hotel room carpeted floor. His mind raced with the violent possibilities that could have resulted from Dean's rendezvous with Grishenko.

Three and half hours Bauer had been waiting since Dean left for the scheduled meet. Three and a half hours of Bauer going virtually out of his mind with worry. That worry didn't go away even as Dean actually resurfaced and entered the room again. His look was not encouraging.

"You okay?" Bauer asked him tensely.

"Sorry I was a little late," Dean replied, nerves affecting his tone, "I had to stop off on the way back to vomit about...four times, I think?"

"What happened?"

"Well, my right eye was about a centimeter away from the tip of a massive hunting knife, but other than that, not much else."

"Damn it, Dean," Bauer blurted apologetically and winced. He drew in a deep breath, let it out.

"Anyway, we have a deal, Grishenko's on board."

"Terrific," Bauer doomfully said. "How much is he asking?"

"Seventy-five. But that's not all."

"What else?"

"First things first. He was sent to kill you at one time?"

Bauer pursed his lips and looked off briefly. _"Yes,_ Grishenko _was_ sent to take me out of the business equation at one point..."

"Then what happened? I mean, he doesn't seem to be the type that would fail at his job."

"It's a bit of a sordid story really."

"I'm all ears." Dean's eyes conveyed an unyielding.

"Where is Grishenko now?"

"Booking a flight to the states. Bauer, what happen with you and Grishenko?"

"...Fine...Nineteen years ago, he was sent to assassinate me. He hired a team of mercenaries to trap me and bring me out to the dessert, where they had me dig a hole. When the hole was deep and wide enough, they had me stay in it as Grishenko pointed his pistol at me...And I really did think, well, this is it. I guess I'm going to find out what comes after this life.

"Grishenko had said something to me at that point but I don't recall exactly what it was. Probably something like, 'This is the end of the line for you,' or something to that effect. Something that was inconsequential to me because I kept thinking...LaShawn and the girls, they'll be okay—financially speaking, they would be okay. Ellison would see to that, I knew he would.

"So Grishenko is cocking his gun—for effect, right? Why not? Why not try to make it extra heart-rending for me, I'm the enemy chosen to him...Yet, and I'm not exaggerating on this, it happened exactly this way—he had begun squeezing the trigger when his cell phone rang. So he stopped and answered it.

"It was his employers...and what do you think they might have said to him at this point?"

"...The hit is cancelled?"

"The hit was cancelled," Bauer admitted as he slowly nodded.

"How?"

"Ellison—that's how. He threatened to buy out major holdings in several companies that were affiliated with Pear-Paul, unless I was released from the contracted hit and returned unharmed."

"He could've done that?" Dean asked with a rising tone of baffled awe.

"At the time our company could've."

Dean looked off with blinking eyes for a brief moment, then back at Bauer as he commented, "And these are the people you left."

"Yes...and not a day goes by that I wish I didn't have to when I did."

"Well, it looks like you'll have to return to them now—because what Grishenko requested is something we couldn't possibly do on our own."

"What do you mean?"

"You know those...wasps, those genetically—"

"Of course."

"Well, Grishenko put that as part of the agreement. That _we_ have to eliminate every last one of them, so that Pear-Paul will have to rely on his services again. All he wants is to go back to them with his beliefs and honor intact."

"That figures."

"Why is that?"

"Because he is a darker chosen, and Pear-Paul is like light to a moth for them."

"Will you...go back to your people for help on this wasp thing? I really don't see any other option for us."

Bauer looked down. Again, his eyes blinked. Then he stared at Dean once more. "To save Jessica, yes, I will."

Chapter 27

Tonight was the night. And Bernard was extremely excited to see his plan play out to its satisfying conclusion. And was equally anxious to play the shocked and distraught teen who had lost two of the most precious female influences on his life. He was prepared to make it convincing for at least six to eight months. But no more after that. He would return to his normal behavior, claiming that "My friends that I have lost wouldn't want me to suffer forever, it's time to get back to my life."

But first, he had to get through tonight. The anticipation was killing him—the thrill that he would get from pushing those self-righteous and easily manipulated girls was an emotional high he coveted greatly. And it was only an hour away.

And everything was set. Percy was at home right now but knew the right time to head over to the cliffs and wait by the bottom. And Bernard also knew that both Bea and Jessica were at their own homes studying for an essay exam that was to happen the next day at school. That was another perk to his plan that it was to occur on a school night—when there wouldn't be so much of a human presence on the cliffs. Of course, Percy would see to it that no one came up unannounced. But the less interruptions the better. He certainly didn't want his phone going off every two minutes...or even at all. If it did while he was anywhere near the time of killing the girls, it would look bad to anyone who checked his GPS within the phone.

But again, he didn't foresee a problem. It was his plan and he had thought it out well.

It would be his night.

He made his call to Bea as he sat in his room on his bed. His door was open but no one except Bernard was home at the moment.

Bea's line answered. "Hey! I'm glad you called," she said brimming with positivity.

"Are you?" Bernard checked with his own jovial tone.

" _Yes,_ I've been studying for this blinkin' exam for the past three hours straight!"

" _Eegh."_

"I know, it's simply brutal."

"Well...how's about a real break? Meet me over at Sutherland for maybe just an hour? You know, a little fresh air, a little cool scenery? It's a full moon tonight," he added enticingly.

"Oh jeeze, Bern, I still got quite a bit of studying to get done—"

"Forty minutes," he counterproposed quickly.

"Mmmm..."

"Thirty."

"Tch... _oh..._ all right. Thirty minutes only though, and then I _have_ to get back."

"You got it. I'll see you there in twenty?"

"Yeah!"

"All right, bye."

"Bye."

And he hung up.

He didn't need to call Jessica to try to convince her to come to the cliffs that night. He had already set it up two weeks previously in order to throw off any suspicion that he had planned to have both of them there the same night.

If the investigation that would follow the deaths proved that Bernard had called both in the same night, it would certainly raise homicide detectives' eyebrows. But if there was a two week gap, he had and out, for he could always say that he forgot that he had both girls of interest meeting at the cliffs at roughly the same time.

It was just a bad lapse of memory—whoops!—and the girls must have figured things out, that they were being led on, two-timed, cheated on...and things turned deadly. Maybe they didn't mean to start out that way...

... _But when passions run high..._

That would be Bernard's version to the authorities anyway. He certainly wasn't going to be reckless about any of his strategy. He was going to play it and play it right.

He left his room and out of the house.

One hour earlier, Percy was preparing to leave for the base of the cliffs. But he was battling his mind on something he felt that was possibly crucial and life changing. Not on whether he should go through with Bernard's scheme, he was fully on board with that, excited even. This, he felt, was going to bring him closer to what he wanted to be—closer to the members of the power elite...and closer to his best friend, Michaelis Bernard.

And quite possibly to his father.

Which was the factor that was perplexing his mind: should he or should he not tell his father what was about to happen?

His mother might not understand so much, he knew, for she was a worrier, a bit too paranoid to be burdened with tonight's intense proceedings.

But his dear old dominating dad might just possibly pat him on the back for participating in something so bold, so monumentally daring. Particularly if he knew that Bernard was involved.

" _Follow that boy, Percy, and you'll go very far in this world."_

Well I am, Percy responded to his father's phantom words in his charged thoughts. I am following him—into killing those you despise beyond reckoning. So why wouldn't you want to know about it? Hell, you might even decide to help us cover things up should something go wrong...

It was decided—he was going to tell him. And if dear old pa flipped out on him, well Percy would just lie and say it was a joke—that Bernard put him up to it as some school-wide joke on parents. If it was from Bernard, then it would be accepted. And then Percy would further the lie by saying he was going out to meet some friends.

He waited until he could pull his father aside away from earshot of his mother, and then he revealed his plan—or rather, Bernard's plan—to the senior McAllister.

When Percy was finished, his father merely stood there in his study room, his brow furled in what could have been deep disturbance or in deep contemplation of the plan—and what possible flaws might be inherent of it.

After roughly ten seconds of tense silence, his father finally spoke. And what he said didn't really surprise Percy all that much. "...So Bernard concocted this, did he...and you're going to be at the bottom of the cliffs guarding the only route up there..."

"Yeah...So, what do you think...you proud of us for taking the initiative?" Percy was wide-eyed with hopeful possibility of approval.

"Well...there's no doubt in my mind that whoever this opposite one of Bernard and me is deserves to die on general principle...and all those who stand with them...And Bernard is inherently a genius, so..." He bit at his lower lip in further contemplation.

"And you did tell me to follow his lead," Percy added, brows still raised.

"...You haven't told your mother?"

"No, I wasn't planning on it."

"Good. Don't. Keep this between us. And do your job well, don't let anybody get up there to interfere with what Bernard must do. And you must do it in a way that will not draw _any_ suspicion of what is to take place, do you understand?"

"Yes, of course."

"This is an important test for you, Perse. Tonight is a night that will define you in the eyes of our kind."

_Our kind..._ his father and Bernard...the dark fraternity of the deftly powerful...again there was a gut instinct in Percy to want to feel a resentment for the two of them and their natural gifts, their preordained connection and affinity for one another. But again, his love for both outweighed the petty and weakening instinct.

"I promise I will not let you down— _or_ him."

"I love you, boy. Make us proud."

And there it was. The ultimate approval that he had _never_ heard from his father before now.

And once Percy was driving on his way to the cliffs, those words of acceptance rang throughout his mind. As he focused on the road, he couldn't help but continually to crack smiles.

Tonight was going to be something.

Bea was almost to the top of the path that would safely lead her to Sutherland's plateau. From there it would be a fairly flattened expanse of cragged-rock surface, at least a hundred feet wide and forty feet long. As safe as this one passable path was, however, there were still spots of questionable stability, and Bea almost slipped twice at different heights of the trail. Regardless, the trip up was predominantly incident-free and she felt confident that the next few steps would bring her an absence of concern or trauma.

No, that would come in a striking shock just as she reached the top.

Turning from her careful steps just below her to gaze up ahead, she witnessed the one person she was absolutely not expecting to see.

" _Jessica?"_ Bea blurted in her electrified off-guardedness.

"Bea..." Jess' brow drew in. "...what are you doing here?" she asked in a confused yet collected voice.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Wwwwaiting for Bernard."

"Wwwhy?"

"Because we'd agreed to meet up here tonight."

"Oh..." and Bea looked away, her brow knitted. "...Why wouldn't he mention that you were coming along...?"

"He certainly didn't mention you or anyone else coming along."

Bea turned her sights back to Jess. "Did you just talk to him?"

"No. We set this up two weeks ago."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, when did you talk to him?"

"Just tonight...what's going on here? This is too weird..."

"Yeah, it is, I mean he shouldn't have invited anyone else up here, we had work to do."

" _You..._ and Bernard were going to do work up here...? I don't get any of this..."

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You ready for this?" Bernard asked Percy as he approached him near the base of the cliffs.

"Oh, hell yeah, I'm psyched up," Percy responded with beaming enthusiasm.

Bernard lightly socked him in the shoulder. "That's what I like to _hear._ Now listen, I'll try to make this as quick as possible—no more than a half an hour, then we'll celebrate with some scotch at my house."

"Sweet. Can't wait...well, go kill 'em, bud—literally." And Percy cracked a mischievous smile with eyes to match.

"On my way." Bernard's return smile was one of confident calm as he began his ascent up the path.

Percy's father and mother were on the couch together in the family room watching their favorite game show, "Word Searchers" when Bernard had said, "On my way" to their son. Mom was snuggled up next to dad, clearly engrossed in the show's competition of contestants trying to find a certain word within a word search puzzle—all in the space of five seconds!

Yet dad, while he had his eyes trained on the show, was not truly watching. His mind was focused solely on his son and Bernard's murderous plan. It appeared sound enough to work—barring a police helicopter happening to fly by at the time of the daring act, it would most likely go off without a hitch.

_And_ it would fair well for future personal recommendation with regards to Bernard's—and _possibly_ his son's—induction into the ranks of Pear-Paul...

...Wait...

Something entered his mind about his revered place of work...he now recalled a meeting five months ago discussing future initiatives.

One of them entailed the collection of an opposite chosen upon her eighteenth birthday—to be used as a plant among her own. Stanford led the meeting and seemed extra-enthusiastic about this particular project. He had mentioned that the initiative couldn't go into full swing until the girl had reached the legal age of maturity. Whereby she would be out of the constrains of mandatory schooling and her parents' charge. This would be a year and a half away roughly from the time of the meeting's proceedings.

That would mean that, at this point and time as they sat in their living room watching their much-loved game show, the girl in question was undoubtedly still enrolled in school...

...And could possibly attend the very same school that Bernard and Percy go to...

And could quite possibly be the very same one the boys were planning to kill tonight—

Pure dread exploded in him, though for the moment, he appeared outwardly calm so as not to alarm his wife of any potential disasters.

"Excuse me, hon, I forgot I have to check on something for work," he announced as he began to rise and stand.

"Sure, okay, love," she said as she kept her stare to the tube.

He entered his study and closed the door, locked it. Then he madly pulled out his cell and hit the proper speed dial for his son's number. He put it up to his ear and waited as it eventually dialed, rang.

There was no answer. And this is what he had feared: that because Percy was so close to a cliff wall, and at the bottom of it, it might serve to block the transmission of the call. And he was certainly correct.

The call went to voice mail—which was his only possible option of reaching his son now.

If that even worked.

Whoops!—slipped and nearly bought the farm, Bernard mused recklessly as he was two thirds of the way up the path to the cliff top. Wouldn't that have been the purest of irony, if before I could reach the cliff flats to kill two rats, I ended up doing myself in instead? It actually made him chuckle slightly. God, he was just having too much fun right now. Particularly since he could now catch snips of echoing conversation from above. The girls must be going kind of nuts, he guessed with glee, trying to figure out just what is happening and why. Well, let me tell you, little piggies, it's going to be something you'll never see coming.

Sheep—clueless, baffled, ignorant.

Lambs to the slaughter.

Almost there...

The phone buzzed twice in Percy's pocket—which, to him, meant three possible options: One, another annoying, anonymous text to visit this hip nightclub or that, two, a text or voice mail from a friend, or three, a wrong number text/voice message. None of which Percy was interested in dealing with right now. He needed to stay focused and on his game in case anyone arrived and wished to head to the top.

His cover story was clear to him and well worked out between himself and Bernard. If approached by strangers, friends, or acquaintances, Percy was to act distraught and highly depressed. Like his world was coming to an end. Percy knew he could even cry on queue if necessary to sell the distress. Whoever would come by would clearly see that he was in an emotional stupor of some great degree and offer him to discuss the situation. He would reply, of course, "I can't talk about it right now," then bunch up his eyes to let the "water works" do their thing. Naturally, concerned citizens being who they are, they would press the matter. And Percy would then relent and launch into a long and wholly imaginary tale of extreme woe. One that would satisfactorily cover the time needed for Bernard to finish his deeds and descend back down. And if Bernard saw that Percy was not alone, he too would put on his own act of shock and emotional destruction at seeing two girls he cared about so much throw each other off the cliff's edge. And Percy knew he could pull it off.

Because love moved mountains.

His phone buzzed again.

He ignored it.

How far away was Sutherland? Percy's father asked in his panicked mind. Fifteen, twenty minutes? Surely, his son was there now along with Bernard—and certainly the girl—whoever she might really be.

He decided he had to know for sure. If it got back to Pear-Paul somehow that Percy _and_ Bernard were responsible for interfering with one of their major initiatives, then it could be the end for the boy's futures at the company.

Not to mention his own.

Now he had to make up another excuse.

He unlocked his study door and left out to make his way back to the living room again. But he didn't approach the couch where his wife still sat. She looked up at him questioningly as he was heading for the front door.

He answered the look with, "It looks like what I have to do can't be done from here. I need to go to the office. It shouldn't be but and hour or two."

"Well...if you have to, I suppose." She looked slightly put out at being abandoned.

"I do, seriously. I'll be back as soon as I can."

And he was gone.

"Where _is_ he?" Bea blasted to no one really as she walked around in lame and backtracking circles. "I'm tired of not knowing what the heck is going on here!"

" _Relax,"_ Jessica tried to soothe her distressed friend. "I have a feeling he's real close."

In fact, she knew he was—she could sense his repelling presence even though he wasn't in sight yet. Thus far, it hadn't gotten any easier to feel him near despite all their efforts so far. _He must be on the path up,_ she guessed.

"Just _calm down,_ Bea, you and I will get this straightened out when he gets here. You know, he might have just got confused on what nights he was supposed to meet us."

"...Yeah, maybe—"

"Hey Girls."

Both Bea and Jess turned to see Bernard as he rose into view and stood just in front of the path.

He was smiling.

Percy's father was trying not to break the speed limit. But it was virtually impossible as he bobbed and weaved through slower traffic and ran every yellow light he could to reach Sutherland in time. And all while hitting speed dial on his dashboard-secured cell to try and repeatedly to finally connect with his son's line. He left message after message on the off chance that those might get through.

He was starting to feel a constricting and frightful numbness.

He almost ran a red light.

"Holy _crud,"_ Percy barked as his pocketed phone did the double buzz yet again. This had to be the tenth time it had gone off. "Get the _hint,_ I'm not interested."

Although he was starting to think that possibly _he_ should get the hint that someone _really_ needed to get a hold of him. This caused him to debate a crucial quandary in his head: if it was a friend and they started talking to him, possibly making him laugh or look excited, it would blow the depression act should someone arrive during the call.

Still though, he thought maybe he should at least look at the call ID to see who was being so stubborn with the messages.

He pulled out his phone and stared at its display....

"Ah, here we are," Bernard stated a bit theatrically to Bea and Jess. His grin had not disappeared. "Yours truly and two of the most important girls in my life...at least for what we have going on here tonight."

" _Bernard,"_ Bea barked with eyes of frenzied confusion, "you mind explaining what's going on here? Did you _somehow_ forget you were meeting both of us here tonight?"

"Boy, you are _really_ put out, aren't you? You didn't hear a word I just said." His smile didn't waver.

Jess' eyes began to narrow in instinctual suspicion. "Bea..." she began with a tensing fear growing from her core, "...you should go, _now."_

"I'm not going anywhere until he explains himself," Bea bitterly, forcefully protested.

Jovially, however, Bernard countered by echoing Jess' warning, "She's right, you really should try to go if you knew what was best for you...but you don't..."

"What does that mean?! Start explaining things, damn it!"

"Oh sure," he said calmly, happily. "You see, even though you _should_ try to leave, it wouldn't make any difference, really. Because the only way that either of you is leaving is by _that—"_ He pointed to the cliff's edge opposite him—the one that had the two hundred foot drop-off straight down into the sharpened rocks below, "—direction there..."

Jess didn't need to look behind her to know what he was pointing at. And she now had no doubts about what he had planned. Fear and shame now owned her mind and body. Pahti had been right.

Bea didn't really need to look either, for she knew about the insane drop-off that was roughly thirty feet behind her. But she twisted herself to look in that direction anyway. Then she turned back to face Bernard once more. "Are you totally blottoed or something?!"

Jess fearfully corrected her, "No, he's sober...he's just psychotic."

Bernard quick pointed a finger at Jess as he blurted, "Tch—there you go." And his smile broadened.

" _What_ is going _on!!!"_ Bea howled in bursting frustration—though mixed with an undercurrent of fear.

Still so calm and content, Bernard casually put his hands out front of him, palms exposed as he said, "Listen, listen...here's what's going to happen..." He got closer to Bea as he smoothly explained, "...Now Bea, dear, I'm going to incapacitate you a little bit so you don't do anything rash."

Bea, in jittering, uncertain fear, uttered, _"Jess...?"_

"Get away from him, Bea!" Jess belted in a rising panic.

Bea launched herself into a jolting bid to run from her close proximity to Bernard—but it was too late, and he was too quick. He snatched her by the arm and yanked her back to him, then violently drove his right knee into her abdomen. She belched a wheezed and forced breath from the impact and buckled down to the flatted rock. The next sound that came from her mouth was, _"MMMMMMMPH..."_ as she lay curled up in debilitating agony.

Jess, of course, had shrieked, "NO!!! BEA!!!" as the assault took place.

Bernard gathered his balancing stance briskly and angled his position so that he could still face both girls. "Now Jess, I _know_ that you are one of those pathetically super-compassionate types—the _sad_ version of the chosen, so I know that you aren't going to abandon your dear, sweet friend here. But just so you know, if you _do_ have any wild ideas about going for help or just trying to save your own skin, please understand that I will just— _torture_ her for at least ten minutes before I throw her off."

Bea wretched her stomach's contents onto the cold rock.

Bernard jovially commented, _"Eegh,_ someone doesn't handle stress too well..." as he stared down at the discolored sick.

Bea's eyes were bunched tightly closed as she gasped for desperate air. It was clear to both Bernard and Jess that the injured girl wasn't getting up anytime soon.

Confident in this assessment, Bernard turned again to his other target.

His true coveted target.

" _Now..."_ he began with excitement lacing his tone, "...now, now, now..." he absently uttered as he glided toward Jess.

She was slowly, cautiously backing away from him, dread constricting her. "Good God," she managed, "the last few months...has all been for this..."

His eyes playfully wondered off for a brief second as he said, "Wwelllll, yeah, pretty much." He kept his forward momentum toward her.

Still backing away, Jess surmised, "And I'm guessing you probably have one of your loyal followers down below guarding the path...make sure no one disturbs your, uh, fun here."

He didn't verbally respond, merely pursed his smile and tapped a finger twice to his temple in a "smart" gesture. He was now closing the gap between them—Jess didn't have much more room to back away on. "Now let's see, little miss sad chosen, which one of my loyals you think it is."

"Percy...or Jennifer—"

" _Right,_ on the first account... _So_ , let's get something out in the open right now before things come to a head...I _know_ that you have been trained in martial arts since you were a little kid. I've, uh, I've studied up on you a lot over the years. Which is why I've been becoming somewhat of an expert myself at hand-to-hand combat. Been keeping it pretty much on the serious down-low; I mean, not even my parents know I've been taking advanced lessons. So you can try out what you have, as much as you have...but I know your limits, Jess...and I _will_ best you."

"I should've known—"

" _Yeah,_ you should've."

Now she was near the cliff's edge. Out of any more real room to retreat....

"Ooooops, no breathing room now," Bernard mocked her. "Hey, listen, I've got about five more minutes before I wanna go, so...whaddya say? You wanna make this a total night for me?" And he lunged for her with a vicious swipe of the arm, hoping to connect his straightened and rigid hand to her throat.

She blocked it with her own arm and came out of the attack with a tightened defense stance.

"There you go, not too bad so far," he teased again. "Whaddya got there, about four more feet to the edge? Let's see what we can do about that..." He dove in again with frightening speed to try and drive a fist into her chest.

She attempted to swipe it away but it was too quick, too powerful. She winced and violently hiccupped a vocal breath.

Bucked backward form the force of the hit, now she was only a foot from the edge.

"Oops again!" he spat with pure delight.

She snapped back to a defensive posture and shook her face to toughen up and focus.

"Ooooone foot," he commented with taunting glee. "Another go?" He began tensing, approaching, assessing where to strike.

In the next instant, he did, catapulting a full-force fist straight at her face. She anticipated, though, and ducked to her right and down. Yet he had been trained to counteract this move, and he snap-brought the same fist angling down to pound her in the cheek. She "Oofed!" and collapsed to the grounding rock. She spat blood.

He hounded on, "Damn, girl, how long have you been at this? You know, it can't just be a hobby, you have to commit yourself to it, really train. Now come on, get up, get up..." He violently stomped a foot on her, pushing a misery belch from her mouth again. "...Let's go." He backed up a bit, waited for an impatient second, then belted, "Let's go!"

But she stayed down, still recovering from the star-exploding, sight-stealing blow to her face. Her vision was coming back but it was screened by dizzying and vibrantly colored dots doing a rapid dance. She slowly and awkwardly got to her feet, spitting another wad of blood to the flattened rock. When she had her equilibrium back to a sufficient track of her surroundings, she faced Bernard. She wiped at her mouth then put her arms up again in a defensive position. But she was wobbling a bit as she did so. "Carm on..." she muttered in her battered state— _Come on._

"Make my minutes count, girl," he ordered in his exhilarated state and launched for her again.

And he toyed with her, performing attack maneuvers that she could more readily counteract against, simply to study her style, her speed. Thus far, he was greatly amused.

But his time was running out and he didn't want to leave Percy hanging in the wind for too long. So he struck with pure strategy, precision, and maddening force.

The connecting jab smashed into her abdomen and shoved the air out of her lungs. She gasped terribly and faltered once more.

Clearly seeing that she had no more fight in her, he brought both clawing hands to her coat's collar and hauled her up before she could fully crumple. Then he dragged her to the edge of the cliff and held her there. She was a rag doll of injury in his grasps. And he shook her like one as he raged, "Finally! I'm through with your affront to my very existence!"

She began to spasm with high-pitch sobs.

He grimaced in disgust as he roared on, "There you go, bawl it out, you pathetic rat!"

"Jessieeee," Bea lamely called out over the whistling and whipping wind behind the two near the edge. She desperately attempted to get to her feet—and actually managed it to trot a few steps toward Bernard and Jess—before careening to the ground again. The pain and dizziness were too much for her. She began to cry herself in her helplessness and despondency. "...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, Jess..."

"It's my fault, Bea," Jess got out between wheezing sobs.

" _Oh yeah, that's_ the capper," Bernard said, "to know that you'll go to your agonizing death with a serious load of guilt! Thank you, girl."

"Go to hell...you sick, worthless spider," Jess slurred in her slackened, uneven state. Tear droplets fell easily form her cheeks.

This brought a vicious sneer to Bernard's face. He yanked her to his left and a bit back in a "cocking" motion to more forcefully fling her off the cliff...

"STOOOOOOP!!!" came a familiar voice to all three, from the opposite edge.

Bernard halted joltingly in mid-throw, even bringing Jess back in slightly as he turned his head to profile and barked, "What is it, Perse?!"

Percy, who stood just beyond the safe path on the opposing side, was hunched over and panting with forceful breaths as he responded, "Don't...kill her..."

"Why?!"

"You just...can't...my father...said we can't!" And Percy collapsed from exhaustion. Clearly, he had sped his way to the top in mad desperation.

"You're going to have to give me better specifics than that, Perse!"

"...He left me...messages...saying...she's important...to his work...his company..."

"You told him about this?!!!" Bernard roared.

"He...approved—"

"That wasn't part of the plan, Perse, you know that!"

"He's with us...with us on it..."

"Then _why_ is he changing his mind _now?!"_

"He...didn't know which chosen it was...that we were taking down...but the message said...if it _was_ Jess Belaski...to let her go..." He swallowed to equalize, then continued, "...Said if we didn't...his work would rain down on us...in the worst ways..."

Bernard knew, of course, where Percy's father worked; _knew_ that they weren't people to cross in any way. And if what Percy told him was true, then he had no choice but to comply with the father's instructions.

He had to let Jess, his worst enemy of all, live through this night.

But that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't hurt her to the core.

"But he didn't mention anything about Bea, I'm assuming," Bernard fished to Percy.

"...No, nothing."

Bernard swung Jess' flailing body down behind him and she hit the ground with a horrid grunt. She sprawled out limply in an odd manner, practically motionless. "Well, if you can't be with the one you love..." he started with an undertone of ferocity as he pounded toward Bea. Once he stood over her, he finished, "...well, you know the rest." And he picked up Bea to begin dragging her over toward the edge.

As he did so, she shriekingly begged and pleaded, "No! Wait! Jessie! _Percy! Waaaait!!!"_

Immobilized, Jess called out as loud as she could, _"Beeeeea, noooo!"_

Bernard and Bea were now only two feet from the edge as she quickly, breath-catchingly offered, "I won't tell! I won't tell!!!"

"Only one way to know for sure," Bernard said—and gruntingly near the end of his response as he was arching down to hoist her up and carry her. He made sure she was facing away from him so she couldn't try to grab at him in any way.

Once more she shrieked for mercy that clearly wasn't going to come, "Bernard, nah—! NO—!"

"Take care, now." And he threw her off—she was dropped and gone from sight within a split second.

But her heart-freezing and prolonged scream of ultimate dread could be heard in that instant and seconds after. It became echoey in the space of a few more...

...And then it abruptly ended.

And Jess' began. "AAAAAAAAAAAOOOH-HO-HO, NOOOOOO...! OH GOD...!" Her eyes then bunched up closed, her mouth was locked in a noiseless scream.

Bernard stared at Percy for a brief moment—both of their eyes were ablaze with many emotions: hatred for their enemies, a fearful wonderment that a murder was finally carried out...

...And a trepidation of what to do next.

But soon Bernard knew.

He turned from Percy's eyes and faced the pained heap of Jess on the ground. His lips pursed as he marched with determined purpose toward her. He halted just short of her and knelt down, bringing his face close to her wrenched one. He warned, "Now you listen me, you tell anyone of what has truly happened here tonight, and I will bring down your entire world in the most horrible ways imaginable. I may not be able to end you, but I'm willing to bet I can still get to your family...or friends—Perse! Did your dad mention anything about needing Pahti?!"

"No, nothing," Percy shouted back.

Bernard directed his words back to Jess, "Ah hell, what difference does it make anyway, if I could get to him or not? If I can I will, if I can't, then I'll go after your folks. And trust me—I will make them suffer for weeks before I do 'em in.

"And you know something, I'll get away with it too. Because I'm that smart, and you know I am. And my brethren, the _true_ chosen will protect me from prosecution. Whether you knew that or not, it's true. So we understand each other, keep your rat-mouth shut. Anybody asks what _did_ happen to Bea, you tell them that you had a verbal fight with her over me. She became so distraught that I was cheating that she threw herself over the side. Perse and I came up here to try and smooth the situation but it was too late. After a time, all three of us decided to go back down. But you were so despondent and sad over Bea that you slipped and incurred some injury before we could get to you. Clear on this?" He waited as he maneuvered his head in a bit of snaking motion to catch any glimmer of a response from her wrecked face. "Hm? We clear...? _Are we clear?!"_

" _Yes,"_ Jess barked in distress, "Yes, oh _God..."_ Her tears and crying flowed on.

"I'm the only god you have now. You better start to respect that, little rat. Now..." He briskly patted her cheek twice then said, "Take a minute, then up and at 'em, 'cause you're first down." He rose, turned, and, as he began walking away, uttered to her in disgust, _"God,_ it's sickening being so close to you."

It was torturous for the battered girl—and she almost _did_ slip more than once on the way down the path to the bottom of the cliffs. Surprisingly—yet quite disturbingly—Percy and Bernard kept her physically steady.

Mentally, however, was quite a different story.

When they finally made it to the bottom, a pleasant surprise, for the boys at least, was waiting for them.

Percy's father.

" _Dad!"_ Percy blurted.

"This is her?" Ephraim said, staring anxiously, expectantly at the bruised girl. "Tell me this is her."

"Yes, it is."

"Then you got my messages?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, these cliffs mess up getting them right away," Percy half-lied.

"That's fine, that's fine," his father said, still a bit nerve-buzzed, "You got her, so..." He flicked his eyes to his younger brethren. "Bernard, I'm sorry, boy, you must be feeling cheated right now."

"Well, yes, sir," Bernard downplayed, "a little bit. But I'm still glad you and Perse intervened. I wouldn't want your bosses to be angered with us, sir."

"Nor would I, son, nor would I."

"There is one thing we need to tell you," Percy entered in, "There was another girl up there."

His father gave a wandering look of utter exasperation.

"But she was always part of the plan," Bernard added quickly, "It was always going to be the two of them to die—to legitimize our story."

"But now," Ephraim began, "you're going to have to change your story."

"We've got it worked out, sir."

"I'm sure you do...but if something goes wrong, I want you to come to me straight away...and I'll alert my people immediately to intervene."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, dad."

"It's all right...as I said, I'm proud of you boys for your efforts..." He beamed that pride with his eyes to the two boys. But soon a concerned sternness creeped into his stare. "But now you know where we all have to go straight away?"

"Yes, sir," Bernard said, "The police to report the suicide."

"And I assume you told this one here," He motioned to Jess, "that she needs to cooperate fully and corroborate with our story, or else."

"Or else I'll torture her loved ones for days on end, yes, sir."

"Good..." He stabbed a stare straight at Jess and said, "Don't you even tell your closest ones to you, or I'll join in on the fun with the boy here, get me?"

She eyed him with revulsion but nodded.

"Hard being around her, isn't it, sir?" Bernard commented.

"That's for sure," Ephraim agreed intensely, "But after she gives her statement to the cops, then we'll be done with her for a while, thank goodness...Now let's head out. I'll follow you down."

And they all left away in their cars to the local precinct only five miles away.

Chapter 28

Jessica wanted to die. The grief of losing Bea, one of her most cherished friends in her entire life, was immense and overwhelming. But it was made even more soul-wrenching by the fact that she was forced to lie to the authorities about the nature of her death.

And she was forced to lie to everyone around her—even her mother and Curt—regarding the "suicide" and her own injuries.

Erin was beside herself and couldn't believe that one of her daughter's best friends would throw away her whole mortal life over someone she had been dating only a few months.

But this, of course, was not her main concern. That, naturally, was to offer her full support to Jess and deepest condolences to Bea's parents and younger brother.

The funeral was held two weeks later—and to add insult to injury, Bernard and Percy were in attendance. All throughout the procession and speeches, the two boys and Jess could not help but steal piercing stares of pure hatred and revulsion for one another.

The investigation into Bea's death was conducted and found to match the story of the witnesses—though further investigation measures were pending in order to rule out any foul play. School mates would be interviewed as well as family members—particularly to judge Bea's mental and emotional stability.

Percy's father knew that he couldn't control that side of the inquest, but his cohorts—his associates at Pear-Paul—would be more than willing to use their influences to change or delete cell phone records to corroborate the fabricated story.

For three weeks, Jess had missed school because she simply couldn't concentrate on her studies...and she simply couldn't be around Bernard or Percy. She felt privately that she would lose a crucial part of her mental stability if she had to see their faces, feel Bernard's effect on her no matter where she was on campus.

By the end of the three week period, however, it was obvious that Jess would be jeopardizing her senior year graduating status by missing any more class or assignments.

And her parents felt that spending all of her time in her room or only with Pahti—either online or holed up with him—was not a healthy way to grieve for more than a few weeks.

So it was decided that she needed to return to McCormack High and resume her normal school activities.

Jessie wanted to die.

Chapter 29

Grishenko sat at the New York City café and leisurely sipped at his espresso in its porcelain tea cup. A second ago, he just sensed the presence—the revolting sense—of an opposite but knew that the phenomena was coming. Knew that Bauer was coming, and had just stepped into range. Though the objectionable feeling was intense to the assassin's entire being, he had learned to downplay its significance—as all Pear-Paul employees had learned to do in their adult life—in order to properly function in his duties, his assignments, his daily life.

Grishenko knew Bauer was soon to arrive, because that's what was planned by all three in this devised scheme to annex Stanford. For as much as the hitman loathed the opposites, he also wanted to make his former employer regret the day he ever belittled Grishenko by creating his creeping monstrosities. Heresy is heresy no matter if you benefit from it or not, as far as this Ukrainian-born chosen saw it. Stanford had to pay a price after all these years.

Grishenko was only lamenting that it had taken him so long to gather the courage to make things right. For years he struggled with the validity of such a bold strike against his beloved former employers.

Yet now that the genetically tampered wasps were rampant throughout the world— _and_ Jordan was planning to bring a heretic in the form of an eighteen-year-old girl into their fold, their trust, Grishenko felt that he had no choice but to act.

Bauer entered the café and stood in front of the doorway as he glanced in Grishenko's direction, met eyes with his opposing chosen. For a brief moment, that's all they did, sizing up one another, before the Ukrainian finally did a rigidly polite motion with his arm, an invite— _sit down._ Bauer finally moved forth and approached Grishenko's table to take a seat facing him.

"Nicolas Bauer," the assassin acknowledge.

"Boradin Grishenko," Nick flatly returned.

"Both the fallen ones, no?"

"Depends on your definition."

"Suppose it's true...Listen, why not cut through muck here and get to chase—you understand here and now that if by some large miracle this work out like planned, and I work for Pear-Paul again afterwards...and they task me to take you out, finish the job from long ago—"

"That you won't hesitate to do so, I understand, I know who you are and what you are. I have no illusions in this that we will somehow become friends in the course of things...but right now you and I have a common enemy to deal with."

"Not so much enemy on my part...more a frustration. Stanford can be made to see reason, I think, and realize error of his ways."

"Well, that remains to be seen, but first things first."

"Yes, I know, first we must get him...and I have way to make that happen. I will make believe that I see things their way now—that I am ready to join fold once again, in whatever capacity they might accept me. And I will do their bidding for a few months. Until such time as opportunity best presents itself—and remember, you and your friend must be on alert for my call when time is right to extract."

"We will be."

" _Make sure,"_ Grishenko emphasized as he pointed a thick finger at Bauer. He retracted it then said, "Now...how do you plan to get rid of freak wasps—the whole of them?"

"That will take some time...perhaps longer than we have to achieve our goal with Stanford. Will that be acceptable to you?"

"It is...but I don't think I have to tell you twice that if after I do my part and you do not follow through on _your_ part, then I will come after you and your friend."

"Understood...Now when will you start your reinsertion?"

"Tomorrow."

Chapter 30

It was lunch time at McCormack and Pahti was closely huddled around a despondent Jess at one of the lunch benches. Constant chatter of their fellow students blared all about them: kids of various teen ages eating and gossiping about whatever affected their individual lives.

The anonymous chosen were silent, however, choosing not to add their voices to the indistinct mix of banter.

Until Pahti finally spoke, "You were right, I wanted to be with her."

"What?" Jess said abruptly as if she wasn't quite sure what he was referring to.

"Bea. I wanted to be something more than friends."

"I know."

"Was it really that obvious?"

"It was in the way you looked at her...and held yourself around her."

"...Do you think she knew?"

"If she did, we never talked about it."

"I never told her...never asked her out, never hinted...because I thought, well, maybe she would never accept my interest...or maybe it would jeopardize our friendship, our little group. And I had convinced myself that it wasn't that serious, that the friends thing was much more important..." Now his eyelids began to line with shimmers of threatening tears. "But now that she's gone...I _know_ that I was in love with her...now that she's gone, I know that I wanted to hold her and kiss her and tell her so—whether she ever felt the same or not. Now that there's no time and it's too late..." He wiped at his eyes and turned to face Jess. "Nice to have a break, huh?"

"Hm?"

"You know, Bernard—he's not here today."

"Oh, yeah."

"Perhaps he is deftly ill and will be out for weeks—or _months..."_ he suggested with a note of enthusiasm.

"Years would suit me fine."

"I know, right?" He cracked a half smile.

"His lapdogs are still present though..."

Pahti spotted what she saw and frowned.

From across the school quad they both tracked Bernard's favorites: Percy and Jennifer as they were conversing with their respective regular groups.

"Don't remind me..." Pahti lamented, "...at least we don't have to feel _them."_ And he looked away.

But Jess kept her gaze on the two across the way. "...At the very least..."

Suddenly, Percy turned and caught her dead stare on him. He returned the look and, as discretely as he could, he put a pointer finger to his lips in a "be quiet" gesture...actually, it was more a one of _stay quiet._

And Jess took it as such, got the message.

Her face twitched with rage.

Chapter 31

"Mom, I want to take more advanced lessons."

The Belaski-Melendez's were sitting at the dinner table in the midst of eating the prepared lasagna meal when Jess made her announcement.

Erin eyed her daughter a few seconds before responding. "Okay...any particular reason, or are you just bored with what you can do?"

"I just want to be more powerful in my fighting."

Curt frowned. "Are you getting some trouble from kids at school?"

"No," Jess half-lied. "I just...yeah, I'm just bored with my skills so far, I want to know more. I'll pay for it if I have to, get a job or something, but I really want to up my game."

"...Well, okay, baby girl," Curt said, "but I hope you'll be careful because the advanced, you know, I hear those guys don't mess around."

"Curt," Erin said, "Maybe we should...maybe we should give her the option that Ellison suggested."

"What?" Jess asked.

"Weren't we going to talk about that some more?" Curt politely countered.

"Who's Ellison?" Jess wanted to know.

Erin tried, "I know we were, but since she wants this, maybe—"

" _Hey,_ who is Ellison? What are you talking about?"

"Okay," Curt relented, "Go ahead and tell her about it, maybe it's for the best."

"Mom?"

"Jess," Erin began, "Mr. Ellison is a man who belongs to a company made up solely of people who share your special condition."

Jess' brow wrinkled as she said, "Really?"

"Yes, and they apparently have a youth program where you can, you know, meet and get to know others like you."

"What, do you get carted away to somewhere?"

"No, not from what Ellison says. You still get to live at home, and they probably only meet like a few times a week. But the main thing is they'll offer the advanced fighting stuff that you're looking for."

"How much does it cost?"

"Free as far as I know."

"Well...I'm a little lost then, how come you guys didn't mention this before?"

Erin and Curt looked at each other knowingly, tensely. Erin turned back to Jess and asked, "Honey, how much do you remember of what happened to us when you were younger?"

"Well, I vaguely remember a gigantic spider—mostly because I've had to dream about it occasionally but I don't honestly know how much is just dream or what really happened."

"Nothing before that?"

Jess flicked her stare to the side, searching hard in her memory for anything else...nothing came however. "Hn-n."

"Well then..." And Erin took in a bracing breath, let it out. "I guess it's time you knew certain things."

So Erin and Curt told their daughter of the events that occurred on that traumatic day—the war between Ellison and Bauer and Pearson and Paul, the part that Erin, Curt, Jessie, and the rest of the family played in it, and who managed to bring Jess back to her loved ones.

Jess was stunned. "All this happened before the spider?"

"M-hm, a month before."

"...Wow, I don't remember _any_ of that..."

"Hmph, I don't think I'll ever forget it." And Erin performed another heady breath.

"But I still don't get why you were hesitant to mention Ellison and the program to me."

"I don't know, hon, paranoia I guess, I just wanted you to try and have a normal childhood as much as possible."

Fat chance on that, Jessie morosely ruminated over in her mind, though she betrayed none of how she felt on the matter of growing up a "chosen" in her outward expression. "How do I get a hold of this Ellison?"

"I have his card." Erin got up from the table and went to her and Curt's bedroom. She opened the top drawer of her dresser and got out the card from underneath some folded blouses and returned to the dinner table. "Here," she said as she passed the card to Jess.

The girl looked it over. "Can Pahti join?"

"I don't see why not. Why, has he expressed an interest in martial arts?"

"No...but I have a feeling it would do him some good. Bea's death has hit him pretty hard."

"I don't imagine it's been easy on anyone, sweetheart."

If only you knew just how much that's true in my case, Jessica felt like saying, but kept it to her inner thoughts.

Chapter 32

Grishenko stepped casually through the doors of Pear-Paul and strode over to the front desk.

The desk woman recognized him. "Mr. Grishenko, what an unexpected surprise. To what do we owe your visit?"

"Weary—for old friends," Grishenko thickly replied to the female chosen.

"Ah, I see...Would you also include Mr. Jordan in that list?" she inquired knowingly.

"Mmm, Mr. Jordan and I have had our difficulties, it is true. But that was long time ago. And we are brethren, da?"

"Yes indeed...shall I alert Mr. Oliver to escort you up?"

"If you like, I wait."

Five minutes later, Oliver in his three-piece suit and balding massiveness arrived to the lobby to greet Grishenko. They shook hands with vigor.

" _Hey_ , Boradin," Oliver beamed in amity, "how are things overseas?"

"The euro is joke, my old friend."

"Still better than the dollar."

"Is true."

"What brings you to the states..." And Oliver moved in a bit closer to lower his voice in a discreet manner. "... _and_ in the presence of some still here that you so much as denounced?"

"Yes, I know, I was rash in my youth. But I've come to—how you Americans say— _mend_ fences? Europe has broadened me, I am not as fanatical in my beliefs as I used to be."

"Are you so much as saying then that you would like to rejoin our humble little organization?"

" _Only_ if there is place for someone of my skills."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. There is always more that needs to be done to guarantee our security. Remember, Stanford never wanted you to quit in the first place."

"Which is one of the reasons why I've made firm choice to come back."

"Of course, I will put in my two cents on your behalf—only tread lightly where Jordan is concerned; he is still quite fond of his creations that you once called heretical."

" _And_ he should be. Let's face it, they have served company well throughout world—or so I have heard."

"Well, why don't we go up and say hello—and let me do most of the talking, okay?" He motioned Grishenko to follow him to the elevator.

" _You_ do most of the _talking?"_ he said in mock surprise as he followed Oliver.

"I know, wonders never cease, da?"

"Da."

And they laughed a bit as they stepped into the elevator and its doors closed around them.

There was a knock at Stanford's office door and he looked up from the paperwork he was examining to say, "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Oliver. "Stanford, I have an old friend who would like to see you."

Stanford cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Oliver said, "Yes..." then stepped aside and swung the door further open to expose Grishenko to Stanford's sights.

Stanford was shocked, and he took a frozen second before visually or verbally responding. "...Boradin..."

"Hello, Stanford," Grishenko greeted with eyebrows slightly ascended. "Or should I say vice president?"

Oliver offered, "Boradin has been seriously considering rejoining our happy little family here at Pear-Paul."

"Has he?" Stanford put in.

"Yes, in fact, he was just explaining how much he has missed our little organization— _and_ everyone in it."

"Really...even the ones he had considered an affront to his ilk?"

"Europe has mellowed him, he's grown since those naïve days."

"I see..." he remarked as he nodded slowly—yet studyingly. "...so then am I to understand that you, Boradin, have absolutely no qualms with my...creative approach to methods of elimination?"

"May I?" Grishenko asked politely as he motioned toward the chair facing Stanford and his desk.

"Please, have a seat."

Grishenko sat and eyed Stanford with a casual yet sincere look. "Now...of course, I would prefer that chosen handle the work, I would not lie...and when I heard of Janice being bested by someone it was not even assigned to, I confess I had celebratory drink...but now look at you, look what you have accomplished in years since then. You are now vice president of mid-western branch thanks to your new creations."

"They have served me well, I must admit...but there is always more that can be done. My night flyers, I cherish them naturally, but they only have one way of performing their duties. We could...always use a man of your considerable skills."

"I think we have new understanding then." And Grishenko cracked a half smile.

"I never wanted the old one to begin with." Stanford threw out his hand to shake Grishenko's.

The Ukrainian brought his own out to firmly clasp with the VP, and a few shakes were made before they separated.

"Welcome back, Boradin," Stanford said with delight in his eyes.

Grishenko retorted, "I feel like another celebratory drink."

"Tonight, nine, at Andre's." Stanford looked up at Oliver. "You're coming too."

Oliver replied, "Like I would miss it."

Chapter 33

Jessica drove her car to the address on the paper instructions she had on the passenger seat. Once she arrived and parked, she double-checked the address to see that it matched the printed one, then got out and walked toward the entrance of the complex.

The structure seemed like such a simplistic design, one big lot with a parking strip in next to it.

She opened the front lobby door and entered to find two people of roughly mid-range thirties in age. Both looked to be in top physical shape. One was a man with close-cropped sandy-blonde hair, the other was a woman with her long hair tightly pulled back in a ponytail. They had polite smiles for Jess. She couldn't help but grin for them—they were her kind, her version of the chosen.

"You must be Jessica," the woman said as she stepped forth to offer her hand to shake. Jessica shook it, and as she did, the woman announced, "I'm Dina Mann, the director of this facility." They released hands from each other then Dina motioned to the man beside her. "And this is Perry Cole, my assistant director."

"Hi, Jessica," Perry greeted as he shook hands with Jess.

"Hello," Jessica said as she took back her hand again. "I hope I came at the right time."

"You're perfect," Dina confirmed, "The groups are just doing their warm-ups. You want to come in and meet everyone? I believe they're anxious to meet you."

"Um—sure."

"Perry, will you escort her in? I have to make a phone call."

"Certainly," Perry said and eyed Jess. "Right this way."

He led her along a path as Dina departed from along another hallway. Soon they had marched through swinging yet heavy double doors and exposed themselves to a vast room that was the main training facility.

At least seventy children of age groups twelve to twenty were aggregated within their own clusters of near-age and training levels, stretching and practice sparring.

Shortly after Jessica and Perry entered, the groupings ceased their activities and gazed at their new arrivals.

At Jessica.

"Everyone," Perry blared, "this is Jessica, our newest member. She is going to be joining Thresher Group—so Mill, I want you to get her going and accustomed to your team."

A very wiry boy of nineteen responded, "Yes, sir, consider it done."

"Good deal, Mill..." And Perry turned to Jess, "Well, I'll leave you to get acquainted with your group. Nervous?"

"A little," Jess admitted.

"Don't be. You'll do just fine."

"Thanks."

He gave her gentle pat on the shoulder then departed to another side of the room to observe the rest of the trainees.

Dina spoke into her cell phone with a measure of respectful concern as she stood in her closed-door office. "She just arrived, sir, and Perry has introduced her to her group."

Through the other end of the cell line, a deepened male voice monitoned out, "Excellent, thank you, Miss Mann."

"You're welcome, sir...Sir, may I ask, are we positive she doesn't know?"

"I'm fairly certain of it—unless her grandparents decided to tell her and not her mother or father. Or Dean. Why, do you sense that she is extra tense?"

"Not...really, I'm just a little curious of the time frame, why it's happening now."

"It may be nothing. But as I said before, at the very least she has a fair measure of training at this point. Let's do our best to make sure she is as advanced as she can be before things must happen."

"Before she is handed over to them...Sir, I must express my reservations about this endeavor. How can we possibly do something like this to one of our own?"

"I'm afraid we have no choice in the matter. If I hadn't made this agreement, she would have been tortured and killed as an infant."

"God, sir, those people are just pure sickening filth."

"Yes. But they are also clever and determined. She must be ready for them."

"She will be, sir."

"I'll leave her in your capable hands, Dina."

"Thank you, Mr. Ellison, I'll talk to you soon."

And they hung up. She looked off but stared at nothing around her. Her mind was swirling with a serious current of concern and apprehension. No matter how well she felt Jess could be trained, she had a gnawing intuition that this would not end well.

"Welcome to Thresher Group," the wiry boy invited to Jess as she came within a few feet from the team of older teens. "I'm Maximilian Freers, team leader. But you can call me Mill. Chose that instead of Max because, you know, everybody goes with Max; and everyone's gotta have a little bit of non-conformity, I always say."

"Nice to meet you, Mill," Jess said.

"And this germ war here is Gordon," Mill announced the boy to his right.

Rather simplistically, the boy echoed, "Hi, my name is Gordon."

Mill back-handed Gordon's arm playfully. "Don't be a rod. And this nubbin on my left is Sadie."

"Hi. Don't try to steal my man," Sadie mockingly said to Jess as she nodded sideways to Mill.

"You wish it were so."

"Actually, I dream about it—but it's more of a bone-crushing, soul-stealing nightmare now that I think about it."

"Your flattery is totally lost on me..."

" _Aww,"_ she said in a false depression, but then broke into a jovial smile.

"And over there is Weston, that's Chen, Heather, and Moises. And over there is Tisha and Neil."

They all greeted Jess respectfully.

"All right, so hey, the directors told us that you have some skills, Jess."

"I should be higher at this point," Jess admitted, "I guess I haven't been as focused on it as I should be. I mostly just did it because I enjoyed it."

"Well, we'll cure you of that for sure." Mill laughed a touch in knowing.

Jess looked around uncomfortably.

Chapter 34

The freak insectoid felt the night breeze and twittered its wings in anticipation. It had a grand assignment tonight—three targets to eliminate in one evening's time frame.

It had never attempted this before, and when the directive came down from the mid-western branch HQ, the wasp dubbed WI-7 felt an initial wave of nervousness, but then exhilaration kicked in, the thrill of the challenge sent a euphoric rush of electricity through its form.

It might have been a different story had those targets been in three different locations, to be taken down at different specified times. But the multiple targets would be at the same location at the same time.

Three top executives of the Chartoff exporting and importing conglomerate were meeting in secrecy on the Morland Golf Course to discuss their money laundering strategies. Thus far they had bilked their company for roughly twenty-four point six million combined over the last two years, carefully siphoning off funds that were supposed to aid in better ship and freight hull lining protection.

This, of course, unnerved the higher-ups of Pear-Paul who owned substantial stock in Chartoff. It was decided then that the three should be erased from consideration, making way for new leadership of the company. And Pear-Paul already had three replacements in mind.

Thus, WI-7 was charged with the details and sent out—alone. At this point and time, there could be no second or third of his enlightened brethren, with their equally genetically enhanced brain capacity, to assist. They were all dispersed and accomplishing different tasks around the country, around the globe.

No, it was Seven, and Seven alone, who would see the end of these three blights on Pear-Paul's corporate strength.

But the three-foot long wasp had to be careful, it only carried so much venom within its glands to do so much damage to its intended victims.

Yet Seven wasn't going to allow a possible shortage of liquid poison to prevent its sworn duties from being carried out. If it had to, it would use its stinger as a slashing or stabbing weapon to wound and destroy its prey.

It would complete its assignment, it would unquestionably meet its challenge, no matter the level of difficulty.

It swore this again to itself as it hid in one of the golf courses massive, leaf-rich, and wide-branching trees.

It had a visual mark on its three targets, even knew their names and backgrounds. Its handlers felt that this information might come in handy when choosing which target to take out first.

Joel Reigardt was the senior executive and the oldest of the three, with occasional bouts of asthma and high blood pressure. He would naturally be kill number three.

Second would be Cynthia Schilling, forty-eight and fairly overweight, Chartoff's overseas liaison.

First, however, would go to Kevin Bolles, the youngest at forty-two and apparently a jogger running three miles a day. He also ran their marketing division, and, ironically, was the mastermind behind the money laundering scheme.

Seven took another brief minute to bask in the night's glory before it focused itself for flight.

It zeroed its multivision solely on Kevin, and then bounded whippingly into the cool air.

Within a mere two seconds, the wasp had covered a distance of eighty feet to land square on Kevin's upper back. And before any of the others could react, it stabbed its readied stinger deep into his lower spine. Rigidly, Kevin seized, and a teeth-baring and gritted, _"EEEEEGH!"_ had tore from his lungs.

The others panicked and ran at the sight of their associate being harnessed and violated by some monstrous insect with a horrid wingspan.

Cynthia was screaming, "Oh dear _Gooooooood!"_ at the top of her pumping lungs.

Joel immediately blurted out in baser instinct, "SWEET JESUS, WHAT _IS_ THAT THING?! WHAT _IS_ THAAAAAT!" as he bolted off in a different direction from the woman, his lungs wheezing with greater difficulty the further he got.

Seven had injected a fair amount of its body toxin into the younger man, and felt confident that the dosage would do the trick to shut down the human for good. It disengaged its blood-wetted stinger and blurred its wings to fly after the fleeing Cynthia.

Although she was a portly woman, fear had made her into a marathon contender, and she now got almost a quarter of a mile away.

But Seven was still essentially an infinity of quickness over the hysterical female. Within seconds it had her, and managed to briskly end her mad hollerings with a jolting insertion of its stinger.

She managed an "OOF!" and ran herself into the green-grassed ground. She was hunched forth as she hit but came upright on her knees. Her arms and torso were mad with flails and odd and useless movements.

Seven buzzed a few blurring flits of its wings in pure delight. Its job was nearly complete.

But it had a new concern. Its toxic well within its hind segment was thinning out as it filled the woman with enough fluid to cease her functioning.

Cynthia's flails were coming to an end, and now she was stone-like save for a few snaps of body-wide convulsion. As these happened, strained _"Guh!"_ sounds shot from her throat. Within seconds, she would be comatose and on her way to death.

The membranous winged freak unknifed the poisoned woman and launched into flight once more, seeking its remaining human target.

Joel had also managed a good distance of about a quarter mile away. But as a result of his insane and foolish efforts to do so, and his highly mounted level of fear, his lung capacity was almost next to nil. And he simply couldn't run anymore. Now he was reduced to staggering forth, wheezing horridly, desperately for life-saving air. A few more lame steps and he found himself plopped down on his knees and hunched forward. His wheezes became quicker, more clipped.

Seven came nearer to him, first at a rapid soar through the air—but then, upon seeing that he was downed, slowed to a smooth sail. It eased itself into a spiraling hover, closely observing the man's paralyzed condition. It was clear that the last target had run himself out and would not be bounding back up to make another go at escape. His breathing looked bad, his face strained...and his eyes were bulged at the freezing fear of his current state.

He fell further to lie flat on his back—and his eyes widen to their limit as he witnessed what was floating above him, coldly, calculatingly observing him.

Seven now assessed that it didn't even matter that its poison reserve was almost completely drained. Either the mark named Joel was going to fully asphyxiate himself through overworked and totally constricted lungs, or he would merely need to be helped along by a quick blocking of his airways until he ceased to function.

Seven chose the latter—the target may take minutes to expire, possibly allowing for others, witnesses of a complicating, unwanted nature, to arrive on the scene. That might be disastrous to the seclusion and full success of this mission. Seven soothed a descent directly toward Joel.

The incapacitated and suffocating man quickly jerked a shake of his bugged-eyed head, clearly not wanting to be up close and personal with this unholy thing. But it was primarily an instinct move of baser dread, and in no way meant to realistically deter the winged demon from closing the distance between them.

With wings batting in a blurred state, the giant wasp grew greater and greater within his thickened vision. And in the next terror-filled instant, blotted out the starless night.

Chapter 35

A week after Jess joined the youth organization sponsored by Ell-Bau, she decided to bring in Pahti along to see if he was apt to join up. Still reeling from Bea's death, the boy felt less enthusiastic in coming aboard to the program in any capacity, but agreed to accompany Jess anyway.

When they met up with Thresher Group, it was not in the facility combat and physical training unit, rather at Kerrigan's for a less formal gathering.

Since Pahti had no interest in martial arts, Kerrigan's seemed a better venue for introductions. Thresher Group didn't care, of course, if Pahti was into ancient pottery: he was a chosen like them and could relate to how he lived and thought.

And he was a trusted friend of Jess, with whom they had already wholeheartedly accepted. After all, she too was their own, aside from her willingness to train with the group.

It wasn't long before the lot of them were deep into prized conversations and discoveries about one another.

And laughter. Even Pahti in his stupor of love's loss managed a hard bark of laughter or two. Maybe three.

Outside of the training, Jess had been invited by Thresher to participate in outreach and hunger relief programs that they had developed themselves. Ell-Bau had deemed it important that the younger adult chosen organize crucial endeavors to improve citizenship and social ills. A sense of purpose was first and foremost in Ell-Bau's directive for their burgeoning charges, their sparks for a brighter future.

In the midst of it all, Jess trained. And trained hard. It was barely a day off that she didn't have some sort of blue-blackened or brownish bruising somewhere on her body. But Thresher had taught her things she hadn't even thought were possible in terms of limb swings and attacks. At the end of her train sessions, she typically wanted to just collapse with pure exhaustion, and muscle and tendon strain.

Certain days she simply wanted to give up and withdraw form the group. But then she would vividly recall the incapacitation that Bernard had easily performed on her...and then made her helplessly watch while he heaved her loving friend, Bea, right off a 200 foot cliff to her tragic and pointless death. And the motivation to carry on and slug through the misery would become solid and resolute once more.

And besides, there _were_ some days that, even though she was physically challenged to the extreme, she felt high on the compliments she would receive from every member of Thresher. Or even Pahti who came once or twice to see what Jess and the rest could do.

The new comradery was invaluable to her spirit and her sense of belonging. She no longer felt like Pahti and she were freakish anomalies in a world full of normals, but members of a specialized community dedicated to representing the best of what the human species could be. And the sensation that the two had experience with each other some ten-odd years ago upon first meeting—that initial feeling of hominess of their cores—was felt with even greater intensity at the coming together with Thresher's members.

It was almost enough to quell the two of the gnawing holes in their hearts over Bea's untimely end.

Almost.

In point of fact, it was Jess' deepened sense of loss for her friend that, while strengthening her resolve to train harder and learn more of her fighting skills, also hindered her crucial level of focus to make her moves most effective. But it wasn't that alone which impeded her potential progress to excel.

As Mill explained to her one day, "You're coming along...but there is a difficulty brought on, I believe, by two factors. One is, I sense that you along with your friend Pahti are grieving. It's seriously in both of your eyes. Now, you can tell me about it or wait until you feel less frayed about what happened and to whom. That's your choice, of course, I won't harp on it nor will any of the others because that's not our place. But I will say this—and forgive me because it's going to sound a little cold—in physical combat, your mind must be set. There can't be any distractions of any kind beyond the focus of absorbing the anticipation and reaction to your opponent's every move.

"Which _can_ be difficult for people of our kind in general, which brings us to our second issue. _Because_ of our heightened states, our broader intelligences, we tend to take in a larger spectrum of stimuli. So honing in on just one immediate stimulus can be a greater challenge for us. Do you feel this to be the case with you?"

Jess did and promised to work closely with Mill on this particular setback to resolve. It was weeks before she could remotely master the skill, frustrating her to no end.

But at least progress was being made.

Chapter 36

Grishenko was in a state of furor. Panic was infecting his mind and body.

An emergency meeting was arranged between Grishenko and Dean at a secluded and abandoned tenement to discuss an alarming turn of events. Now that both had arrived at the dank and dilapidated site, Grishenko launched into the reason for the in-person conference.

"We have problem. Stanford has given me second opportunity to end Bauer."

Dean now felt the same edgy electricity charge through his system as Grishenko. _"What? Why?"_

"Now that Bauer's former company doesn't have the enormous corporate strength it once had, Stanford feels that it no longer has position to dissuade us from taking out Bauer—particularly now that he is no longer employee."

Dean suddenly broke into manic pacing as he blurted, "Oh, _terrific!"_ in massive exasperation, "This is just _wonderful_ timing... _why?_ Why now?!"

"Stanford, it seems, is trying to ensure that I am useful again, that nothing of my duties of the past are left undone. Bauer was biggest letdown for me. Stan is generous with his brethren now that he is vice president."

"Well that's it, we have to step up our time table, we have to act now."

"I agree, however, this could be trap. It is possible they have been observing me and you two the whole time. Our side is very clever and very paranoid."

This stopped Dean's mad paces back and forth. "...My God, you could be right...but...we still—we still have to risk it. I can't have my damn niece turned over to them, it just can't happen..." He eyed Grishenko with intense and nervous questioning. "...Are you...still willing to go through with this?"

"Da. I will do what I have to for my beliefs— _risk_ anything...Stanford must learn."

Dean released a relieving yet nerve-stuttered breath.

An hour later, Dean met with Bauer and explained the new predicament to him. The elder man agreed that their plan must be accelerated. Both men hoped and prayed that Grishenko's reinsertion and acceptance within Pear-Paul had been genuine, and not part of a corporate counterplot against them.

Only time would tell.

After hearing the knock at his office door, Stanford said, "Enter."

Grishenko did and approached the V.P. to stand before him.

"Is it done?" Stanford inquired.

"Is done. Bauer sleeps for good," Grishenko lied convincingly.

"Good riddance, hey?"

"After all these years, yes."

"It's ironic in a way."

"What is?"

"Well, if you think closely on it, if Bauer hadn't left his company some sixteen years back, it is likely that his friends would have maintained their corporate foothold. They're still a major force, naturally, but his knowledge and influence have obviously been missed within their core administrative abilities. Ellison still could have had the influence necessary to protect his golden boy."

"And Bauer would still live today. Ah yes, I see irony now. Well, life is full of ironies. Take you and me, for example."

"...Yes...quite so."

The lobby of Pear-Paul appeared quite free of any disruptive activity. It was predominantly noiseless save for the far away and muffled sounds of mid-afternoon traffic just outside the glass doors.

The lobby front desk assistant was emotionlessly, silently doing a check of all security monitors built into the desk's console. The security guards were leaned up against opposite walls staring out at the street.

For another brief moment, things remained in this boring malaise of time passing for the lobby crew.

And then the feeling, the revulsion, erupted from their cores and eradiated throughout them.

The enemy chosen was approaching.

The assistant immediately jammed her open-palmed hand into the alarm/lockdown button at the base of her console display.

In the next instant, a sedan with darkly tinted windows pulled up to the curb right in front of the lobby entrance. No one got out.

"Is there new assignment for me now?" Grishenko calmly inquired of his employer.

"As a matter of fact, there is," Stanford revealed. "You feel up to going back overseas—?"

Suddenly, an alarm repeatedly blared out. The door to the office automatically swung shut and locked—the standard emergency protocol.

Stanford faced Grishenko with haste and snapped, "You know what to do."

"Yes, sir," Grishenko cracked back and sprinted for the filing cabinet resting up against the wall. When he got to it, he forcefully yanked it away from the wall. What was revealed was a rectangular shaped slicing within the wall—a hidden compartment. Grishenko pushed at the wall/door and it spring-slid in and upward exposing the darkened compartment. He barked to Stanford, "Go! Go!"

Stanford immediately obeyed by rushing himself into the compartment. Grishenko followed in and pulled the wall's door back down to seal once more. The alarm continued to squeal in the emptied room.

Within the compartment's walling there was a single panel with a single button—Grishenko pushed it. And immediately, the two felt the box they were in plummet with quickening pace. This was the executive escape elevator shaft in the event of a severe crisis.

As the elevator speedily descended, Stanford remarked with slight annoyance, "Idiots...what do they think can happen here? It's not like they have and inside man to..."

And then things horrifyingly fell into place. Stanford turned to eye Grishenko with lid-widened panic and dread.

Grishenko didn't have much room to maneuver in the compartment's cramped quarters. But his fisted and lightening-quick slug to Stanford's sternum was still a damaging blow. The man buckled forth and wheezed a prolonged and strained breath. Grishenko then went for the muscle fold between Stanford's neck and shoulder clusters with a highly impactful chop of his rigid, straightened hand. As a result, Stanford dropped to the floor and lost consciousness.

When the car reached its bottom floor, the opened section aligned with and spatially matched another opening to an underground tunnel.

Grishenko reached down, picked up the limp Stanford, and hoisted him over his shoulder to carry. He then exited the shaft and traversed the length of the tunnel.

A strip of light fixtures from the tunnel's roofing provided enough luminance to see. Sufficient for Grishenko to catch sight of the doorway at the end of the tunnel roughly a hundred feet away.

Even with the weight of Stanford on him, Grishenko reached the other side in the space of a few minutes.

Once there, he opened up the door which revealed an ascension of steps. Another track of lights allowed the necessary and safe visibility. Quickly, Grishenko climbed them to reach the top—as he did it brought him and his carry to another small spacing and yet another door. This was the one, he knew, that would open freely from his end but lock from the other side. There would be no going back after this door was closed.

But that, clearly, was fine for Grishenko's intentions, he had crossed the no-return point long before this in his mind.

He opened up the door, moved through it to the abandoned, stripped out room beyond, and closed the door up again. Once it was done, he turned back around and diagonaled the distance of the room to open one last door—to the outside.

The bright light of the afternoon day pained his vision and he squinted his eyes to protect them, adjust the extreme exposure. Despite this hindrance, he could still make out his surroundings: an expansive alleyway just off the path of the main street sixty feet beyond. A car was parked just out in front of the abandoned, stripped clean storage facility Grishenko had exited from.

Dean was at the wheel.

Grishenko briskly, hastily approached and opened up the car's trunk to throw Stanford inside. He then closed it up and rounded the vehicle to get in on the front passenger side. "Go," he told Dean as he slammed the door shut.

Dean complied and drove straight out of the alley to the main street.

A hundred feet down from them, the car with the tinted windows that had parked in front of Pear-Paul's lobby drove on.

And followed closer and closer to Dean and Grishenko until it was only a car's length away.

Chapter 37

Stanford awoke to a blinding ache in his brain.

He was seated and quite snuggly rope-tied in a wooden chair. Where Grishenko and Dean had met before to discuss the new ordered hit on Bauer was where Stanford was now: a toilet flushed, sorry excuse for an emptied tenement. The chair-bound Stanford was featured dead center on the room's flooring.

Dean and Grishenko stood before him—as well as Bauer, fresh from his following cruise in the tinted window sedan.

Bauer spoke up first. "Hello, Mr. Jordan."

Lowering his head and bunching his eyelids shut to deal with his head's thick misery, Stanford ventured a response, "Hello, coward."

Ignoring the implication, Bauer continued, "I assume you know why you have been taken."

"Wellll, let me take a super-duper big guess...the girl."

"That's correct. I—and especially Mr. Belaski here—would think it quite beneficial for both ends of this if you were to nullify your verbal agreement with Ellison concerning Jessica Belaski-Melendez. Do you feel that in your present circumstance that this would also be so?"

Stanford took an equalizing and deepened breath in, let it out. Then he creased his brow and lifted his pained head to stare his captors down. "No, I do not. No matter what advantage you think you have here, I see no reason to yield."

"Then," Grishenko entered, "you would leave me no choice but to _make_ you yield."

"Mr. Grishenko," Bauer said calmly, "if we could keep this as sane as possible. Now, Mr. Jordan, think this through. Do you really want this handover to take place? You have an army of programmed assassins who will carry out your corporate agenda with complete willingness. You are vice president of your company, garnering the respect of thousands of your brethren worldwide. Isn't one more operative just overkill at this point?"

"It is not. Not when it comes to certain ventures. And I'm assuming that _if_ my trustworthy brethren here—who has _so much_ of that respect you were just mentioning for me—has his way, my army would be eliminated. Which seems clear to me now to be the _only_ reason he would get into bed with you two on this. So if I agree to rescind the verbal contract I have with Ellison and his sycophants, I lose both initiatives, don't I?

"So no, I will not _nullify_ , as you put it, the contract. Besides, what advantage do you really think you have when all is said and done? Sure, you can have ol' Boradin here go to work on me, I'm well aware what he's capable of. And maybe he can get me to crack with an ironclad written agreement to rescind...or perhaps you _just won't get_ time enough to make that happen. Because even now they are looking for me. _All_ of you, I'm sure, are quite aware of our resources to find those who can't be found. And it is even easier in my case because all they have to do is sweep the surrounding areas for the sense of me...and the swarm of our paratroopers will begin. I'd say you have a half hour at most."

"I'm afraid he has point," Grishenko conceded.

"Boradin..." began Stanford as he eyed Grishenko expressly, "...let me offer you a counter-proposal...kill these two here and now, and you may still have a place in the organization. Is not Oliver a good and dear friend to you? Think how sad he will be when he discovers what has truly happened. If you do this for me now, and when the strike team arrives, I will tell them it was you who saved me."

"...That is interesting proposal, I must admit..."

Both Dean and Bauer yanked their lid-tightened sights to Grishenko, new fear charging their bodies.

The hitman spoke on. "...But I'm afraid you and I are beyond a trust agreement. _You_ have no written contract for me. And I _know_ you will not willingly destroy your genetic atrocities just to appease me."

"Are they really so offensive to your sensibilities, my friend? Look at all the wonderful benefits of what they have accomplished for us."

"Benefits that _I_ could have _easily_ achieved for you! And profit be _damned,_ Stanford, they are unnatural _freaks!_ They are not the chosen! _We_ are selected for this task in life, not them! _Let me ask you,_ have you ever had something of great value stolen from you by those you thought you could trust?! Those who you thought were family?! Well that is what is like for ME!"

"What if I were to cut the force of initiatives in half? In business, there are always compromises to be had—"

"You are not LISTENING!!!" Grishenko roared as he jerked a step forth towards Stanford. The bound man flinched automatically.

Disturbingly from the distance, the walloping sounds of helicopter rotors could be heard by all, becoming louder with each passing moment. Everyone averted their eyes to the direction of the whirling, increasing noise.

Stanford emitted, "Hmmm..."

And then more nerve-jarring noises spoke up: sprinting boot steps crushing gravel and scraping concrete from all access areas outside the room.

Soon these sounds were drowned out by the helicopter as it clearly was hovering itself into position over the tenement.

A man's voice blared out from an echoing bullhorn: "Boradin Grishenko! Exit the building unarmed and surrender to the team outside!"

It was Oliver who spoke.

"Whadda we do, Bauer?" Dean asked in a horrid haste.

Bauer turned curtly to Grishenko. "What's our move, if any?"

" _We_...don't do anything..." Grishenko strangely announced without panic or hurry.

Soon, it became apparent why.

Over the maddening loud and repeated THWUP, THWUP of the helicopter, a distant yet deep shot rang out, then two, then three...

And suddenly, the sound of the chopper shifted to one side of the room, became more intense for one split second, and then an earth-thumping explosions rocked the room.

Seconds later, more shots pounded through the sky outside. Breath-stealing and fatal "Oofs!" and howls of burning misery were then heard from various external locations.

One shot even brought a strike team member shovingly toward the window of the room. His head smashed through the mold and dirt-blotted window with abandon, showering dark pieces of glass to the floor. In the next instant, another expertly precise shot speared the man's head straight through, and then stabbed the lower end of the opposite wall an instant later. The man slid down and out of sight from the window.

More shots, more squeezes of mortal breath pushed from strike team lungs, more screams of agony that were quickly snuffed out by further shots.

"What _is_ that?!" Dean shouted in shock.

"My crew," Grishenko responded evenly, "You met them at bistro. Was just in case you pull something on me. They fall back to sniper positions when team arrive—"

Jarringly, the door of the room blasted open to swing wide, and Oliver and another team member stormed forth. Once in, they instantly slammed the door shut.

Then they both hunched down and twisted about to point their guns at the others.

But Grishenko was already on them with his own piece, firing a life-ceasing round at the team member's heart. He crumpled inward with a terrifying wail. As this was happening, Grishenko fired again at Oliver, drawing even nearer as he did.

But Oliver had yanked the miseried team member instantly in front of himself to shield the bullet. All the while, aiming his own weapon back at Grishenko. The shot was not his best and it hit his target across the cheek and the ear.

A chunk of the ear's cartilage was ripped away and Grishenko spat an "AAH!" but kept closing the distance. He returned fire with certainty and pure instinctual aim to try to hit the small sliver of exposed form that was Oliver's left brow.

Oliver attempted a lightening quick duck out of sight, but it was a fraction of a second too late—and the bullet ricocheted off his occipital bone. A spray of blood exploded into the air.

Oliver's gun hand, however, was still in view, and Grishenko targeted it for his next shot. As an immediate result, the gun was damaged and Oliver's pinky finger shredded. More blood was splashed.

But then Oliver catapulted the corpse that was his shield straight at Grishenko. The powerful force of the throw was enough to off-guard Grishenko's precision of aim—and Oliver took advantage of it to fast yank out his back-up pistol and aim at his once trusted friend.

Yet Grishenko now used Oliver's dead human shield tactic against him and hid behind the slackened corpse. Oliver's new shots tore two fresh holes into the unfortunate team member's back. Meanwhile, Grishenko jutted his gun's barrel out from the dead man's armpit and fired away. Three bullets mercilessly perforated Oliver's abdomen, and he did a lame sort of puppet's dance for a maddening instant.

But even as this trauma occurred to the behemoth, he still managed to accurately target Grishenko's right leg—which was still exposed behind the flaccid heap of the team member.

Grishenko wheezed a breath of searing pain and faltered teeteringly to the floor—yet kept firing away through the underarm and mangled more of Oliver's ailing torso.

The mammoth screwed up his face in a mad attempt to acclimate to his failing body—still, he, too, fired away at his opponent, who was now more exposed as the corpse dropped with him to a ragdoll's odd folding. Grishenko was thrashed through in the hip, and then the lower portion of his lungs—and his liver.

He dropped the corpse as he was too much pained to hold it up any longer, but it didn't matter now—Oliver had stopped firing. The head of security plopped his gun hand down to his side and fell to his knees with thudding impact.

Grishenko yet kept his aim but held his trigger in place. His aim was shaking. He stared at Oliver right in his eyes—as did Oliver directly back.

In the next second, Oliver raised his gun-free other hand to his forehead to tap it with his pointer finger.

Right here, old friend...do what you do...what you were meant to do.

Grishenko raised up his quaking aim to where Oliver had indicated with his finger...but again stayed his own, sensing that he couldn't do it right. Not enough to satisfy either's sense of inherent perfectionism.

So he dropped his gun down and simply kept his eyes locked on his kindred...until Oliver fell backward and laid out dumbly, awkwardly—a bleeding and spent mess.

Grishenko let his gun slip out of his grasp and slumped forth to hang his head close to his chest.

Dean and Bauer stood there far behind the trio of carnage, gaping-mouthed and wide-eyed at what they had just witnessed. Clearly, neither had ever seen a gunfight this intense, this bloodily graphic and real. It would be an event that neither of them would ever forget.

What came next was also quite unsettling and unexpected.

Grishenko got to his feet in wrenching grunts and whines of slicing pain. He was leaking generously from all of his bullet wounds. Yet he managed a jerking hobble toward the downed wreck of Oliver. He stood before his old comrade and again gazed unblinkingly into the giant's eyes. And watched the oddly sprawled darker chosen as the spark of life left his form. Watched as he left this world for a likely much more ominous one.

Then Grishenko managed a bucking turn around to face the others.

More specifically to pierce a poisoned stare at Stanford.

The still chair-bound vice president of Pear-Paul eyed him back, emotionless—yet with a hint of a diseased rage set in his expression.

Keeping his stare on his former boss, Grishenko said, "Bauer..."

"Yes, Boradin..." Bauer got out.

"...It is still your word to destroy _all_ of the—"

"I will, I swear it. It is my word."

Grishenko chained his gaze of poison on Stanford for a few seconds more. Then he slowly turned toward the door, tensely hobbled to it, and opened it up. He hobbled more strained and dragging steps to the outside. Then he pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed. An instant later, he spoke into it something that no one inside could make out.

After finishing his words to the phone, Grishenko dropped it on the ground...

...And received a whiplashing rifle shot to the head—the result of which sunk his entire form listlessly to the ground; a corpse before he even hit.

Dean and Bauer rushed to the doorway to stop short and witness what they had already guessed at in their mind's eye—the brain tunneled and lifeless body of Grishenko sprawled out before them.

"Maybe we shouldn't stand out in the open like this—" Dean hesitantly suggested before Bauer interjected.

"I don't think it matters now. His associates are likely clearing the scene as we speak...they're employment is up."

Bauer turned back and headed for Stanford to stand over him once again. After staring down at Grishenko for a brief moment more, Dean followed suit.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Stanford calmly picked back up, "in business there are always compromises to be considered. So in light of our recent development here, our middle ground stands as this: it seems that you two will walk out of here unharmed and free to roam—though you've gained nothing else. And I will sit here and wait for the next team to collect me and clean up this mess. Not necessarily what either side would have hoped for, but will simply have to settle on at this particular juncture in our dealings. Is that business-like enough for your sensibilities, Nicolas?"

But it was Dean who responded—and with a barely contained malice, "Not unless I pick up one of those guns over there and just start shooting specific areas of your _sick vice presidential ass."_

Stanford shot Bauer a look of bored exasperation.

"You can't, Dean," Bauer warningly advised. "If you do, his associates will retaliate against your family—against _my_ family..."

"How _are_ LaShawn and the girls doing these days, Nick?" Stanford taunted.

Ignoring the veiled threat, Bauer continued, "And they'll still take Jessica...because only this... _thing_ here can nullify the contract he has with Ellison...He's right, we will leave him here...unaccosted and in perfect health."

Dean, in pure frustrated rage, turned and slowly walked away.

When he got about ten feet away from the other two, he shakingly burst forth a prolonged scream.

The other two watched him; Bauer with regret and empathy for Dean's soul agony at having the last sixteen years come to nothing, Stanford with a small but true smirk of amusement...and satisfaction of the pain he was inflicting.

Bauer turned back around to Stanford, and somehow kept calm as he uttered, "We aren't over."

Stanford, with ease and finesse, gave his retort, "We never will be." And issued a quick and mocking grin.

In the next moment, Bauer had somehow managed to get Dean to follow him out of the withering, frayed room.

And leave the scene of sickening death and filth behind.

Chapter 38

The months were rolling along and Jessica's training was progressing as Ellison had hoped. She trained hard and didn't give up once; her dedication was admirable...and also a bit suggestive of something unsettling, in Ellison's assessments.

Was her new unwavering focus toward martial arts simply an evolution of her emergent personality? Or was there a specific traumatic event that triggered her into more pro-active motivations?

Ellison wouldn't know for sure, of course, unless he spoke with Jessica personally, directly.

But how to approach was a bit of a difficulty. He could lie and say that he visits all of his youth members on an individual basis, asking personal questions to try and truly get acquainted with each and every one of them. But he knew that was a flat out falsehood—he simply didn't have time as the CEO of a major corporation to meet every newcomer of his kind.

At times he wished he could because he _did_ care about their lives, and wished the absolute best for them as he did for all who had the guts to be half-way decent folk. But reports and meetings and visits to other parts of the country and the world left little time for personal fostering of fledgling chosen.

He would have to organize a meeting, he knew, and gather everyone involved with this disturbing predicament: Jess, her parents, her uncle, the grandparents—and if he could, his old partner Nick Bauer.

And just lay everything out in its entirety.

There were only two more months away from Jess' next birthday. Two more months before Pear-Paul would come calling for her. And do God knows what to her body and mind.

If he allowed himself to ponder on their plans for too long, it had a tendency to plague his mind to the point of ineffectiveness. And now that he had to maintain a serious level of mental and physical stamina to keep his company afloat, he had trained himself not to wander on the subject for any real length of time.

Yet now that the "date" was approaching, it was more and more a difficulty for him to think about little else.

What the hell _were_ they planning for her, he charged his thoughts to answer. What was their ultimate goal in acquiring an enemy chosen? Was it to brainwash her and turn her into an assassin that could successfully infiltrate her own kind? Was it to torture her and keep her bound to them, so that Ellison would be forced to do their various biddings? Or maybe just to be extra sick, they would simply kill her, and mail back parts to her family members and Ellison. Just to say to the honorable and caring members of the world that we can do what we want to you. We own you.

The real answer eluded Ellison. But whatever it actually came out to be, he knew it would not be good. He much doubted that it was some new experiment in fostering opposing chosen relations. That sort of thing simply didn't interest the Pear-Pauls, not in the slightest, not a one of them.

If only he had known of Jess' recent association with Bernard; he could have certainly warned her off way ahead of time. There _were_ no anomalies, no darker chosen who balked against who they were and wanted something different. Black, white, brown, purple—the soulless wretched of chosen _were_ who they were, and reveled in it.

But whatever they _did_ have mapped out for her arrival, her annexing, Ellison was prepared to try and gear Jessica for all possibilities. Hence the physical training, the self-defense enhancement, and his plan to, if all close to her, as well as Jess herself, were willing, strengthen and shield her mind.

But the last part would come only after he had gathered the family together and told everyone the whole story.

Which he was seriously not looking forward to.

Chapter 39

Jess waited. And had everything planned.

It had been a month since they had all graduated from high school, Jess and her fellow grade level peers. And while most were either planning for college or starting part-time jobs, Jess had another focus entirely.

She had been shadowing Percy as much as possible, learning his habits, his typical hangouts, and his usual schedule of events.

Saturday nights, Percy had a tried and true routine of hanging out with a group of regulars at _Blades_ ice skating rink. Either he was inside skating or grabbing a bite to eat with his friends, or he was standing outside and sharing an occasional smoke with the very same crew.

At first, Jess had kept a great distance away from _Blades_ , choosing to observe the scene through binoculars. And this was wise of her because Bernard was typically accompanying Percy to the popular establishment. Even from her far off location she could tell that Percy always seemed happier, more upbeat when Bernard was around. And Jess firmly suspected that if Percy could become like Bernard was—a chosen of the darker, more sadistic nature—he would do it in a heartbeat.

But recently, Bernard had been absent from the scene. Jess actually entertained the hope that possibly Bernard had moved away—and for good. However, she knew she couldn't be that lucky. Perhaps he had just gotten bored of the high school ice rink crowd, or maybe he found a job that works nights.

Whatever the reason, he was not here now on this particular summer Saturday night. And thus, Jess had abandoned her quarter mile scoping-out point for a much closer observation slot right behind the back structure of _Blades._ The shadow-blackened end where she would not be seen, but where she could surveil from the back corner the parking lot and all the cars in it.

Especially Percy's car.

Jess was waiting under darkened shadow. And would continue to wait until roughly 12 to 12:30 AM when Percy typically called it a night and returned to his car. Right now it was 11:50 PM and a feeling of stark anticipation was running through her body and mind. Not much longer to go.

While she waited for his arrival to the lot, she pondered what Percy was doing right now. Likely, he was just wrapping up some in-depth discussion about something that happened in the baseball game the night before, or who was dating whom. Or the latest "tent-pole", big budget film release that didn't live up to the expectations because the plot, dialogue, and actors were wooden.

The typical stuff that kids would talk about, the kinds of things that teens would concentrate on if they had no major guilts of conscience.

As if they had not been complicit in a cold-blooded murder.

Jessica knew who she was—that she was a more compassionate and soulfully introspective version of the chosen ones. Knew that she was beholden to a greater responsibility than just herself.

But that didn't mean that she didn't have a strong compulsion to want to rip Percy's heart right out of his chest and shove it down his throat.

She would settle, however, for damaging him a little, locking him down while she pumped him for information.

Because there was one thing she simply had to know.

She heard voices from the front end—words of, "Take it easy, Peemers," and "Later daters, Perse."

And suddenly he was in view emerging from the front corner to walk casually and seemingly without care toward the parking lot. He had twisted his torso to wave back at his unseen—from Jess' position anyway—friends then swung around again to head directly for his car. No one was following him.

Good.

Thirty seconds later, he neared his car and fished for his keys in his pocket. By the time he had pulled them out to unlock/disarm his car, Jess had quietly maneuvered herself out from behind the building and crept up on Percy's backside. Only when she got a few feet from him did he recognize that something was wrong.

And by that time, it was far too late for him.

He whipped about just as Jess readily thrusted a leg to kick and smash at his sternum. The effect of which blasted the air out of his lungs in a wheezing, exhaling breath. At the same time, the impact jarred his shoulders, neck, and head; challenging his equilibrium. He faltered a bit and almost fell.

But his fight instinct also took over as he lunged a wild swing of his fist at her.

She blocked it easily with her arm then used both of hers to snap-wedge his own arm into an incapacitating lock. In the next split-second, she tightened the lock and caused his arm to straighten tensely, painfully.

He issued an agonized, _"Eeegh."_

And then she used the tautness to forcefully swing him about into the car next to his. Both of them made guttural grunting sounds as she speedily performed this: his desperate, hers rage-filled.

He hit the car with his back and, again, the wind was thrown out of him. Feeling lightheaded and disoriented, he started to collapse. But he still held the fight instinct within him. He jerked another fisted swing with his other arm.

Quick-judging that she would have enough clearing distance behind her, she yanked her head and torso back to just miss his threatening jab. But at the same time, she caught that fist with her now freed-up hands, then did a vicious twirl underneath that arm to send him twisted-armed off the vehicle and on to his knees. From there she pulled the stiffened and agonizingly straight arm upward causing him to hunch forth. She had him now.

Another grunt of misery squeezed from between his gritted teeth.

"Now. Listen up, Perse," she tightly, curtly commanded him, "you even _dare_ of thinking about screaming for help, and I'll brake this arm in at _least_ two places, you got me?" He didn't answer. She rose up the arm an inch further as she barked, _"Do you_ understand?"

" _Ah,_ ah, _yes_ , yes, I understand," he responded at once in his heightened pain.

"Good...Now another thing before we begin—I could try to threaten you to keep this little meeting we're having a total secret, but I somehow have a suspicion that you will anyway, won't you? Because you don't want anyone to know—not even your bestest buddy, Bernard—that a tiny little girl kicked your cowardly ass. _Right?"_

"Right," he acknowledged as his head faced downward, eyes blinking in gripping trepidation.

"Now...let's start...You know exactly what I am, don't you? As you know what Bernard is."

"Yes."

"And your father is one."

"Yes."

"That must kind of burn you to know that for some reason you aren't. That it's not a genetic thing at all but somebody else's design altogether. You must want to be them _so_ _bad_ sometimes. So you could all be one big happy family of sick-ass psychopaths, right?"

"...Yes...yes, I wanna be them—"

" _Of course,_ you do. Now...you _helped_ kill one of my friends, somebody I loved dearly, but you _didn't_ kill me. You stopped Bernard when he was all good and ready to end me with a big grin on his face. And I know that you did it because it had something to do with your father's work. So what I want to know is, _where_ does your father work and _why_ do they want me?"

Again he was silent. Which was bad for him.

She raised higher his wrenched arm, and he squealed in almost unbearable discomfort.

" _Tell me,"_ she growled under firmly pressed-together teeth.

"...My-my father works at the Pearson and Paul corporation. All those types of chosen do."

"You mean, that's all that works there?" she asked with malice.

" _Yes,_ a whole company with only the chosen. The ones that count anyway— _eeeeeegh,"_ he fissured high-pitchly again as she pushed up on his backward-wrenched arm.

"So if I'm not one of the ones that _count_ , why do they want me? What's so important about me?" Again the gritted growl from her.

"I swear I don't know. My father just told me we can't touch you. That's _all_ he gave me— _aaaah-ha-ha-haaohhh..."_

" _Don't_ you mess with me, Percy," she grinded out as she upped the tension on his arm.

" _Ah, ah,_ I swear, _I swear..."_

" _Keep it down..._ Now, Perse, so help me, if you're lying, I'll find you again. And you just won't ever know when. Okay?"

"Yeah," he answered weakly, "okay..."

"Okay," she echoed herself coldly, then, while still keeping tight control of his arm, brought a bent knee into his back and shoved him flat to the ground. He _oofed!_ Instinctually, forcefully as a result, then she released his arm and launched a fist downward into the nerve cluster between his neck and shoulder. The impact jarred his brain and he lost consciousness.

And quickly, she bounded out of sight before anyone else knew she had even been there.

Chapter 40

"Well..." Dean started with no measure of enthusiasm as he and Bauer sat in a coffee shop facing each other. "...that was a productive use of the last sixteen-odd years."

"We knew it could blow up in our faces," Bauer sobered, "but we went ahead with it anyway."

"I know...any bright ideas? You _are_ supposed to be one of those genius types."

"Well, there is no option now. We have to go back to my old friends, to Ellison, to your family. Everything must be gotten out in the open...if it hasn't already."

"...Damn it, you're right. I was hoping to spare both Jess and Erin from ever knowing about this..."

"I know, me too. But again, it's possible that at least Jess knows, and Ellison has tried to prepare her for what's coming."

"She's fairly decent with the martial arts. I don't know what good that does for her in this..."

"That may be part of it. But her main hurtle might be of the mind. God knows what these people have been planning in taking her."

"Just makes me sick, I just want to blow all of 'em up. I've seriously considered it."

"It would solve nothing. These people are global."

"I know."

"No...it's back to Ellison—not only to try and solve Jess' situation, but the wasp initiatives as well."

"I'll be honest with you, I'm really not that concerned with the other thing. Now that Grishenko is dead, I don't see that we owe him much. I mean, the man was scum, he was one of them."

"That doesn't change the fact that I gave him my word to destroy those things."

"What _is_ it with you guys and your _word?_ Did it ever occur to any of you that your word to soulless filth shouldn't really mean a whole lot?"

"It doesn't matter. Our word is who we are. Could you change the basic fundamentals of who _you_ are, Dean? What defines the bulk of your worth is what your family means to you, doesn't it? Could you ever say to them and mean it, 'No, I don't love you anymore, and I couldn't care less'?"

"...No."

"No, it's a defining principle of your soul. And so is our word to us...even if it puts us in extremely difficult circumstances..." He took a deep, disturbed breath, and let it out his nose; his eyes turned downward.

"...Well what is love without trust, right...? _Hey..._ you can count on my help, okay? If I can somehow help with the other thing, I will."

With a bit of a pursed-lipped, half-way smile, Bauer reached across the table and put his hands on Dean's shoulder briefly, then said, "Thanks." While bringing back his hand, he added, "You know, I know the last seventeen years have been trying for us...but in a way, I'm glad for it. you've been a good partner, as brave as I've ever seen anyone...and I guess I just wanted to say, in case anything goes south for either of us...that I'm glad I got to know you. I consider you a reliable friend."

Now Dean did his own pursed-lip, partial smile before saying, "Same here...although, all things being considered, I'd rather be out with a girl."

They both breathed laughter.

"And I'd rather be home with my wife and kids! I missed my daughter's college graduation."

"Oh crap, man, I'm sorry. Did you at least talk to them on the day?"

"I did. They filmed it, so at least I'll get to see it, but..."

"Not the same as being there, is it?"

"Not really, no."

"We'll get this resolved, Nick. We'll figure it out. We've got a bit of time. Somehow, someway."

"...I hope you're right."

Chapter 41

And so Dean and Bauer arrived the next day at the corporate headquarters of Ellison and Bauer.

It was a fairly joyous reunion—Bauer had not seen most of the employees in over fifteen years, and was pleasantly surprised to see that they had not changed much in that time. He felt as if he, himself, had aged twice that amount. Many had different positions, of course—one of the interns of long ago was now heading up the marketing division.

For Bauer and Ellison, the reunion was less affected by the passage of time. They had met up a few years before to catch up on each other's lives and discuss how they felt about Bauer's departure way back when. Ellison had expressed his complete understanding of the resignation and wished at times that he could have followed suit. But he couldn't, of course. Bauer also recognized and sympathized with Ellison's position and truly held no grudge.

Yet now that they had come together once more—and Jessica's handover time was nearing—Bauer felt strained and conflicted about his mentor once more. He still had a smile for him nonetheless.

"Nicolas, Dean," Ellison greeted the two in his office—the completely renovated one, of course. Necessary after the explosion seventeen years past. "I'm glad you came by, I was about to attempt to contact you both."

"Were you?" Bauer asked.

"Yes, I need to set up a meet with everyone who was involved in the events with Pear-Paul—your former boss excluded, Dean."

"Good deal," Dean agreed. "No need to have him in on it. He's moved on with things anyway."

"Good. So I'm assuming if you understand our present context that you know of your niece's situation."

"I do. And it cannot happen, Ellison. We have to find a way."

"Yes, well, the meeting I wish to convene very soon will include that factor. But I need you to talk to your family into coming together so that we can discuss the whole thing."

Dean agreed to do so. And then they told Ellison of everything they had attempted to do so far, with Grishenko, with the abduction of Stanford, and their ultimate failure in achieving their goal. Ellison expressed his gratitude in such a bold attempt to rectify something that had emotionally dogged the three for so long—the two present chosen most of all. Yet Ellison was also deeply saddened that the plan didn't succeed. It would have effectively saved him from what he must now put forth.

They left each other and Dean called his sister, as well as his parents. The latter he got a hold of. Erin's phone went to voice mail. He left a message telling her to get back to him as soon as possible.

Chapter 42

Jess had decided.

And knew that she had to put her decision into action quite soon, if her assumptions were correct. She had to go to her mother and risk telling her everything. About Bernard, about Percy, and about his father's revelations regarding Jess' importance within the Pear-Paul organization.

And about what really happened with Bea and herself at The Sutherland Cliffs.

She realized how dangerous it was to reveal these things to anyone, how many people's lives may be at stake. But she also knew that she didn't want to be used for any of Pear-Paul's sick and malicious purposes. She was a chosen of the enlightened, honorable kind. She couldn't be used by them, it would kill her soul for certain.

So she cornered her mom, told her to turn off her phone, and listen to her raptly, carefully. Erin abided with growing concern, flashings thoughts of her daughter pregnant or catching a disease.

But the real reason for Jess' private conference with her dear mother was, of course, something much more alarming and disturbing.

After laying the whole thing out for her mother, all that had happened to her, Jess awaited the obvious reaction of Erin to just about freak out.

"Oh God..." Erin breathed, "That poor, poor girl...Oh God, Jess, why didn't you tell me a long time ago about this Bernard boy?"

"Because," Jess began, "He, Percy, and Percy's father threatened to torture and kill you guys if I said anything about it to anyone. Listen—you can't go to the cops about this. If I'm telling you, you _can't_ tell anyone else."

Erin remained silent for a minute, her eyes staring away from Jess. Finally she spoke, "I know why Pear-Paul wants you."

" _You do?"_ Jess said, shocked.

Erin nodded. "I knew because they told me themselves. When they had you, when they had us. They said they wanted to use you as some kind of...perverted Trojan horse to be planted inside your kind's organizations. They were going to brainwash you from the get-go, make you know nothing but their own agendas. And they wanted me to go along with it...or they would turn you against me."

Now Jess was shocked and speechless for a moment. Before eventually pointing out, "You didn't tell me about that when you were explaining things before..."

"I didn't want to frighten you. I...I had hoped that once we had gotten you away from them back then, that they would have forgotten their plans for using you...that once I had you back, we could go back to a normal life, or as normal as we could have it considering what we all went through...But I realize now I've been foolishly blind...They're going to come for you..." And Erin's face crumpled a bit as tears dropped and hugged lines on her cheeks.

"And it's going to be soon, I think," Jess revealed.

"...What makes you—?"

"Because I'm turning eighteen in a few weeks...I'll be free of your legal guardianship, already I'm free of mandatory school...What would stop them after that?"

"...You're right...you're mostly likely right...we have to leave then, get as far away from here as possible—"

"And put the others in danger?"

"They'll come with us."

"And go where?"

"I don't know, honey, we'll figure it out, but we certainly can't stay _here_ where they know where to find you!"

"So we just cash out, cut up our credit cards, all of us, and get new identities on the black market, is that what you're thinking?"

"That would be part of it, yes."

"Pahti too, and _his_ family?"

"Honey..."

"Not them then? You're okay with that?"

"Of course not! But I'm _certainly_ not okay with something happening to _you!"_

"Mom," Jess said emphatically, _"We can't run._ I've read up on these Pear-Paul people, they're all over. There's no part of the world we could go that they wouldn't have a presence. And I can be detected by them."

"Well so what are you saying? That they're just going to take you and that's it?!"

" _No!_ What I'm saying is, we _need_ help. We should talk to Ellison and his people. They helped us before, maybe they can help us now."

Erin was silent again, pensive and troubled. She expelled a long and tortured breath. Then she revealed, "Darling, as much as I appreciate what Ellison and his friends have done for us, I've always been slightly suspicious of their motives and interest in you."

This threw Jess off. _"Why?"_

"I don't know...paranoia...paranoia of never fully understanding your kind, and what their true motivations are in life. People who run corporations can be cold and manipulative. At least that's what I've always been told by my family, by my folks."

" _Mom, every one_ of my kind has been nothing but a benefit to my life...I couldn't possibly conceive of them having some ulterior, dark motive for me. Let's just call them and explain things."

Another deep breath from Erin.

"...All right, honey. If you think it will help."

"I know it will."

So Erin pulled out her phone and reactivated it. Almost immediately after it booted back up fully, the message pings sounded. She dialed into it and heard the message.

"It's was Dean," she announced to her daughter with a bit of an awed, shocked voice. "He's already met with Ellison and his partner, Nick Bauer...he wants us to have a meeting with them, with everyone in our family..."

Jess' brow furled up. "Wwwhy would my uncle have anything to do with them?"

"...I don't know...but I have a feeling that we'll soon find out."

Chapter 43

Harold Barker, Co-CEO of the Lyman and Barker Investments company was a paranoid man.

So much that he had with him an armed escort of three security agents to guard his movements and safety wherever he went.

The earlier days of his corporate life, he was less weary of what could happen to him and his associates. In those days he would settle for only one gun and combat-trained guard to accompany his public travel.

But now since executives across the world were being targeted by some unknown outfit, Barker felt much more comfortable with three. Particularly now that Ly-Bar was poised for record profits despite a wildly fluctuating market.

Interestingly enough, there had been more than a few meetings within the sterile halls of Ly-Bar concerning the now yearly slew of executive deaths. The department heads tried to exhaust every possibility as to why this was happening and who was responsible. What patterns might be involved. Thus far they had come up with nothing conclusive, for virtually every major corporate force had been affected by the mysterious rash of killings. Even the most ruthless of these—Pearson and Paul—had been brought into the deadly fraternity with two deceased execs. The troubling string of killings was always in the back of the mind of every corporate honcho of Ly-Bar.

It certainly was in the back of Barker's even as he made his way to his car after a night with his young lover. He had been married to his wife for twenty-four years and had two children. He had been seeing Aisha for the last two years, and always met her at the same hotel. Aisha was only twenty-one and the sweetest, softest, most adventurous lover Barker had ever encountered in his long list of extra-marital affairs. Tonight had been no disappointment either...yet Barker was still inherently anxious as he left from the girl's room. He told his agents to be extra watchful of anything suspicious while heading to the car, so they were.

But apparently not enough.

It was two in the morning on this particular crisp night. The men had their overcoats on; the agents' coats hiding their Glocks. Though their eyes roved the lateral scenery, it was impossible for them to see what was coming for them in the next few seconds...

...What was arriving instantly from the cover of night—in a straight-on nose-dive of terrifying speed. Their wings held no motion, no buzzing warning sound of their deft descent in a direct line to their three targets.

Almost in unison, and in perfect match with their walking pace to anticipate contact, WI's four, thirteen, and twenty-two dropped onto the shoulders and upper backs of all three guards. The giant wasps jabbed in deep their stingers and filled up the men with generous amounts of poison. All had tried to go for their guns, but couldn't complete the defensive posture as their nervous systems froze up on them.

As they were dropping to their knees almost concurrently, the hapless agents' employer ran for his car. He almost made it before all three demons of Pear-Paul's design disengaged and swooped to block and surround the frightened exec. His hired protectors were too incapacitated now to assist him—so it was he alone against the three nightmares.

They hovered closer in their triangular convergence toward him. In his hysterical panic, he swatted at them with his flailing arms, screaming, "GET AWAY! GET AWAY FROM MEEEEE!" like a boy cornered by vicious dogs.

They toyed with him for a few seconds then WI-4 homed in on Barker's backside and landed on him before he could do a thing about it. It cocked its daggered stinger back a bit and readied for the stab.

But before the mad injection could take place, a powerful rifle shot pierced the night air. In a split-second later, the wasp's head blew apart in a viscous explosion, ending the huge insect's life force then and there. It fell away from Barker, who had screamed abruptly as the head burst took place.

Before any other reactions could be had by any involved in the messy scene, two more pounding shots boomed the night. And the two remaining WI's lost their insectoidal head segments.

Barker was now splashed generously with a sickly yellow-green fluid. He hunched himself forward in instinctual protective fear, his hands covering the top of his head.

No more shots rang out to violate the dead of the chilled and darkened sky.

After a second or two of staying curled up and fearfully waiting for his own bullet to the head, Barker finally sprang forward to run fast from the scene. He got hurriedly into his car, started it up, and skidded out of the parking lot.

And true to his paranoid leanings, he never visited the hotel or Aisha again.

Chapter 44

Six weeks away from Jessica's eighteenth birthday, Ellison visited the home of Erin, Curt, and Jess to help convene the meeting he knew had to happen. All who needed to be there were present: Al and Sophie, Dean and Bauer, Erin and Curt, Jess, and Ellison.

"I want to thank all of you for being here," Ellison opened with. "And I also want you to know that I have wished so greatly that this meeting did not have to take place. More than you could possibly know...And before I get into certain things of a very disturbing nature, I need to inform you of the extremely courageous efforts of my long-time friend, Nicolas Bauer, and your cherished family member, Dean Belaski. They risked their lives recently to prevent something quite awful from happening...and for that I will always be grateful to them...Unfortunately...the attempt failed and it leaves us to what we must now get to..." He closed his eyes and breathed in a slow, bracing breath, then slowly let it flow out of his nose almost without sound.

Al and Sophie's expressions were rigid with anxiety and fear. As were Dean and Bauer's. Erin and Jess held some of that within their eyes, but also still the possibility of hope.

Ellison finally, soberly went on, "...Seventeen years ago...my associates and I were forced into an agreement with key executives of the corporation most of us know as Pearson and Paul. A child's life was at stake at the time..." He looked gravely at Jess. "... _Your_ life, Jessica...In order to save you from that terrible fate, we had to agree to...return you to the people of Pearson—"

" _WHAT!"_ Erin screamed, and stood up joltingly. Again, she yelled, _"WHAT!"_ in shock and rage just as Curt also rose abruptly.

"Mrs. Melendez, please try and underst—"

"Understand what?!" Curt boomed at Ellison. "That you're some corporate sleaze whose gonna hand over our _daughter_ to the scum of the earth to do God knows what to her?! I don't think so!"

"I _knew_ it!" Erin hollered at the target of her anger, "I _knew_ there was something off about you! Now you get out! Get out and take your _friend_ with you!"

"Leave now!" Curt echoed with venom.

"Both of you _stop!"_ Sophie barked at her daughter and her son-in-law. Tears were streaked on the elder woman's face. "Sit down, _please!"_

Neither of them did, however. Erin yelled back, "Wait a minute... _you knew?!"_

"We _both_ did! We had no choice, we were in the room when it happened!"

"And it didn't occur to you _ever_ to tell me _way before this?!"_

"Don't you think we wanted to?! Your father and I have anguished over this for _seventeen years!"_

"Well you didn't _have to!_ You could have come to me! And we would have done something about it! We could have disappeared somewh—"

" _No!_ We couldn't have! You remember that trip that we took with just Jessie along with the two of us?! Before you were married?!"

"I guess, why?!" she clipped in anger.

"Well that was a test run to see if we _could_ disappear! We were careful, Erin, we didn't tell anyone where we were really going, and we didn't use credit cards or ATM. We used false ID for the hotel deposit—and _still_ they found us!"

"I don't care, I'll take her to a desert island if I have to, but she is _not_ being handed over to these human insects!"

"That's for certain!" Curt vehemently agreed. He looked like he was ready for a fist fight.

"And so you knew about it too, right?!" Erin viciously directed at Dean.

"Only recently—" he lied.

" _How_ recently?!"

Another lie: "A few weeks back—"

"A FEW WEEKS BACK...well that makes it so much better, I guess you're off the hook, you betraying little bastard!"

" _Hey!"_ Dean shot back, "Did you not just hear him?! I did what I could to stop it from happening! If we _had_ stopped this, then I could have saved you from _ever_ knowing!"

"Well whatever it is you _did_ do, it obviously wasn't good enough!"

"Mom, please—" Jess tried with tears in her eyes.

"I want everyone out! Now!"

"You heard her!" Curt roared.

Jess stood up and said, _"Wait,_ will you just _wait—?"_

But Erin cut her off with, "No! I'm through listening! This is my house and you're my daughter! And I'm not discussing this anymore!"

"So I don't get a say—?!"

"You aren't eighteen yet, and even if you were, you still live under our roof! So _we_ have the say-so here! And I'm telling the rest of you to _leave! Now!"_

Curt warned, "Mr. Ellison, Mr. Bauer, don't you ever come back here, or I'll put your lights out!"

There were no further words. Jess was bawling, feeling helpless; she slowly sat back down. Ellison, Bauer, and Dean somberly left the living room and headed for the front door; all three wishing they could say more but knowing it would do no good at this time.

Sophie was crying profusely right along with Jess. Al also had tears flowing. He tried, "Erin, Jess, we wanted to tell you so many t—"

" _Go,"_ Erin growled at them.

So they left in deep shame and crushing anguish. Sophie's crying could be clearly heard as they walked the hallway out of sight and to the front door. Even as they walked through the door and closed it behind them, she could be heard crying out "Erin! Jessie!" as if she might be trying to make her way back in.

And possibly being stopped by her stoic husband who knew better of it.

Chapter 45

"Do you want to see the photographs, Mr. Jordan?" the executive assistant asked gingerly, knowing that what was contained as images in the photos would be disturbing at best to the V.P.

"I'm afraid that I have to," Stanford evenly said, betraying none of the charging anxiety he felt since hearing the news.

The assistant handed them across the conference table to Stanford's somehow calm, controlled grasp. Around the table and next to him sat the department heads as well as their own assistants. None looked too pleased.

Stanford brought the photos—three in all—close to him and eyed intensely what was captured there: the grotesque remains of WIs Four, Thirteen, and Twenty-two.

Minus their heads, of course.

The V.P. brought his curved hand to rest his right temple and stared on disturbingly. A crease formed his brow. For a minute he said nothing. But finally, he announced flatly, officiously, "These people will be found. Make every inquiry and action necessary. I want them in front of me by the end of the month. Dismissed."

And without protest of any kind, the department heads and their assistants rose and left the conference room.

Stanford stared again at the three insectoid corpses. And felt their loss.

Chapter 46

They were driving. Driving and not having the faintest idea where they were going. They just knew that the driver planned to drive long and out of town. In the dead of night.

All three occupants of the car were desperately trying to bury the fact in their minds that _where_ they were going mattered greatly. Just drive and foolishly, blindly hope.

One, however, was having increasing difficulty attempting to throw a mental blanket over the blaring truth of the matter. That this after-midnight ride was a pointless and potentially dangerous action for the other two occupants with her.

Especially since another vehicle had pulled fairly close behind them. Not too close—perhaps a four-car distance away...yet close enough for the girl to sense them. Sense, feel the tried and true revulsion she knew so well. Of course, the other two with her—her parents—wouldn't have clue.

So she decided that she needed to alert them.

"Mom, you have to turn around," Jessie said with tense fear.

"Don't talk to me," Erin coldly ordered as she steadily drove the car. Curt sat beside her, quiet.

But Jess didn't listen. _"Mom, listen_ to me—!"

"No! _You_ listen to me! You may be almost of age, but I still call the shots when it comes to you! We are _not_ turning around!"

Jess' face abruptly shuddered as she exploded, "Listen to me, you stupid idiot—!"

"HEY!" Curt barked as he turned around to face Jess in the back. "Who do you think you are?! You do not talk to your mother like that, EVER!"

"YOU," Jess raged, "are not even my father! Who said you have any say in what I tell my mother!"

"JESSIE!" Erin roared quickly.

Curt retorted with anger, "I may not be your father, but I _sure_ as hell risked my life just like your mother did to save YOURS! And we've given you a good life! So you damn well better show us a little bit of respect, girl!"

Clippingly, defiantly, Jess coolly responded with, "Okay. Fine. Just drive. Drive to _wherever_ it is you're going to take me. But I feel I should also pay you a little bit of respect by cluing you in to the fact that they're following us right now. I feel them. I feel them because I've felt their kind before. So just drive. And they'll be following us to wherever it is."

Instead of heeding her daughter's revelation, Erin hollered, "Jessie! _Shut up!"_

But Curt said nothing to back up his wife. Though he was supremely hurt by Jess' denouncement of him, and was quite scared as Erin was, his level of denial was beginning to curb itself in light of the new facts.

Jess complied with her mother's wishes, but maelstromed in her mind the realization that her mom didn't believe what she had said. Probably because she simply didn't want to. And again, the end result might mean that both parents might be injured...or killed.

Suddenly, things came to a crashing head in her thoughts: the presence of Bernard for so many years in her life, what the deviled youth had done to Bea, and the pure sickening feeling of Pear-Paul and all they stood for.

It boiled over, and burst.

"I can't take this anymore!" Jess screamed in wildly fidgeting motion. "Let me out of this car! _Stop now,_ or I'll jump out—!"

Erin screamed back, "Have you lost your mind!"

But Jess shrieked even louder, "DO IT, STOP THE CAR!" She jerkingly unbuckled herself from the safety belt and reached for the car door latch. "STOP THE EFFING CAR!!!" It was locked, so she went for the locking/unlocking lever and flicked it to unlock.

"Jessie, STOP!" Curt commanded.

But Jess ignored him as she grabbed the latch once more and opened up the door while the car was still going sixty miles an hour.

Erin suddenly jammed on the brakes and madly pulled over to the side of the road. The brakes howled as the car came to an abrupt halt. All three occupants whiplashed in their seats.

The car behind them now passed and kept going...but had slowed its momentum to half as it went on.

Jess bolted from the car and ran toward the gravel and dirt expanse before her. Ran with abandon, hysterical and howling profusely.

Both Erin and Curt got out rapidly and followed after her, but neither had tried to grab her, too afraid that Jess might get hurt by wildly pulling away. They kept up with her, flanking her, hoping she would stop soon.

Finally she did, looking as though she was going to collapse. She belted out one final blistering scream of anguish, and then she crumpled—both in face and body. Horrid sobs poured from her as she hit her knees and doubled over. Her hands supported her from fully meeting the ground.

Erin and Curt could only stand there on either side of her, shocked into uncertainty.

Through her wrecked state, Jess weakly squealed, "...Just kill me..."

In a detached tone befitting her shock, Erin uttered, "...Jessie..."

"...Just do it, I don't wanna live...with what's inside me...not anymore..."

Erin and Curt looked at each other in terror and surprise.

Jess went on in her abject self-pity, "...I killed Bea, I got her killed, it was because of me... _oh God..."_ And suddenly her arms couldn't support her anymore. They folded and she fell to her complete collapse. She lay there convulsive in her continued crying. "...I tried...I tried, but he was too strong...Please let me die, I don't wanna live with this anymore...I don't..." Her eyes bunched closed and her mouth gave a silent scream of torment.

Erin gingerly knelt down to place a soft hand on Jess' shaking shoulder. She then ran her other hand soothingly through her daughter's thick hair. While she did this, she said, "Please don't say that, baby...It wasn't you, sweetheart...it was that boy...Believe me, you're not the first to be fooled by these people...to be tricked into destroying lives..." Then Erin joined her daughter in ruined-face sobbing. She pulled her daughter up and brought her into her arms. The distraught girl returned the embrace, and cried even harder in total emotional release. Erin continued, "We've fought so hard for you, _you've_ fought so hard...Please don't give up now...I couldn't go on if you did."

Curt stood there looking down upon both Erin and Jess as they were locked tight in each other's arms. He wanted to join in badly. But something told him to wait, that this had to be between his girls first. He stared at them for a brief moment longer, then drew his gaze off into the darkened horizon, troubled and feeling stuck.

"I miss her..." Jess morosely crooned on, "I miss her so much it hurts...everyday...it's like I don't even need to have Bernard around to have his sickening effect on me be there...I can't stand it...this thing I've been given, it's not a blessing, it's a curse..."

"Oh baby..." Erin uttered in complete sympathy. She rested her head on Jess' shoulder.

Curt, out of abhorrent curiosity turned back to eye the strip of road that they had been traveling on.

About a hundred and fifty feet up the road, he spotted them. The ones in the car that Jess claimed were following them. The only one that could have been for there were no other cars out on this highway this time of night.

There were four of them in the car. They simply sat there, motionless; not even trying to observe what was happening close to Curt.

But he had a horrible suspicion that if he and the girls got back in the car and drove forward again to some uncharted destination, the four unknowns would follow once more.

And Erin, because curiosity was something that came supremely natural to her, also turned her glazed stare to the car up the road. And came to the same conclusion as Curt.

Chapter 47

The Belaski-Melendez crew returned home a few hours later and settled into the living room once more. This gathering was meant to seriously discuss what to do next. Yet no one, even after sitting down to face each other, could say anything to begin.

Finally, however, Erin somberly opened with, "Listen...you two are the most important things in my life. There's no question that I would die for either of you...maybe even kill if it came to it...But I also know that I can't protect you forever...especially you, Jess.

"You're right, this thing you have, your...specialness...it can be a curse, something that can eat at you...But I also know that because of it you brought us back from the brink when we would have been most certainly torn apart and killed by a monster. And _all_ at the age of _one_ , Jessie.

"Your specialness means that you're also a _genius,_ one of the cleverest people I've ever known..." Erin's eyebrows rose in a gesture of deep but reserved desperation as she locked eyes with Jess. "...So I'm looking to _you_ to figure this out. _Where_ do we go from here? What is the way out? Because you _know_ we can't lose you."

Jess looked off for a moment, blinked a few times in earnest contemplation. Then said, "I know you despise Ellison for what he has done...but like us, the Pear-Pauls, they have tormented him, made him ashamed of his condition, used his goodness against him. Dividing us, making us doubt ourselves, this is what they're best at. This is what their souls crave. What makes them feel warm in their beds at night.

"Don't hate Ellison, or any of the others for doing what they knew they had to do. For those like me, our word is our core, and without trust there is no love, there's no anything.

"And what I want you two to remember is: if not for the bargain that Ellison had struck with these filthy, soulless pigs, you and I wouldn't have had the last seventeen years together. You both recognize that, don't you?"

Soberly, silently, both parents nodded.

Jess went on. "Through Ellison and his company's programs, I have come to know a greater part of myself that I wished could have been achieved much earlier than now. If it had been, I might have had a greater chance at saving my friend...I believe that Ellison's wish to enhance my skills in physical combat has been one aspect in preparing me for what is coming...what we all dread. But that logistically can't be all he has planned.

"He must also have had a strategy for strengthening me psychologically and emotionally. I believe that this is what he was about to propose before things blew up.

"What I want, what I think is the best course of action, is to gather everyone involved—even Pahti and his family—and hear Ellison's plan out.

"My fear is that, even aside from the enforcement of the agreement put upon our chosen, they would either capture me, or hurt all of you to force me to come to them. I don't want that to happen in the slightest. No one else is going to be destroyed because of me.

"But my fear goes deeper in that when I am handed over, I will be reconditioned mentally to achieve their goals in tearing down Ellison and Bauer and all those like us. If Ellison can shield me through hypnotic suggestion against that possibility, then we must allow him to do so."

Silence returned to the three. Both Curt and Erin averted their eyes tensely downward, lost in deep consideration of Jess' words, her proposal, her plan.

A brief moment later, Erin spoke again. "I still loathe this with every fiber of my being...but like I said, I can't protect you forever, much as I'd like to...I'll trust your instincts, Jess. I'll trust that you know what you're doing." She brought a fist to her firmly pressed together lips and began to break into tears once more. She fought hard to dam the flood of her emotions.

Jess flicked her eyes to Curt and asked, "Father—and you _are_ my father, I hope you know that I see you like that, and always have. I didn't mean any of that in the car."

Curt gave a smile, though his eyes were still grave. "I know, Jessie-girl, you're my own too, as if you were my blood. I couldn't love you any more than I do. Which is why this is just as painful to me as it is for your mom...When I first found out about your...whatever it really is, I couldn't totally grasp or accept it. I wondered if one day you might sprout tentacles out of your head to reach out and suck our brains or something..."

Despite the heaviness of the room and the situation, both girls burst out laughing. Curt cracked another smile, this one wider.

After the laughter subsided a brief moment later, Curt continued straight-faced, "But then as time went on, and I got to know the real person inside you—the kind, compassionate, and extraordinary soul that you really are, I knew that this thing you have was simply right for you. It couldn't be any other way. You were meant to do great things...I think you were meant to beat these others, these...chosen that must have been...touched by the worst forces imaginable." He took a deep, bracing breath, then let it stutter out of him in fear. Still, he managed, "If you feel this is our only option...then I will support your decision, baby girl. I love you, and I will do whatever I can for you." He pursed his lips up firmly and nodded sincerely at her. His eyes welled up.

"Thank you, dad," Jess said with a smile in her eyes. Soon she said, "But there's nothing more to be done tonight...Let's, if possible, try and turn in and get some rest."

And they all rose and came together to embrace one another. Minutes later, they went to their rooms—Erin and Curt to theirs, and Jess to her own. After getting into night clothes, they all got into their beds and tried to calm themselves enough for deep sleep.

It was an impossibility for hours.

Chapter 48

Two days later, the second gathering of Jess' family and Ellison and Bauer took place. And in the same room of Jess' house. At her request, Pahti and Thresher group were present as well. She felt they needed to hear this too.

"Thank you all for coming," Ellison once again opened the meeting with, "In my earlier phone conversation with Jess' mother, she had asked if our next step was to condition her daughter's mind to better guard her against whatever Pear-Paul might do to her. I must tell you all what I told her then: that this, with my greatest reluctance, is what we must now do. If Jess was hesitant or unwilling to participate in this kind of training, I would refuse its use. Yet she _has_ fully consented to these procedures because she hopes, as we do, that it will give her a greater advantage against our opposites. While these sessions of hypnosis are taking place, Jess has also agreed to continue her combat training, not only in physical fighting but in the effective use of firearms. She has a few more weeks until handover becomes necessary. In that time we will do all that we can to prepare her.

"Now. For the next part of our plan. I may have given these people my word to give her over, but I never agreed to make her theirs for an indefinite period of time. Once she is in their custody, and I mean _that very day,_ all of you will be given the option to become placed under our protective custody. I can't enforce it on you, but I strongly recommend it for your safety and hers. With all of you out of harm's way, their bargaining power will be greatly reduced. And then we can begin our strategies to reclaim Jess. Now admittedly, we are still formulating our directives to effectively and safely get her back. But I want to assure you all that, as the handover date draws near, we _will_ solidify our plan. _That_ is my word and guarantee to you all." Ellison stared around at everyone as he said the last part.

And as he caught sight of every individual—Erin, Curt, Al, Sophie, Dean, Bauer, etc., he saw that they nodded at him with the gravest of expressions. None of them liked it, but all understood.

Pahti spoke up, "I want to help in some way. What can I do—?"

"Nothing," Jess answered emphatically, yet with a note of sympathy. "I won't have you be next on their list. You may be one of our kind, Pat, but you are not trained for this."

"I can fire a gun, I can be trained in it just like _you—"_

"But it's everything you despise, everything you've always been against. How could you ever pick up a gun?"

"After _Bea—_ and what I _now_ know about what happened, and what's about to happen—I now feel quite different!"

"Don't do that to yourself, son," Ellison interjected as compassionately as he could. Pahti turned to him, eyes in pain with thoughts of raged retribution. "Don't let these people infect your soul that way. They've already done enough damage to us. When the time comes, you and your family may best be able to serve Jess and us by coming under our protection. I have been saving for this for the last seventeen years—to protect as many as possible when it became absolutely necessary. As long as is necessary. There may be a way we haven't seen yet that you may be of aid in getting Jessie back. But your dear friend is right—it won't be as a result of direct contact with these opposites."

Pahti still had the hurt etched full in his stare. But soon he began to see the wisdom of his brethren's words. And his expression eased a touch. He nodded and said to Jess and Ellison, "All right...I _will_ find a way to help, though."

"I know you will," Jess assured him as she put a hand on his upper arm briefly. "You've always been there for me... _ee-ee-ee,"_ she kidded him with a grin.

He reached over with a smile and kissed her on the cheek.

This brought a smile to everyone's face now.

Soon, however, Ellison brought things to officious order again with, "Members of Thresher, you have your task."

"Right, sir," Mill said and faced Jess, "Come on, girl. Training today, and everyday until your birthday. Let's get cracking, time to up the ante."

"Okay." And Jess rose along with all of Thresher.

Before they left, Ellison gave, "And you're to report to the shooting section of our training facility after training. Learn from the gun instructors well, and learn fast."

"I will."

Chapter 49

And so Jess trained even harder than she did before, not only in her hand-to-hand martial arts sessions, but in her long hours on the shooting range learning every feel of every gun they had available. From pistols to shotguns to assault rifles, she shot them all.

A few days were actually devoted to knife throwing and knife combat.

She picked it all up very quickly and very effectively. Her instructors were impressed—but then not to the level of being shocked. She was a chosen after all and they had seen the likes of her adeptness many times before.

And all throughout this came the hypnosis training—both as a method of use for her _and_ to strengthen her against its suggestion on her.

Her hypnosis instructor was—oddly enough—one of the administrators of the training facility: Dina Mann.

"I want you to take a deep breath," Dina would instruct Jess at the start of every session. "And then breathe normal." She would wait for Jess to do so, then soothingly speak to her. "Give me another of your earliest memories, Jess."

Jess would naturally tell her different things each time—different recalls of events as she could best recollect. The first session had brought up the spider, but that was no good for the purposes of what they were trying to achieve. The memory had to be something warm and inviting, not panic-inducing and traumatic.

So Jess offered instead her earliest memory of a birthday party—one where many people had come and everyone was cherishing the event and each other.

The one where she had first met another like her.

Though the union was brief for the other chosen had moved away a few weeks later, Jess naturally counted it as a special event. Dina felt it was perfect to begin their exercise and built the session from there. Forty-five minutes later, it was completed, and Jess went straight to the shooting range where Perry and Mill, as it happened, were the gun coaches.

The latest session of hypnosis training culled a memory from Jess that of another particularly banner moment in her early life: the day she met Bea.

Jess and Pahti were playing around on the jungle gym area of Bittner when they happened to notice a girl sitting on a bench across the way. The girl had her head in her hands and was clearly crying. Jess and Pahti had decided to walk over and discover the reason for the girl's distress.

When they had reached her, they had asked if the girl was okay, was there anything they could do for her. The benchwarmer hiccupped a "no" and cried on. The two fledgling chosen introduced themselves anyway then made the moves to sit on either side of the bawler. They asked if she was sure there was nothing they could do to help. They got no answer.

Then Jess had tried, "What's your name?"

"...Bea," the crier hiccupped through her sobbing.

"It's nice to meet you, Bea."

"Nice...to meet...you too..."

"Tell us what happened."

"...My sister...and her friends...told me I couldn't come to the Orange Festival with them...because-because...because I was a cootie-infected loser..." And Bea's cries heightened.

After the revelation, Jess and Pahti looked at each other with a sympathetic, mirrored expression.

Then Pahti offered, "Well, we don't think you're a cootie-infected loser, do we, Jess?"

"Nuh-uh," Jess replied. "If you _were_ a cootie-infected loser, you would have cootie warts _all over_ you. But look, see?" Jess politely grabbed one of Bea's arms and pulled at it to show the girl. "No warts, totally clear!"

A bit of a smile twitched on Bea's lips, though her face still spasmed with sobs.

"And look, no big-time hairiness. Which _clearly_ means you're not a gorilla..." commented Jess as she tried to solicit more smiling out of Bea. It worked.

"Don't feel so bad, pal," Pahti put in. "People make fun of my name a lot. They call me Potty Boy or Patty Girl...Hey, listen, don't tell anyone about this because the police would come after us, but...Jess and I are actually aliens in disguise. And if you hang out with us, we might get permission to take you back to our home planet of Skalgort."

Immediately, Jess cut in with, "He's kidding of course. It's nice to meet you, Bea."

"Yeah, nice to meet you," Pahti echoed. "Or as they say on Skalgort, goyyyyk—"

"Numbskull," Jess berated Pahti playfully.

Yet Bea laughed, and actually said right back, "Goyyyyk." And then giggled some more.

"See?" Pahti said to Jess, "She speaks our language."

Jess, in turn, looked at Bea and said, _"Please_ don't encourage him." But then she too let loose with a tiny giggle.

"Hey, why don't we all get a Healthy Shell?" Pahti suggested with vigor.

"What's a Healthy Shell?" Bea asked with a crinkled brow.

"It's frozen yogurt in a chocolate shell that's not really chocolate. It's supposed to be healthy but it actually tastes really good."

"I don't have any money right now."

"That's okay, I've got some. Come on, my treat for both of you."

"Thanks!" both girls stereoed.

And that's how it started for them. And for Jess, it was an effective memory peg in her mental climbing wall. For her hypnosis exercise, it worked like a charm.

Chapter 50

Jess' eighteenth birthday was now only a few days away. And her training both of the physical and mental was nearly complete...well, as much as complete as it was going to be in the time they had left.

Tensions within the family were running high—not to mention within Ellison's camp as well.

Mill and Jess were on their last session together, and planned on spending the bulk of the day tightening things up. But predominantly, Mill had in mind one particular move to drill extensively into Jess' martial arts skill set.

After three hours of the move, Jess begged for them to focus on something else. But Mill wouldn't relent. For hours on end they practiced the technique until he felt she was in fair mastery of the move.

And then they did it some more for good measure. By the end of the day, Jess was thoroughly exhausted in every possible way.

"Why did we _do_ that so much?" Jess asked Mill as they were cooling down and seated on the mat.

"Because it's the most difficult move," Mill gave back.

"My hands are almost numb, and my ankles and thighs, _oh man..."_

"I know. We all had to go through with it, and all of us felt like we were going to drop. But we all know it now as if it were like breathing."

"Breathing...what's that like?" she asked, still panting from the workout.

He blew a small laugh from his mouth and grinned. Soon, however, he turned serious. "You know...I don't know if this has occurred to you or not but...it's entirely possible that everything we've taught you—with your hands, weapons, with mind manipulatives...it's possible that all of this could be used against you, against us..."

"Yeah...I know...they could still find someone out there that I care about and make them suffer...so I would be forced to do exactly what they want me to."

He nodded his head slowly. "But...I guess we've done all that we can. And we'll just have put our trust in you...I know I do..." He stared at her intensely, without blinking. There was a purpose in his eyes.

She read his gaze and believed she understood fully. She drew closer to him with her own undivided focus. Her own purpose.

They moved magnetically closer to each other's mouths and locked a kiss. They kept it for at least ten seconds, their eyes closed the whole time.

When they slowly, gently parted, they kept their heads close, facing each other. A hint of dreaminess formed their expressions, but was mixed with a soberness.

Jess said, "It looks like Dina's done a good job teaching me mind control."

"Really? And here I was thinking _I_ was the one using it on you."

"That's what I wanted you to think."

And they both breathed out jovial laughs.

Then Jess said eventually, "...There's not much time for this..."

"Then we better make the absolute best of it."

"See, _now_ you're just reading my mind." And she pulled close toward him again to kiss him once more.

The second round lasted considerably longer.

Chapter 51

Jessica's birthday came. But there was no party for her with friends and relatives. There was only a meeting.

This time, everyone involved—including Pahti _and_ his parents—met and entered the Ellison and Bauer corporate highrise to gather on the eighth floor.

Ellison and Bauer were both present to head up the meeting.

Ellison began speaking as he faced them all. "Everyone...as I feared, I received a call today from Stanford Jordan, the vice president of Pearson and Paul's mid-western division. Tomorrow at 8AM, I have been instructed to transfer Jess to their corporate HQ and relinquish custody. As I was told in the beginning, no one is to interfere with this handover regardless of how we feel...They have also put forth a new proposal for us...or more specifically for _you,_ Jess."

"What is it?" Jess asked with no small measure of trepidation—though kept control of herself.

"Apparently they have a new member of their organization. One that they have been grooming over the past few months since his graduation. They have told me his name...Michaelis Bernard."

An electrical bolt of anxiety charged throughout both Jess and Pahti's bodies. Erin, of course, felt it too, having been informed of Bernard's act of murder. The murder of their beloved Bea.

Ellison continued gravely, "Their proposal is this—if Jess will agree to meet Bernard tonight at the Sutherland Cliffs and engage him in combat, then Jordan has agreed to keep Jessica in their custody for a duration of only four months."

Speechless was the word of the moment, the chief description of everyone in the room—especially Jess. No one knew what to say at first.

But then Dean finally spoke, "What assurance do we have that they'll keep their word?"

"None," Ellison flatly announced. "And it matters little to me since I plan to take her back at the earliest window. But if that plan fails, and they are sincere about the new agreement, then I felt it was something that you all needed to know about."

Pahti asked, "Did they give _any_ specifics on what condition they would give her back in?"

" _Pahti,"_ his mother blurted, horrified.

"I'm sorry, mother, but I had to ask."

Ellison answered, "No, and I'm not surprised. They will do whatever they can to keep us on edge, to keep us dangling and anxious...Jess, _this_ decision must be up to you."

"Don't do it, Jess," Pahti begged, "He'll kill you."

"I don't understand this," Erin said, flustered, confused. "This boy was prevented from doing anything to Jess before. Why is he given the chance now—?"

"Because this is my test," Jess answered, comprehending the whole thing. "If I can't beat Bernard, a martial arts expert, then perhaps I'm not suited for their purposes after all...I'll go."

"No!" Pahti, Erin, Curt, Dean, Al, Sophie, and Mill barked in unison.

To the last one, Jess looked at in consternation, disappointment. "So you don't think I'm ready?"

"...I didn't say that," Mill amended with a backpedaling tone. "My only concern is...I don't know this Bernard person, I don't know what he's capable of. Do _you_ fully know what he can do?"

"Maybe not...but if he beats me, kills me...then this will be over. And I won't be used by them for anything...and everybody can go back to being safe again. None of you have to be holed away and stripped from the lives you fought so hard to have—"

" _Jessie,"_ Erin pleaded, _"you are_ my life. _You are_ what I have fought so hard f—"

"I'm sorry, mother. But like you said, you can't protect me forever. Sooner or later, I have to fight my own battles, risk my life for others..." She brought out her cell phone and dialed a number. Bernard's. He answered almost immediately—as if he had been anxiously awaiting the call.

He said through the thing, "Well, well, long time, no talk. Hello."

"What time tonight?" she robotically asked him.

"Ooh, let's say eightish. Don't want to be out too late for that all-important handover the next day—like that's gonna happen."

"Eight o'clock tonight, Sutherland, I'll be there." And she hung up.

Chapter 52

The whipping winds played frenzied, chaotic sweeps of Bernard's shoulder-length hair. Briefly he closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly to allow the wind to refresh his good spirits. He stood atop a large cliff of Sutherland—the very same one he ventured to with Bea and Jess—and waited for the latter. He knew the time—7:57PM—and knew he wouldn't be waiting much longer. He knew his time had come to complete what he was denied months earlier. Praise Pearson and Paul and all therein, he thought and smiled.

At present, he was facing the ocean side of the cliff, but in the next instant he heard rustles and scuffling from behind and turned around.

Jess had arrived. And stood feet away from him near the path's edge. She faced him with indifference in her eyes, a neutrality of emotion.

Bernard had joviality written all over him. "Jessieee, hey girl, I missed you. I mean that."

"I'm guessing that your _friends_ gave you permission this time," she quipped.

"Tch—so eager to get right into it. _Come on,_ don't you wanna talk about the school days and who broke up with who?"

"Let's just get this over with."

"I, myself, am still with my trusted gal, Jen... _I_ never thought it would go past high school with her...life is full of surprises—like tonight... _definitely_ like tonight. You know, when they told me what they had planned for you, I figured, well, I guess I'm going to have to wait a good long time to finally get a crack at you again.

"But then it was crazy, you know, like they had read my mind or something—they asked _me_ to give you a final testing. To see if you fully qualify for their needs—and if you _can't_...then I have complete discretion to just _end_ you..." He shook his head a few times in wonderment. "...They are just the best, I mean...talk about prayers answered...power is sooo sweet."

"Please stop boring me, you filthy insect...Let's go." And she began to carefully, cautiously sidestep in a curving path.

"Aaah, lemme see if I can figure what's running through your mind, Jesser-wess: you're thinking that, hey, if you die tonight, the people you care about will be safe. Well see, that's totally wrong for you to assume that. Because even after I wreck you and fling you over the side, I'm— _we_ are going to make sure that _all_ of them suffer in ways you can't imagine. I will see to that. And don't think that Ell-Bau can protect them, Ell-Bau is a joke. After you're out of the picture, Pear-Paul is just going to declare a full scale corporate war. Winner take all...like here, tonight."

And now he began his own slow and concentrated side-stepping, sizing up his opponent. Yet he spoke on, "Been training at Ell-Bau, have you? Think you're ready? Wellll, I've been learning a few new things myself a P&P. Tch—I guess we'll see who's who here..."

"I guess so," she responded coolly.

And it began. Bernard abandoned his sidestepping and marched tensely right for Jess. Once he got within a few feet from her he lunged with a thrusting kick to her belly.

She blocked it with both arms and felt the immense force of it. The shock travelled all the way up to her shoulders and neck.

Immediately, he took advantage of her low-blocking stance by rocketing a fist to her face.

But with a roar from her throat, she whip-brought up an arm to swat the straight jab away.

In a snap-motion he spun about to swing a chopping hand to her neck.

But she ducked just as quick and soared an up-angled and pointed-nuckled jab to his armpit.

It hit and jarred him, causing him to back off a ways. His brow drew in with disconcertion and pain.

Her stare of him was of rock-focus as she repositioned her defense/attack stance.

He shook off the blow's effect and centered himself to put his fists out in front of him again. He came for a second time. But instead of attacking right away, he studied her, attempted to fake her out with a few false maneuvers.

She would flinch here and there but stay on proper defense. Her sights were on his hands and legs.

He jabbed, she blocked. Jabbed with the other arm, she blocked that too. His shots were quicksilver, but she matched his speed.

He walloped a sidekick.

But as powerful as it was in its swing, she caught it in her grasp with a ferocious grunt.

But before she could do any damage, he used her grasp as fast-whirling-about pivot point to bring the other kicking foot toward her head.

She saw it coming and back-arched her torso—at the same time shoving him away and out of her clasp.

He landed on his hands and back-flipped it to his solid footing. And was immediately on the defensive again as she came fast for him.

She tried a punch but was denied; another, denied, deflected.

He ventured a leg out and angled to attempt to swipe both her legs out from under her.

Instead she jumped to miss it and outshot a leg to kick at his abdomen.

He swatted it down and away.

But she then curved another leg up to kick at the side of his head.

He ducked but just barely, catching the leg and going in for a fist connect to that legs inner thigh nerve cluster.

But she knew this was the move and brought her own arm in to wrap around the thigh and protect it from the blow.

Instantly seeing that his move was blocked, he threw her down and away.

She bounded back into defensive posture, like a cat landing on its feet after being thrown wildly.

And like she had, him, he came straight after her, attempting more monstrous socking. But being fended off with each tactic he employed.

She firmly advised him, staring directly into his eyes, "Stop with the boring crap and get to it...let's go."

After blinking, he hissed out, "I do whatever I like whenever I like. You should know that about us by now."

"I know you're all cowards. You don't have the _guts_ to care about anybody else but yourselves."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said dismissively and came at her again.

He went for a fake-out arm swing but then at the same time sprung his opposite leg to try and stomp on one of her knees.

But she knew this strategy and locked the stomping foot with her own.

He tried to shake it loose but found he could not, so he jetted a fist at her face.

With another massive grunt she swatted it down and away.

He shoved another at her chest, but that too was gruntingly knocked away. Another and another at her. Denied and denied. Their balance was becoming difficult.

Suddenly he went for her locking leg with a plummeting fist.

But she whip-angled her lock's positioning so that what he hit was his own thigh. Now _he_ grunted in pain. She took advantage, unlocked his foot and fast slid a whapping kick to his groin. It connected and he groaned in shock and fresh agony.

But he still got a good swipe in at her cheek and pain exploded there.

They both backed off. Both needed a moment of recovery.

Jess winced at the radiating, reverberating trauma in her face. She glued an open-palmed hand to her pounded cheek and doubled over a tad in an effort to come to grips with the injury.

Bernard had his hands on his knees as he was hunched further forward than Jess. He was coughing a few jerking fits and bunching his lids shut intermittently, dealing with the waves of misery. Soon, however, he was acclimating, coming to terms with the pain. _"Whoa,_ girl...true to form, _you are_ a real jewel buster..." He shook his head briskly to fight another flush of pain.

She took her hand away from her face and gritted her teeth for a reply. "How's _that_ on top of what you normally feel around me?"

"I'm not out...not by a _long_ shot. How's that cheek? You getting fogged yet, little Jess?"

"I'm still here, why don't you come on back if you can still walk."

He did, and without any limp or odd swagger. He was angry now and hard-focused on his intent to torture and kill her. He would drive himself until his pain was nothing but numbness.

He jabbed, she blocked. She jabbed, he blocked. Opposite, and opposite again. He faked, went with the other fist, faked it again, and slammed the other one back out toward her throat.

But she quick-arched her head back and brought both fisted arms up in a positioning to straight-lock his arm. It worked and she had his arm in the vice, quickly straightening it out to uncomfortable elbow tension. She tried to bring the arm to his side and outward so that he would be defenseless against her hold on him.

But he was now using all of his strength to unstraighten the arm, to bring a bend to the elbow. He grunted and grunted in his all-out effort.

She fought against the bending with all she had.

But he was winning. Slowly but surely, he was bringing his powerful arm to a slight V position...and finally it was enough to slip his arm out. And he did, whirling away to regain his centered and defensive/offensive stance.

She followed after and went for another kick to the groin.

He caught it and locked her ankle in his iron grip of clawed hands.

She brought her other foot up to the position of her other in an effort to shove off and flip over to her feet again. It worked—

—But just as she landed, he was on her attempting a debilitating chop to her neck and shoulder cluster.

She deflected it away and, lightening-fast, used the same hand to thwap him in the nose. In the next instant it was leaking blood from his right nostril.

He ignored it and brought his knee up to his chest to then thrust his foot directly out to her sternum.

She crossed her still fisted arms to protect her lower chest. But the impact of the powered kick was still enough to knock the wind out of her... _and_ knock her backward a few steps.

"Oooops," he said with mocking as he dabbed at the blood from his nose with his wrist. _"This_ looks familiar..."

She ventured a whip-turn back for a split-second to view what was behind her and realized what Bernard was referring to.

And realized he had been toying with her, working her the whole time to position her right where she had been the first time he had her cornered.

She was now four feet from the ocean-side edge of the cliff.

She tried not to let it affect her concentration, but it did give her a twinge of tightness in her chest.

But she would be damned if it would take her over, turn her into a quivering mass of fear. She steeled herself immediately.

" _Come on,_ Jess, all of this is my design. Do you _really_ want me to unleash my full strength on you?" He waited for a reply, of which he got none. "Look, get to your knees, let me do some damage, and then I'll throw you off. Seriously, why prolong what _you_ already know is _going_ to happen? I mean," And he hiccupped a tiny chuckle. "You didn't honestly think that you were going to come out of this the winner, did you? You're not _that stupid_ , are you?"

"You wanna know what I think? I think you got more than you bargained for tonight. There's no way I would give you the satisfaction of backing down. Now stop your juvenile games. And let's go."

Blinking, he casually responded, "Ummm, yeah, okay, if we must..." He shrugged slightly then pounded forth toward her.

And she at him.

They met and unleashed a barrage of stylized—and complimented in defensive postures—arm swings and leg kicks. It became furious, a vicious ballet of potentially damaging acts. Both of them grunting and _eyahhing_ with each swing, thrust, and kick.

Whether it was part of Bernard's strategy or not—Jess found an opening in his defenses and jabbed her straightened four finger, yet spread apart in twos, to stab at his eyes. With an "AH!" he squinted them shut, temporarily blinded.

She placed both hands on his upper shoulders and _vaulted_ herself over him to flip and land on her feet behind him. The weight of her body buckled him slightly but he didn't crumple to any great degree.

Once she had landed she swung around with a thrusting kick to his lower back.

Yet, apparently it didn't matter at all that he couldn't see, for he sensed all that was coming. And crouched down low to grasp her kicked leg and, before she could block in time, whip-pounded on that leg's inner thigh.

"AAAUGH!" she screamed as the hit happened, then "OOF!" as he had thrown her down. She scrambled away like a wounded animal desperate to escape more physical punishment. Or the fear of sudden death.

He didn't follow her as she madly scampered off on the ground in misery. Merely stood up and rubbed at his rapid-blinking, watery eyes. After a brief moment of adjusting his sight, he said, "Holy crap, girl, you fall for it all, don't you? _Man,_ when are you going to get that I own this situation? There _is_ no way out for you. You might as well be as helpless and as clueless as poor little Bea was." He rubbed more at his eyes as he jammed his lids closed. "That was a good shot though...But you know, the thing about us Pear-Paul types is that we take our licks, and we _keep_ coming back.

"I heard about your uncle's little excursion to try and get Stanford to let you out of the deal, the _arrangement..._ You wanna know what I think?" he asked her as he blinked and shook his blurriness and pain away to see better, "I think that you could have tortured Stan for hours and he still would have told you all to piss off..." He had a clear view now of where Jess had slunk to, and was stalking that way. "...And even though we lost our head of security in the rescue attempt, it matters little." He laughed a touch. "You wanna know why? Because once I throw you over and report back, Jordan has assured me that _I_ will take over as head of security—he's _that_ impressed with my combat and leadership skills. So as you might have guessed by now, I am _more_ than motivated to make this happen...You _will_ go over that cliff...."

Jess was yet curled up on the rock-based ground, wincing intermittently while holding her thigh with both hands. The pain was excruciating, but she was determined that this would not take her out of the fight, she _would_ be on her feet and ready to meet his next assault.

And somehow, as he came near enough, she awkwardly, painfully made it happen. She put both her arms in their defensive position to ready herself for his strike.

"You all set? Ready to go?" he asked in mock concern.

She didn't answer. Merely steeled herself in the knowledge that she would go down fighting.

He faked a punch.

She twitched in her movements. But remained focused.

"How's your balance?" he asked tauntingly as he faked another jab.

She jerked again at the false move, ever prepared and ignoring the agony.

He faked her out once more, but then launched a real jab at her chin.

She blocked it but felt her leg—the injured one—buckle slightly under her. Quickly she straightened up.

He calmly commented, "I thought as much," in answer to his own question. "Look—let me just...get out my frustrations over not being able to do this months before, mess you up a bit, and then toss you over. Done and done. Night concluded."

Quickly she added, "Hm, let me think about that—no."

He rose his eyebrows as he responded, "Oookay, but now it's just going to be ten times worse—playtime is finished, and you're going to find out _exactly_ who I am...And of course, thank you because once again you don't disappoint...."

And he exploded forth on her, revealing the full speed and ferocity of his combat abilities.

It was all she could do to keep up with his lightening-quick and repeated assaults. All through it she grunted and hollered to put her full energies into the defensive.

But it was clear he was wearing her down. And both of them knew it.

He broke through and cracked her in the jaw.

She felt nothing of the pain of the hit, only the complete mind disorientation and loss in her vision for a brief few seconds. She only minorly felt him backhand her and bring her to the ground once more.

He kicked her in the side and she definitely felt that one. She roared in misery. He kicked her in the rear. Again she howled. He kicked her in the lower back. This time she only gasped terrifyingly, high-pitchly as the pain overwhelmed her.

Through with the kicking bout, he took both of his clawed hands and picked her up by her sweatshirt. He brought her up to his eye level, and he was pleased to see that she was a bloody-faced and limp mess. Her whole body sagged in his grasp.

He removed his right hand from clenching her and used it to swat her across the cheek. Her head did an involuntary side-shake and recoil. Then became lulled once more. Even her eyes were slackened, unfocused.

Of the swat he remarked, "That little one right there was for your insolence and defiance. If I or any of my kind tell you to do something, you damn well better do it. Because we _demand_ it," he gritted out as he shook her listless form, "Because _we_...we are the true power in this world...and I'm going to make sure you all respect that if it takes the rest of my life." He studied her, then said, "Hey, _hey_ , you still there...? Speak up if you can...HEY!" He shook her once with a bucking jerk. "Answer me!"

She whined with horrid fear and agony.

"There you are," he said, "you're with me... _Now,_ you ready to acknowledge the fact that my kind is the truest chosen and you're just some anomaly? Hm? Nod if you agree...Yes...? NOD, you sow!"

Awkwardly, and with great difficulty, she did.

" _There, there_ we go," he barked with thunder, "Now it can be over." And he swung her behind him to throw her few feet away. She landed in a curled and awkward heap on the flattened rock. From there she only had fifteen more feet to the seaside edge of the cliff.

He came for her.

And stood before her damaged mass. "Now why was this ill-feeling I got from you so much more potent than any other of your kind...? That I may never know...Oh well, not for much longer...The short roll to freedom, hey Wessers? And you know what? I think I _am_ just going to roll you off..." He took a foot and shoved her to roll forth, a foot closer to the edge. "...You know, like a piece of dung, like a piece of garbage not even worth picking up..." He did it again, and another foot was gained to the drop-off. "...Just in case you were having _any_ lingering doubts after you already nodded to my superiority—" With that last word he severely pushed at her, making her roll a good three times. Three more feet. "I _am_ , however, going to say the same thing I said to your sad little friend right as I took her out. You remember what I said? I said, 'Take care.'" He did another serious shove with his foot.

And she did three more rolls toward the end of her life. Seven feet away....

And suddenly he began practicing different ways of saying the parting words. _"Take_ care...take _care...you_ take care..." Another two powerful foot shoves and she was one foot away from the edge...

...And that was where she needed to be.

Suddenly, she shot her head up to stare directly into Bernard's eyes. And said clearly, "No, Bernard, _you_ take care... _We're there_..."

And instantly his eyes went lazy, as if something had thrown a mental veil over his consciousness.

But this phenomenon was not lasting long as he seemed to be blinking and slightly shaking his head...

Yet she knew it wouldn't last long on someone like him—someone who was hyper-aware and determined—so she was already in motion, thrusting both—yes, both!—legs upward and crossing them so that—as they shot up towards his neck—her feet, which were directed toward each other, wound up behind his neck, quick-locking his head between her calves. Once immediately done—and as he was semi-coming out of his hypnotic haze—she used almost every last square poundage of her remaining strength to force his head downward and plunging at a bit of a diagonal into the iron-like flat rock right next to her. The top of his head did a seriously loud thud as it hard-met the ground—and a split-second after this happened, she was bringing both her arms behind him to thrust the full flip of his body over.

And off the cliff to two hundred feet below, where the next contact of his body would not be so flatted.

In fact, it would be jagged and knifing juts of pure death-bringing.

Jess collapsed again, breathing quite hard and wincing again from her bodily injuries. But feeling a deep sense of calm and satisfaction that her plan of hypnosis and ultimate fake-out worked almost exactly as she had planned it.

That warming sense was deepened further as she heard a rather childish and shocked scream from Bernard, "That's not—! NOOOOOOO!!!" echo up from the depths of the cliff wall.

Before it was abruptly cut off as a distant crack-thud sounded.

"...Take care now..." she breathed out in her respiratory strain. Then cracked a bit of a smile and uttered, "I love you, Bea." Then lost conscious for a number of hours.

Chapter 53

Jess awoke the next morning in the infirmary wing of Ellison and Bauer's corporate HQ. The company actually had two doctors on staff to treat illness and injury for the employees.

One of the nurses, a portly Asian woman was now attending to Jess, checking her IV.

Jess lay on a bed and felt a slight disconnect from her surroundings. She correctly guessed that she was under the influence of pain meds. Groggily she asked, "Where am I? Not County General..."

"No," the nurse agreed, "You're in the medical ward of Ellison and Bauer. We took you here from the cliffs. You were x-rayed and given an MRI earlier this morning and thank God you don't have any internal bleeding. _Or_ any broken bones. Just a lot of bruising."

"Where's my family?"

"They're here, just in the next room. I'll let them know you're awake. The members of Thresher are out there as well. Do you wish to see them at the same time?"

"Sure."

"I'll go get them."

"Thanks," she said gratefully, but then abruptly asked, "What time is it?"

"Don't worry about that for now. Spend some time with your friends and family." She smiled but her eyes told a different story. One of deep sadness. She left the room.

A brief moment later, Jess' family and Thresher Group came in and revealed unanimous smiles for her.

Erin and Curt came forth first to rush by their daughter's sides.

"Jessie, baby..." Erin lovingly began.

"Hey girl," Curt beamed, "How ya feeling?"

"Spacey," Jess uttered with a slight grin. "What time is it?"

"Who cares what time it is?" Erin said, "I'm just glad to be here with you. Oh God, baby..." She lowered her head to Jess' upper chest.

Curt ran a few fingers though Jess' hair in a soothing manner. "Boy, I'll tell you, Jessie, I love you dearly—but you sure are one crazy girl."

"I knew what I was doing the whole time," Jess defended.

"Really?" he asked with suspicion.

"Sure...well..."

They smiled nervously at each other.

"Whatever she did it worked," Erin said with her head still down on daughter, her eyes closed in relief. Jess put her hand on her mother's upper back to comfort her.

The rest of the family had greeted Jess at her bedsides and showed their love and relief that she had not perished.

Yet all of them had an undercurrent of sadness and dread etched in their eyes, even with the smiles and laughs and words of encouragement.

All of them knew what still had to happen today. But none of them had any desire to bring up.

The members of Thresher shared the sentiment as they greeted and talked up Jess' accomplishment of the night before.

The very last to greet her was Mill.

And Jess asked everyone if she could have a moment alone with her mentor.

When they all left, Mill immediately gave Jess a gentle kiss on her lips. He didn't want to give her a serious one for he knew her face hurt.

After the dabbing kiss, he said, "You used the hypnosis, didn't you?"

"M-hm," Jess confirmed with slightly dreamy eyes for Mill.

"And 'let's go' was your priming phrase, right?"

"Yep."

"But what was the key phrase?"

"We're there."

"Nice, nicely done."

"Thanks."

They both smiled a touch. He went on, "You know, your dad was right though, it was still very foolish of you to do what you did."

" _What?_ I've received worse treatment in training, what're you worried about?"

"I doubt that, you never had to be hospitalized after a training session."

"I probably should have been."

"What're you complaining now?"

"Well, now I would get your sympathy, wouldn't I?"

They smiled and breathed a bit of laughter.

"Besides," she continued, "I used what you taught me in the last session—you know the one that we did practically _all_ day?"

"That actually worked for you?" he asked with befuddlement.

"Yeah, he didn't stand a chance with it—wait a minute, what? You don't think I should have used it?"

"...Well...you hadn't quite perfected it yet. That was a _huge_ risk you took using it—"

" _Hey,_ I did it well enough to still be here talking to y—"

And suddenly he dipped his head to hers to kiss again—this time with much more pressing—and feeling.

"Ow," she muffled as he covered her mouth with his own.

He pulled back a bit and said, "Sorry."

"I didn't tell you to stop."

So he drew forth again and resumed the heart-fueled kiss.

Both of their eyes closed, and remained so for a very long while, matching the duration of their lips' touch.

After it was over, Mill climbed in to lay next to Jess and hold her hands.

They both felt a comfort in each other's closeness. But also a need for harsh truth.

Jess said, "I have to know what time it is."

Of this, he responded, "It's passed the time you were supposed to be handed over, that's all I'll say right now."

" _Mill_... _tell me_ what's happened?"

"...All right...You've been given a half-day's reprieve...but at 4PM they're expecting you to be transported to their corporate building...where reportedly they'll take over your convalescence." He breathed an oppressive, deep breath, let it out.

She looked off from him in fogging and morose contemplation.

He said on, "I just...I _pray_ that all we've trained you on will save you from what it is they have in mind for you..." And he laid his head to touch hers.

"Well...at least we have until then...But I still don't know how long that is because no one will tell me the time—"

"It's 11:30 in the morning."

" _Thank you..._ was that so hard?"

"Harder than you know..." And he kissed her neck below the ear.

Twenty minutes later, the others reentered and gathered around the two. No one seemed to mind that Jess and Mill were lying next to each other. Both were over eighteen now and could decide their own actions on matters of romance. And both were, of course, chosen and could be trusted to be honorable.

Although it gave Erin and Curt an instinctive twinge of unnerving. This was their baby-girl after all.

But to mention it seemed like small potatoes compared to their main and true concern for this day.

They tried to keep things light by telling Jess how proud they were of her and all she had accomplished.

But as 3PM rolled around, it seemed that everyone around the wounded girl couldn't hide how they really felt and began crying to no end.

Jess tried to hold all of them as best she could. To tell them that it was all right. That there was no way that she was going to allow the Pear-Pauls to persuade her to do anything for them. That her first priority was to escape in any way she could.

Dean, of course, had told her of the executive elevator chute and how to locate it. Though both had a sneaking suspicion that this option might not work in light of the recent debacle at Pear-Paul—the failed kidnapping of Stanford. They would likely _know_ that Jess knows of the escape route—and dismantle it.

Still, it was worth a shot if it came down to the wire, as they say.

Chapter 54

At 3:30 it was time and everyone had cried their tears. Jess was wheeled in another bed to the ambulance that Ell-Bau had leased, and driven to the Pear-Paul HQ.

As they arrived, Stanford Jordan—flanked by security agents—was already waiting for them just outside the lobby of the building. His expression was neutral, officious.

Both Ellison and Bauer approached the Pear-Paul's first. Both tried to put on a face of neutrality themselves. But the grave intensity couldn't be concealed in either's eyes.

"Tobin. Nicolas," Stanford flatly greeted. "As we are out in the open, I suggest that all involved keep a level head. None of us would benefit from a public spectacle. The ambulance is attention-grabbing enough, I would think."

Ellison spoke, "No one is going to make a scene, Mr. Jordan. We _are_ here as agreed upon, and _will_ hand Jessica over, as was our original arrangement...though I'm not sure how long you'll be able to keep her."

"Well, she did her part last night, Mr. Ellison. Therefore, you know the duration will be four months. I don't see any gray area on that matter—unless you've planned some half-cooked rescue attempt. _Which,_ by the way, might be doubly ill-advised given her present physical condition."

"Oh, I'm not concerned about that. I know you will take good care of her until she is in top form again."

"Indeed we will—top notch medical treatment, nothing but the best for her."

"I don't doubt it," Bauer entered in with a bit of bite. "You'll want her to be in tip-top shape when you put your plan to destroy us in motion—"

"Nick, please, don't—" Ellison urged but was interrupted.

"No, it's all right," Stanford assured. "He's correct, of course. She _is_ part of a larger scheme to bring you to your knees. We all know that so let's not dance around it...But _exactly_ how will be...well, I'm not really at liberty to discuss the specifics at this time. Rest assured, you'll find out in the next few months."

"We might have a few projects of our own," Nick bit back.

"I look forward to it...Well now that we've gotten our measuring sticks out and used them, I think it's time we not stand out here in the street for much longer. Jessica, please."

"...Very well," Ellison droned with no measure of willingness, then turned to face the driver of the ambulance. The driver then faced the back of the vehicle and spoke to someone.

In the next instant, the back doors of the ambulance separated and swung outward. Curt jumped out and turned around to physically aid the foot end of the gurney with Jess out of the vehicle. He eased it down to the street. Then Dean and Mill rolled the head of the bed close to the edge of the tiny drop-off. After, they both jumped down and eased the rest of Jess down to level her bed's front wheels with the foot's and the street.

Then Erin emerged and got down from the ambulance to approach her deeply loved daughter. They embraced. And didn't stop within the next few minutes.

Erin gritted to her, "Promise me you'll beat these people. That you won't let them make you do something _horrible_ like they made me do. _Promise_ me..."

"Don't worry, okay?" Jess tried to console. "It's going to be all right. I'm stronger than they know—"

"You _have_ to _promise_ me," she pleaded, fighting back the flood of tears.

"...I promise."

And so they reluctantly tore themselves away from their hold on each other.

Erin moved aside as Curt walked up to bend down close to Jess. He stared at her with a mountain of love and respect in his face, in his eyes.

"...My daughter..." he started thickly, intensely, "...my blood..." And he hugged her. Then he gave her a hell of a kiss on her forehead and backed away before he completely lost it.

Pahti walked over and said to her as he held her hand, "Jam a lightening bolt up their arses...because I firmly believe you can do that now."

They shared a weak smile to each other, then hugged for a minute.

She told him, "You're the closest thing to a brother that I ever had."

He said back, "So are you," and they both smiled again. "Don't get hurt. Don't die, yes?"

"I'm clear on it, I got it."

"Okay."

They unhugged and he stepped back to allow Al and Sophie close access to her.

Her grandparents put their hands on her arm as they stared down at her, she, up at them.

Al said tearingly, "I'm sorry, baby. We _tried_. We did what we could to keep you from this..."

"It's not your fault," Jess offered. "You two have been so good to me my entire life...But now it's time for me to see who I really am. And what I can really do. They're in for one hell of a fight."

Sophie, equally teary-eyed, said to her, "Your great grandmother would have been so proud of you—to know that you have so much spirit and courage. That you faced the toughness and the cruelness of this world with unwavering dignity...I see so much of her in you." Suddenly Sophie's expression hardened, _"Destroy_ these monsters, Jess."

"I'll do my best."

"We know you will," Al said and reached in to hug Jess.

Afterward, Sophie gave her one, then they both rubbed at their own eyes and backed away to allow one last person to Jess' bedside.

Mill.

He bent over to get close and held her hand firmly. She held his just as tight.

She quipped, "Okay. So I get better, escape with pertinent knowledge that can bring these festering rats down, then you and I do dinner and a movie."

"Well, when you put it that way," Mill commented with false positivity, "It doesn't sound so bad."

"I don't foresee any problems, do you?"

"Not a one," he lied.

"Then kiss me and I'll see you soon."

"Oh yeah," he said with intense feeling for her, and brought his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle but long and passionately felt.

When they parted from each other's mouths, she said, "To be continued."

He concurred with, "Most definitely."

They squeezed one another's hands before letting go. Then Mill walked to the front of the gurney and turned to face her, as she faced him. And began pulling her to roll across the street. Both he and she watched the traffic at intermittent times—even though Ellison and Bauer agents were halting cars to allow crossing access for the two.

But mostly Jess and Mill kept their eyes longingly fixed on each other, trying to reassure with their stares that things actually would go well.

And they would see and hold one another quite soon.

Mill pulled slowly so as to prolong the crossing.

But too soon it was over, and Mill gave her one last look of intensity before he stepped aside and walked away. His absence allowed her full view of what was in front of her: Ellison, Bauer, and a myriad of Pear-Paul agents, and Stanford Jordan.

"Hello, Jessica," Jordan said evenly. "I doubt you remember me, but we have met before."

"Yes, I know," Jess responded in her own flat tone.

"I'm glad that we now have an opportunity to become better acquainted."

"Is that right."

"Absolutely. I'm impressed with your performance in last night's test."

"You were watching then."

"Of course. We had to see you in action. Your final tactic was inspiring."

Damn it, Jess thought, they likely know just how I turned the tables on Bernard....

Stanford offered, "But let's talk more inside. Your full convalescence is our top priority right now. Garret, Thomas..."

Two of the Pear-Paul agents came forth to converge on the gurney, taking up head and foot of bed positions.

They began rolling her in.

As she passed by Ellison and Bauer she shot them a look that spoke of many things: exhilaration, fear, resilience, assurance—and also gratitude, funnily enough, for the last seventeen years of her life led with loving, extraordinary souls. All in one.

Theirs was of immense and dreadful hesitancy, trepidation.

She was rolled out of their sight and brought ever closer to the lobby entrance doors; a few feet now....

Across the street, Mill had rejoined the group and stood close to the family, who had all drawn together in a horridly fearful half-huddle of joined arms and tear-wrecked faces.

As Jess got nearer to the entrance, and then was finally ushered through the large glass doors, the family's grips on each other tightened with evermore intensity.

The partial huddle was drawing a bit of a scene from the passerby's but none of the huggers cared an ounce for it.

Their only concern now was to fully complete the circle of the tear-laden and cinched-eyed huddle, as inside the lobby—and with Jordan trailing—Jess was rolled around a corner.

And out of sight.
