

©2018 Brandy M. Miller. Published by 40 Day Writer LLC.

All rights reserved. This sample may be shared with others but only if it is kept in its entirety with full attribution given to the author. No alterations are permitted.

Chapter 1. A New World

Donovan Cole opened his eyes to the inky blackness around him. He didn't move. Not yet. He didn't want his captors to know he was awake. He wasn't about to give away a strategic advantage that might help him escape. He wasn't sure how he'd survived, and he didn't care. What mattered was making sure that Gabrielle was safe.

He flexed his muscles, trying to gauge just how tightly they'd bound him, only to discover there were no chains. Nothing restricted his movement. That was careless of them.

His heart raced. This had to be some kind of trap.

His heart sank. They wanted him to escape so he could lead them to Gabrielle. That was it. They gave up torturing him to get to her and now were going to let him free so he could lead them straight to her.

He closed his eyes again and forced himself to relax. He took a deep breath of air, thinking through all the variables, and frowned. The air wasn't right here. It was definitely not the fresh air of outdoors, nor was it the sickly, moldy air of the castle dungeons, but something entirely new to him.

Where was he?

A high-pitched noise both sharp and sudden almost like a bird's chirp sounded toward his feet. He glanced in the direction of the noise. He heard a soft sound almost like the purr of a cat and then a bright red light switched to green. He tensed and resisted the urge to respond. Whatever witchcraft was happening here, it would be better not to remove the element of surprise from his arsenal.

Light erupted from every direction, blinding him. He closed his eyes quickly, trying to shield himself.

"Donovan, I know you're ready. The machine's done. It's time to awaken!"

The voice was nasal and masculine. He didn't recognize it. He listened for footsteps. One pair. That was a mistake on the Queen's part. One man was not going to be enough to take him down.

He could feel fingers pressing against his throat. He waited for just a moment and then, with lightning speed, grabbed the wrist and rolled off the table, pinning the man's arm behind his back and using his weight to force the man's head to the table.

"Who are you?"

He growled the words from between clenched teeth. His eyes locked onto the startled face of the frail man in the white coat.

"Jeremiah Grey, but you can call me Jerry. I'd shake your hand, but you've got it pinned. Can you let go now? This kind of hurts."

Donovan scowled. This man might be frail, but he showed absolutely no fear of Donovan.

"Where are we? Where's the Queen?"

Donovan was not expecting the man to burst into full-throated laughter.

"Right. I forget. You still think you're in the Kingdom of Luminos. At least I know that part of the mind mapping worked. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do. I'll start with this. There is no queen, and this isn't the torture chamber. However, we're not supposed to be here. Believe me when I tell you that you do not want to meet the people that own this place. You don't want to know what they would do if they found you. You're safe with me, but we have got to go."

Donovan's head snapped up and he looked into Jerry's face. The pale blue eyes were darting everywhere, the brows were furrowed, and there was a grimace on his face. This was a man who definitely did not want to be where they were. Donovan wasn't sure what "mind mapping" meant. He did understand that there was no queen and no torture chamber and, apparently, he wasn't in the kingdom anymore. He let Jerry go.

"You've come to rescue me? Did Gabrielle send you? Where is she?"

Could it be? Could she have come for him? It was the only possibly explanation he could imagine for someone caring enough about him to come and rescue him from the queen and her guards. There was no one else in his life who cared about him except her.

Jerry's face fell.

"I'm sorry. There are limits to what science can create, Donovan. I can't reproduce Gabrielle. Even if I could make the rest of her, I couldn't give her the abilities that make her who she is. It's just not possible."

Donovan shook his head. He refused to accept what he was hearing.

"If you brought me here, you can bring her. Use the portal, the spell, whatever you did and get her here. She's the only thing that matters to me. She's my whole life."

Jerry sighed and winced as he rubbed at his arm.

"I'll explain this to you as much as I can. It's not going to be easy. You'll see, though. There's just no way for me to bring Gabrielle to you."

Donovan sank down to the cold floor. All the energy that had powered his earlier activities was gone. He felt tired and drained. He didn't care what became of him at this point. He knew what he needed to know. This man was not going to help him find Gabrielle.

He heard the man approach but didn't look up. A bundle of strange cloth was dropped at his feet.

"You're going to want to put those on. You can't walk around town naked, and we can't stay here. It's dangerous enough as it is."

Donovan inspected the garments he'd been given: a grey tunic and dark blue leggings, white short pants, a pair of stockings, and a pair of strange looking boots that seemed designed only to cover the foot and not the ankle or the calf.

"Where are my clothes?"

Jerry sighed and ran a hand through his thinning blonde hair.

"Donovan, just put them on. Your clothes would attract way too much attention and get people asking way too many questions. We need to go. I'll replace your clothes later."

It took Donovan a bit to figure out the clothing he'd been given, especially the boots, but he eventually stood dressed and signaled to Jerry that he was ready. Jerry handed him a strange white object with an image of himself engraved on it and runes written to either side. The object had a long blue string looped through it.

"Put this around your neck. It's an ID badge. If someone asks to see your identification, show them that. For the most part, nobody cares when you're trying to leave the building. They just care about you getting into it. But it's better to be safe than sorry."

Donovan had no idea what the man was talking about, so he simply nodded and followed the man's footsteps. They took a winding path through a building of metal and brick. It made the Queen's palace look small in comparison. Donovan wasn't sure he could find his way back where he began if the need arose. He had no choice but to follow.

They exited a small side door and out into the night air. There were giant torches without flame at regular intervals giving off sufficient light that it looked more like dusk than night. The air was cleaner here but still carried smells he couldn't identify. The more he knew about this new kingdom, the less he liked it.

The path they followed was a dull grey color, like stone, but without the natural patterns of stone. It led to a large field of metal wagons parked side by side to one another. Jerry led him to a small yellow one. The man opened a windowed panel and took a seat.

"Get in! We need to go."

Donovan stood there confused. He didn't know how to get inside. Jerry eventually came and lifted up a lever on the panel before swinging it wide so that Donovan could enter.

"I should have mind mapped modern technology along with all that stuff from Luminos," he heard Jerry mutter under his breath. Donovan sat down on the wagon's seat. He couldn't help but marvel at the idea of an enclosed metal wagon. There were none like it in Luminos.

"Where are the horses?"

Jerry shook his head.

"There are none. Put your seatbelt on so we can go."

Donovan stared at Jerry, who let out an exasperated sigh before unfastening the grey belt that was angled across his left shoulder down to his right hip. Jerry grabbed a metallic object on the side.

"See that buckle above your head?"

He pointed at an identical metallic object above Donovan's head.

"Yes. I see it."

Jerry smiled, though he looked strained.

"Great. Grab hold of it and do what I do."

Donovan hesitated for a moment but did as he was told to do. Jerry pulled the metallic object from his left shoulder to his right hip and inserted it into a metal device at his right side. Donovan noticed a matching device on his side and repeated the gesture. He heard a clicking sound as the buckle went into the metal device.

"Good job. Let's get out of hear."

He watched Jerry lean forward and punch some buttons into a black panel. The panel lit up and the carriage began to move at a speed that both amazed and terrified Donovan. There were two powerful lanterns on the front of the vehicle that lit their way.

Other metal wagons seemed to rush toward them and away from them at times. There were what seemed rivers of them traveling in every direction, all much faster than any horse Donovan had ever encountered. He wondered what kind of magic this was, and marveled at the power of the wizards of this kingdom.

Jerry seemed oblivious to it all, causing Donovan to reevaluate the man's potential as an ally. Whatever his motives, it was clear he had no intention of harming Donovan. He wondered what the man wanted with him. He suspected he would find out soon enough.

They arrived at a red brick cottage with a grey roof which was surrounded by stone houses that towered above it on either side. Each house seemed to be crammed together as close as soldiers on a field, and it made Donovan feel claustrophobic just looking at it. He hated towns. He preferred the countryside where there were open fields and plenty of room to roam.

Jerry reached down to the metal device at his right and placed his finger in the center of it, then stopped and looked over at Donovan.

"Watch what I do and repeat it so you can release your seatbelt."

He watched as Jerry pressed an indentation in the device and the metal buckle released, allowing the grey belt to retract back to the left side of the carriage. Donovan repeated what he'd seen and was relieved to find it worked.

"Now, push that button and the door will open for you."

He looked to the side and noticed a blue button with a picture of a carriage and the door open on it. He pushed that and the door swung open.

"Great. Let's head inside."

Jerry led the way up the stairs and into the red brick house. Never in Donovan's life had he seen such a spacious interior except for the time spent in the castle. It seemed that Jerry was not only a powerful wizard, he was a wealthy one as well. If there was so much space in this small cottage, Donovan wouldn't help but wonder what the inside of the houses next to this must be like. He shook his head in disbelief. Gabrielle would have enjoyed this luxury.

"Welcome to home sweet home, Donovan."

The left-hand side of the room was covered with floor to ceiling bookshelves interrupted only by a fireplace in the center. He had never seen, nor imagined, so many books gathered into once space. To his knowledge, only kings and queens could afford to hire as many scribes as it would take to fill the shelves.

Jerry walked over to one of the shelves and took down a thick book. On the cover was an image of himself and Gabrielle just as they'd emerged from the woods, right before they fought the bandits. His heart ached when he saw that sweet face staring at him.

"Surely a wizard as powerful as you can bring Gabrielle to me. I have never seen such wonders in all of my days! Please, Jerry, I can't live without her."

Jerry sighed and looked at the cover of the book. It was worn at the edges, but otherwise pristine.

"Donovan, I know you don't understand. But I'm not a wizard. I don't have any special magic. Bringing you to life was easy. It's just a matter of programming in the right things to get the right results. I mean, that's not easy, but once you know what to do, it's just a matter of programming. But Gabrielle is different. She has powers, you know this, and those are powers we don't have in this world. There's no way I can recreate them. I'm sorry. I wish I could bring her to life for you, but I can't."

Donovan felt as if his heart were ripped from his chest. His anguish spilled out of him.

"Then why – why did you bring me to life? For what reason did you bring me here to a world where she isn't? I was glad to die for her, glad to die in her place, but to live without her is unthinkable!"

Jerry stared at Donovan with his eyes wide and his mouth open in an expression of shock. His voice was pleading as he began to explain.

"You are my hero. I have spent the last five years of my life reading and re-reading your story. You give me the courage I need to be a better man and a better person. When I read your story, I feel hope that maybe someday I can be what you are. I never dreamed it was possible to meet you in person, though, I mean – that was just crazy, right? Who ever heard of bringing a book character to life? But I did, we did, I mean – here you are!"

Donovan's laugh was bitter and sharp. His face flushed and his eyes grew black, narrowing to mere slivers.

"You know my story and still you think me a hero? I was no hero. You are a fool. I was nothing more than a hired mercenary when I met Gabrielle, with a heart as dark and black as a midnight in winter. I cared for nothing and for no one else. I let her buy my services and then let the Queen's men pay me 30 silver to deliver her into their hands."

His throat grew hoarse and choked at the memory of what he nearly did to her. Echoes of her laughter rang in his ears.

"If I died a hero, it was her love that made me one. I could not imagine a world without her brightness in it, and I chose to die to save that brightness. You truly are a wizard. You have brought to life an illusion, and you have given it no heart. May you be damned by all the gods for the thing that you have done."

Jerry's eyes dimmed as he listened to Donovan speak. His face fell and crumbled in defeat when Donovan finally stopped.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I just thought I would be able to impress the woman I loved and give myself a friend at the same time. I thought you, of all people, would understand. You were going to die in that world anyway. I thought you would appreciate a chance at a new life here- with me. If you want to leave, you can. I won't stop you."

Those words sparked an intense rage that Donovan couldn't understand.

"LEAVE? Where would I go?!"

His roar shook the walls and caused Jerry to shrink back as if he'd been hit.

"You have trapped me in a cage more foul and more inhumane than any the Queen's torturers could dare dream and now you tell me I am free to leave? Will you return me to my own world? Give me back the woman I love? Free to leave? No, I am anything but free to leave. I am trapped here as sure and certainly as if you had bound me in chains. Only death can set me free from this nightmare, and I doubt you will grant me that favor."

Donovan's last words came out a whisper. The energy he'd expended in anger left him feeling drained and beaten. Jerry's face turned even paler than before and he shook his head.

"No, I won't be helping you to kill yourself. You are right. I brought you to life, and it's my responsibility to take care of you, at least until you can take care of yourself."

He stopped for a moment and looked toward the back window.

"Are you hungry? I guess we can start there."

Chapter 2. The Bet

***6 Years Earlier***

"What if I told you I figured out a way to bring one of the characters from that book you're reading to life?"

Jerry laughed and looked up into Monica Sloan's big blue eyes. He was sitting outside the campus commons taking in the warm spring air, reading his favorite book, Tormented Love. It wasn't the first time he'd read it, but unlike many books, he found it got better with every reading.

She was standing with her hands on her hips, eyes dancing with excitement, her face lit up like a child at Christmas waiting for someone to open the present she'd bought for them. He could tell that whatever idea had caught her fancy, she wasn't going to let this one go. He closed the book and set it to the side.

"You can't be serious."

She took a breath and paused dramatically.

"Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being."

He raised an eyebrow and a corner of his lip curled. He recognized the passage. Twelve years of Catholic school, it seemed, were not entirely wasted.

"You're reciting the Bible? What does that have to do with bringing a book character to life?"

A wide grin spread across her face and the dimple in her left cheek deepened.

"Everything."

He opened his mouth to object, but she interrupted him before he could.

"I know, it sounds crazy, but hear me out. I've read that passage probably a dozen or more times, but I never thought about how it could be done. We can create all kinds of objects using 3d printers, often in a matter of minutes. We can build entire houses in just a day. What if God used the same kind of technology to create man? Just 13 elements make up 97% of the human body, and all of those can be found in dust and water, along with the vitamins and the minerals that are needed. The missing part is the genetics, but we know how to create those, too. We know how to create the nucleic acids that are needed and we have the human genetic template mapped out. It's just a matter of fine tuning the details and putting it all together."

Jerry frowned and his brow furrowed as he gave it serious consideration.

"I don't know. What about memories and behaviors? We don't have a mind map for recreating those? What about personality and experiences? We can't replicate those. You might be able to get the physical details right, but that's a long way from recreating the actual person in the book."

Monica nodded quickly but kept going.

"Yeah, I thought about that, too. Neuroscience has come a long way in being able to map out the meaning behind memories, but we'll definitely need to recruit some help with this. I think, though, that it's possible."

She nudged the book on the table beside Jerry with a finger.

"When you read that book, the brain translates those words into images and sensory information that makes it feel like everything in there is really happening to you. Dreams are experiences that feel like they are real even though they aren't. It's just a matter of triggering the right set of neurons to recreate the experiences we want to shape the memories of the person we're creating. They can come pre-programmed with the knowledge, the experience, the training, and the skills for living."

Jerry looked away, thinking about it, and then looked back at her.

"You're the biogenetics expert. I'm just a glorified code monkey who has a way with computers. You tell me what to program and I'll figure out a way to program the computer to do what you want."

Monica laughed and clapped her hands.

"So you'll join the team?"

Jerry sighed and shook his head.

"I don't know why I am doing this, but yes – I'll join the team. But first, you have to fund it. I can't afford to work on this without getting paid. My mother would definitely not approve."

Monica wrinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know of much that your mother approves of, Jerry. How many of those girls you've brought home has your mother chased back out the door? How many of the opportunities you've had to make something of yourself has she ruined for you? Someday, you're going to have to live a life all your own and stop letting her dictate terms to you."

Jerry looked down at the book and traced the image on the cover with a finger.

"Easier said than done, Monica. Easier said than done. She's sick, and she needs me. I can't just abandon her the way my father did. I don't want to be that kind of man."

Monica crossed her arms and pursed her lips, preparing to launch into an all-too-familiar lecture.

"We've known each other since high school, Jerry. You're a better man than you think you are. She's never going to let you go and you know it. She's been 'sick' for as long as I've known you. I think she's just using that illness as a leash to keep you from growing up and living your life. You need to stop letting her yank your chain emotionally like that. It isn't healthy."

Jerry frowned and turned away from her.

"You wouldn't understand."

Monica reached out and ruffled Jerry's hair.

"You're right. I definitely don't understand. But, that's not my job. My job is just to recognize a brilliant programmer when I meet one and persuade him to be on my team, and that means I have done my job. Now for my next trick – funding!"

Jerry nodded and looked away.

"Yeah, let me know when you win the lottery. I doubt you're going to find anybody to fund this. It's just like every other big dream you've ever had, Monica. It's a great idea, but it's never going to happen."

Monica's eyes narrowed dangerously and her hands went to her hips. Her feet spread just a little, as if she were readying herself for a fight.

"Want to bet?"

Jerry shrugged and grabbed his book from the table.

"Sure. What are the stakes? You better make sure you can pay up because I'm telling you, this is never - I mean, never - going to happen."

Monica's face and ears were starting to turn red. On any other woman, this might have made her look splotchy. On Monica, it just heightened her color.

"Jeremiah Grey, you ought to know better by now than to tell me I can't do something. This is going to happen, and I'm going to make sure it does just to prove you wrong. If I lose this bet, I'll marry you and become Mrs. Jeremiah Grey just like your mother's always telling me I should. I'll quit my job, become a stay-at-home wife, and take care of your mother for you so you can get a life. But if I win, I own you. You work for me where I want you to work when I want you to work. You don't get to ever tell me what I want isn't going to happen again. Is that clear?"

Jerry looked up at her with a one-sided smirk and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"What size engagement ring should I buy you? I'll let my mother know the wedding's on. Have you picked out a wedding dress yet? We should probably set a date. A word of warning: my mother's going to want a big wedding. She's got a lot of family from out of town to invite."

Monica's jaw clenched and Jerry saw her fists curl. He was pretty sure she was getting ready to hit him. It wouldn't be the first time.

"You are impossible."

Jerry shrugged, waved his hand at her in dismissal, and turned his attention back to the book, pretending to ignore her.

"I've heard Catholic weddings take at least six months of planning. You should probably go call the priest and set up our first appointment."

He heard her stomp off in the opposite direction and waited until he was sure she was gone before he put the book back down.

Antagonizing Monica was mean, he knew, but he couldn't help it. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met and she was even more beautiful when she was upset.

He sighed and imagined those beautiful dark curls of hers spread out on a pillow next to him. His face blushed scarlet as he thought – for perhaps the millionth time since they'd first met in 9th grade – about what it would be like to kiss her. A dreamy smile spread across his lips and he pushed the book aside. She'd just agreed to marry him. And he hadn't even had to propose. All he'd had to do was tell her she couldn't do something. Why didn't he think of that one earlier?

Just as he was enjoying the sudden vision of standing beside Monica at the altar, pulling back the veil, and claiming her for his own, a small seed of doubt planted itself in his heart. What if this was the one time Monica did manage to make her dreams come true? What if she did find the funding to make the project come together?

Monica was the girl of his dreams. None of the other girls he'd brought home were good enough for his mother, that was true, but he knew they weren't right for him anyway. His mom knew that. She just wanted the best for him.

None of those girls could hold a candle to Monica in terms of intelligence, wit, courage, or spunk. He might not understand why she kept chasing dreams that never seemed to come true for her, but he admired her determination in pursuing them.

One day, she was going to find a man who was worthy of her. Jerry wished he could be that guy, but he knew deep down that he was not. It was a sad state of affairs that his best hope for winning her hand in marriage was for her to fail at achieving her dreams. He supposed it was fitting. She would have to become a loser to marry a loser like him.

He looked at the cover of the book again. There was Donovan Cole, the hero of Tormented Love, protecting and defending his beloved Gabrielle from her attackers. That was what a real hero did. They protected and defended the woman they loved. Jerry wished that he could be that kind of man, but he wasn't.

Clouds moved over the sun blocking the light and a sudden breeze began to blow turning the warm spring air chilly and cold. He shivered and grabbed his book before heading into the safety and shelter of the commons building to finish his lunch break.

Later that night, it occurred to him that maybe if he helped Monica to find the funding she needed, he would prove himself worthy of her. Maybe then she would agree to marry him out of gratitude and admiration for his efforts on his behalf. He could be the hero he wanted to be.

That thought died almost as quickly as it formed.

"Who would want that kind of project anyway? Hollywood?"

He chuckled to himself as he sat down at the computer to design custom stationery for the two of them. She was going to be so mad when he gave this to her, but he really didn't have much to worry about. Monica was as good as his.

What use was there to print up book characters? Even if Hollywood were to print up those book characters, what on earth were they going to do with them after they'd used them for a film? Besides, how could you guarantee those book characters were going to do what you wanted them to do once you'd printed them up? No, the whole idea was ridiculous. Nobody was going to fund it. Nobody.

It took him a long time to fall asleep that night, and even once he did fall asleep his dreams were troubled. Monica was ahead of him wearing a red cloak. He was trying to catch up with her, to stop her from talking to the wolf that he knew was waiting for her, but she was too fast.

He finally reached her, but the wolf was there waiting. He grabbed her hand, and the wolf became Donovan Cole, who snatched her away from him and pushed him into a dark, deep hole as he and Monica laughed. He woke in a foul mood and headed off to college for his first class. Jerry hated dreams. They never turned out the way he wanted them to.

Chapter 3. A Devil's Bargain

Charlie McKinley headed up the stairs to the office on the 2nd floor at a brisk pace. General Roman Adams was not the kind of man you kept waiting. The door was shut and he rapped sharply, alerting the General to his presence.

"Enter."

General Adams was staring intently at the paperwork on his desk.

Charlie stepped inside the door and announced his presence with a salute.

"Sir, 2nd Lieutenant Charles McKinley reporting."

He stood at attention and waited for the general to acknowledge his presence. In his experience, you could tell a lot about the kind of leader a man was by how long he took to acknowledge an inferior. The general finished signing something and set the paper to the side before looking up.

"At ease, McKinley."

He gestured toward one of the two seats in front of his desk.

"Have a seat."

Charlie accepted the offer and took a seat to the general's right.

"Do you know why I've called you here, McKinley?"

Charlie was fairly certain he did.

"I believe I do, sir. I believe it is about the future of my research project."

The general leaned back in his leather chair, his piercing blue eyes focused intently on Charlie's face. His expression gave no indication of the thoughts behind it. Charlie was grateful for years spent playing poker. A lesser man might have crumpled under that kind of focused scrutiny.

"You are correct, McKinley. It's about your research project."

The general pulled a thick file from a stack of papers on his desk.

"As I recall, you approached me five years ago with a promise that if I funded this project, your team would be able to produce – let me find it here, just a moment"

Adams flipped through several sheets of paper and pulled out one from the stack, laying it carefully on top and read from it.

"A skilled, trained, ready-for-combat soldier using advanced 3d printing technologies. These soldiers would be created based on templates of carefully selected book characters, allowing virtually unlimited duplication and production within hours or even days. Benefits of these soldiers would be that they would be untraceable, having no record of their prior existence in any system, be untraceable as they would have no stored identification, and they would be 100% expendable. There would be no one to mourn them or miss them should they be wounded or die, no one to know or care about their existence."

The general paused and stared at Charlie again.

"That was the promise, was it not?"

Charlie felt his mouth go dry. The general's tone hadn't changed, but Charlie sensed a trap. He swallowed and put on his best poker face.

"It was."

The general closed the file and leaned forward across the desk.

"Where, McKinley, is my soldier?"

Admitting the truth was not an option. The only option was to stall and pretend he didn't know why the general was upset.

"You attended the demonstration, sir."

Adams stared at Charlie and flipped open the folder again, looking for something. He pulled out a second sheet and stacked it neatly on top of the first.

"I presume you are speaking about the demonstration in which one Eunice the Flying Unicorn was produced based on programming from a children's book, McKinley. As entertaining and impressive as that demonstration was, how useful is the ability to produce a flying unicorn to a military that must go up against cruise missiles and jet airplanes?"

Charlie knew he was in trouble.

"That demonstration was a year ago, McKinley. What kind of progress have you made since then? Where is my proof that this operation is worth continuing to invest, let me see...how much is it?"

The general rifled through looking for another piece of paper. He found it and stacked it on top of the other two.

"That's right. So far, I have invested nearly $1 billion dollars into your little research project. That's quite a chunk of change to produce one flying unicorn."

The general closed the folder again and sat back in his chair.

"McKinley, I am not a man to waste time or money. I take calculated risks. I do not gamble. I do not bet on ponies, and I do not bet on flying unicorns. If I find that my risks are not producing an appropriate return on my investment, I stop investing. If you would like for me to continue investing in your little project, I would suggest that you start producing results."

Charlie felt defensive. That flying unicorn might not seem useful to the military, but it was a massive step forward in the right direction. Taking a book concept and reproducing it so that it looked and – more importantly – behaved exactly like the character in the book was no easy feat. The fact that his team had been able to do it in just four years should have earned him a medal of honor.

"Sir, producing a living, breathing, creature based on a few lines out of a children's book and some programming from our computer team is nothing short of a miracle. We managed that in four short years. Replicating a human being isn't the hard part. The military has already been replicating the bodies of its soldiers for the past two years as a means of having replacement parts ready to go at a moment's notice. It's getting the memories mapped and the behaviors fine-tuned to produce the results you want. We are getting closer. We just need more time."

The general took a sheet of paper off his desk and placed it in front of Charlie.

"Read it. Aloud."

Charlie had no choice but to comply.

"March 20th, 2025

Dear Mrs. Finch,

I regret to inform you that your son, William Ray Finch, died in the line of duty. There are no words that I can offer to you to take away your pain or to ease the loss which you have experienced, but know that I am diligently working to ensure that his loss is not in vain.

His company commander informs me that your son was a great asset to everyone. You will be proud to know that many in his company owe their lives to his bravery and heroism on the field of battle. He lost his life saving the lives of others, and there is no greater way to be remembered that I can think of than that.

We have arranged his body and affairs to be transported to the nearest airport and will provide a military funeral with full honors. His life insurance benefits and final check will be sent to you immediately.

With deepest regret,

General Roman Ulysses Adams"

Charlie finished reading and stopped, waiting for the general to inform him of what the point of this exercise was. Soldiers died every day. It was part of the hazards of the job, and every man or woman who signed up for active duty knew the risks.

"Do you know what it is like to receive a letter like that, McKinley?"

Charlie allowed surprise to show on his face.

"No, sir."

The general's face hardened.

"I thought not. I do. I was ten years old when my mother received a notice very much like that one. My older brother was the one who died in the line of duty, but our whole family died with him. My mother couldn't let it go. She committed suicide less than a year later. My father took to drinking, unable to endure the pain. I made a promise to myself that I would set that record straight, McKinley. And that is a promise I intend to keep."

Charlie took advantage of the opportunity.

"And I can help you do that, General. I want to help you do that. I just need a little more time to perfect things."

The general stood up and slammed his palms on the desk.

"I don't think you understand, McKinley. These men and women don't have more time to give you. Every single day that you and your team fail to produce results, they are dying on the battle field. I will give you six – count that, McKinley – six more months. When those six months are up, you either produce a working, living, breathing, soldiering prototype or you will produce a complete top-to-bottom inventory of every single supply you have purchased with my billion dollars' worth of research money so that I can reassign those supplies to a team that can do the job."

Charles wanted to scream. He wanted to protest. Instead, he forced himself not to react.

"My team can handle the work, sir. You have my word. Six months from now, you will have a living, breathing, ready-for-action soldier standing right here in your office. I'll even let you pick the book we use."

The general sat back down, grabbed a sheet from a different pile of paper, and proceeded to scan it.

"You are dismissed, McKinley. Six months. That's all you have. You better make them count."

Charlie kept his cool all the way from the general's office to his car before he completely lost it.

"Is he out of his MIND? Six months? Nobody can do that. NOBODY! This is not good."

Charlie couldn't afford to lose the contract. He couldn't afford to give in to defeat. There was way too much riding on the line for that. As if to remind him of just how much was at stake, his cell phone rang.

"Charlie, pal, you haven't forgotten me, have you?"

Charlie felt a chill race down his spine at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line.

"Forget you? Joe, how could anyone forget you?"

Joe's voice was practically a purr.

"Charlie, it's hard for me to believe you haven't forgotten me. I didn't see you come in Friday, and I didn't find the money in my drawer on Saturday morning. You wouldn't be skipping out on a debt, now, would you, Charlie?"

Charlie's heart raced. He needed more time to get the money together.

"Joe, I would never skip out on a debt to you."

Joe's voice went from purr to growl in a second.

"You're damned right you wouldn't skip out on me. You don't want to find out what I do to people who skip out on debts they owe me. I am a fun guy, Charlie, but there's two kinds of fun in this world. There's fun that's fun for both of us. That's the kind most people are having when they borrow my money. Then there's fun that's fun for me but not for you. That's the kind of fun we're going to have if you don't pay me what you owe me. Today, Charlie. Today."

Charlie took a deep breath and calmed himself.

"I'll have your money, Charlie, I swear. I'll have it before 5 o'clock tonight."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Charlie felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face as he waited for the response. Joe's voice was back to a purr, but the words were far from reassuring.

"Oh, you'll have it, Charlie. Or I'm going to pay you a visit and show you just how much fun I am. You got me?"

Charlie's hands were shaking.

"I got you, Joe. I got you. You don't need to visit me. I'll have the money."

Charlie had been counting on being able to talk General Adams into additional financing of the project today, but that plan was not going to work. He needed another plan. Something that would give him access to the $20,000 he needed to pay off Joe Terrazzini, his bookie.

There was only one other number he knew he could call to get that kind of cash, but it was not a number Charlie ever imagined himself calling.

"Barb, get Kelly on the line for me, would you? I'm ready to talk terms."

Five hours later, and just two short hours before he'd promised he would deliver the money to Joe, he walked out of Kelly's office with a check for $20,000 in hand. All he'd had to do to get it was sell his soul to the devil. It wasn't like he was using it anyway.

Chapter 4. An

Unexpected Encounter

***Excerpt from Tormented Love***

Donovan Cole sat in a dark corner of The Crossroads, a tavern on the outskirts of the forest of Runesaw, watching the travelers coming through the doors. The best way to find work as a mercenary was not to speak, but to listen and to observe.

Notice those who didn't look like they fit. Draw close enough to them to hear the conversations, but not close enough to be noticed. It was amazing how much people would say when they thought no one was listening.

Most of the travelers who came through the doors arrived in twos or even threes. Parties of four or five were usually soldiers or groups of hired hands like himself. Traveling alone on the roads was not safe.

Bandits and thieves were the least of the troubles that were likely to be encountered out here. Wolves, bears, and mountain lions were more common, and usually more dangerous. Those who traveled alone were either fools or those who were more dangerous than anything the wilds could offer and neither, in Donovan's estimation, were worth the trouble it might bring to approach.

The door swung open suddenly, allowing a chill fall wind to blow through the warmth of the common room, sweeping in a short, small figure wearing a heavy, gray woolen cloak capped with a hood with it. The only thing to betray the gender was the slight sway of the hips as she walked softly and took a seat just at the edge of the fire's light, away from the rest of those gathered in the tavern that night. She was clearly not here for companionship.

One of the serving wenches approached the woman, who produced a coin from a small pouch, and Donovan's eyebrows raised as he watched the exchange. The serving wench took the coin, bit it, and then scurried off quickly to the kitchens as if afraid the other woman might snatch it back at any moment. Copper coins were the common currency of peasants and ordinary folk. Silver was the currency of the merchant and trade classes. The gleam coming off the coin, even in the dull light, was pure gold. A royal coin. Who was this woman?

She waited until the wench departed to throw back her hood and untie her cloak. Blonde hair spilled down the delicate shoulders to land mid-way down her back. Her clothes were clean and serviceable, though certainly nothing a woman of royal bearing would be caught wearing. She had not been on the road long, and she was not an experienced traveler, he would lay a day's wages on it. He was tempted to move toward her and find out whether there might be more gold coins in that pouch of hers, but she was fast fitting into the category of dangerous fools who were likely to be more trouble than it would bring to approach.

Donovan might have been content to let her be, but he was not the only one who had noticed her, apparently. Three soldiers who appeared to have had more than their fair share to drink were making their way in her direction. The hair on the back of Donovan's neck rose. He had a bad feeling about this. They reminded him of a pack of wolves he'd once seen circling a doe. That hadn't ended well, either.

The serving wench was making her way to the lady's table with a mug of ale and a bowl of stew. The three men took seats, uninvited, in the empty chairs at her table. The wench set the mug and the bowl down carefully and put her hands on her hips, wagging a finger at the three men.

"Bugger off, you sods. This here's a lady, and she'll have none of your like. Go find yourself someone as wants your company."

The biggest of the three man reached out and snaked an arm around the wench's waist and pulled her onto his lap.

"Meg, Meg. Don't be so hard hearted. We're just entertaining the lady. Don't get jealous. We'll be happy to entertain you, too."

The three men laughed as the wench began to spit and struggle, fighting to get free of his grasp, but his grip was far tighter than she could manage.

"Get yur hands off me, ya gob or so help me, I'll claw yur eyes out."

The blonde girl was on her feet quickly, abandoning both ale and stew in an effort to escape a similar fate, but the two other men were on their feet just as quickly, backing her up against the wall.

"Come now, lamb, don't leave the party so soon. The fun's just getting started."

Donovan heaved a sigh. He hadn't wanted a fight tonight. He sure hoped the lady would be able to pay for his services when all was said and done.

"I'll thank you to take your hands off my sister, gentlemen."

He stepped out of the shadows and crossed the room as quickly as he could. The big man's hands were full, with one wrapped firmly around Meg's waist and the other jammed down the top of her dress. His grinned as Donovan came into view.

"Which one's your sister?"

Meg's eyes were pleading with him for help. Donovan's knife was at the man's throat before he could say another word.

"Tell your friends the fun is over. And let Meg go."

The man released Meg unceremoniously, and she scrambled off his lap as quickly as she could, pulling her blouse back into position and moving well out of arm's reach.

"Ya oughta gut him, Donovan. Him and his friends."

The big man's two friends turned to face him. One of them had the little blonde's neck in a vise grip with his left arm and his right was cupping a breast. Her dress was torn straight down to her navel. Tears dripped from those big blue eyes of hers, and Donovan swore under his breath.

"You take that knife away from Big Tom's throat, mister, or we're going to show your little sister the time of her life right in front of you."

Donovan calculated the odds. Without a word, he slit Big Tom's throat, turned, and threw the bloody knife into the eye of the one who was holding the blonde.

He pulled his sword from the scabbard at his back and ran it through the third man's gut as he bent to retrieve his knife from the eye socket of the dead man. He hated to kill unnecessarily, but he had a feeling that man was not the kind to leave a fight peacefully.

"Meg, sorry for the mess. Little sister, you might want to put your cloak back on and get over here. I think we've outworn our welcome."

She did exactly as she was told, grabbing both the cloak and her pouch, and sticking to his side like glue. He cleaned his sword and knife on Big Tom's cloak, sheathed the knife and slid his sword back into its scabbard before heading out the door.

The Crossroads was a known mercenary hang out. Most of the people who went there were mercenaries like Donovan looking for work, soldiers like the three dead men looking for some off duty fun, or merchants looking to hire soldiers and mercenaries to see them safely through the passes. A fight like the one Donovan just had didn't usually cause much of a stir, but Donovan recognized the uniforms those three had been wearing as belonging to the Queen's own guards. Trouble was bound to follow not far behind.

They got out safely and Donovan headed straight for the place where trouble was least likely to follow them – right into the Runesaw forest. The girl shadowed him like a ghost, fast in spite of her small stature, managing to keep up with his pace. He found what he was looking for, something less experienced woodsmen wouldn't be able to find, a faint deer trail, and began to follow it without stopping.

She spoke not a single word to him the whole way. Her breathing was heavy and labored. He could tell she wasn't used to this kind of exertion, but she didn't complain. He was grateful for that.

Periodically, he stopped to listen for a pursuer but he heard nothing. He let an hour go by before he finally stopped beneath the shelter of a large pine. She took a seat on a rock just to the left of him and clutched her cloak tightly around her. She didn't seem to have any other clothes with her.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, dear lady, but what are you doing out here?"

Those blue eyes of hers locked onto his for a moment and then looked away.

"I am travelling to Safe Haven. I came to the tavern to find help. I..."

Her voice thickened and she swallowed. He could see tears glistening on her cheeks. Her teeth began to chatter and she broke down in great sobs, clutching her knees to her chest and burying her face in her skirts. He waited patiently for her to finish.

"What kind of help were you seeking?"

She looked miserable. Tears stained her cheeks and her lips were bruised. There were teeth marks on the nape of her neck. Those men hadn't been on her for long, but it had been long enough.

"My...my friend...told me to hire someone to protect me on the path to Safe Haven."

Donovan scowled. It was wise advice her friend gave her, but why had her "friend" let her come out this way all by herself?

"Some friend. Didn't your 'friend' think to warn you about traveling alone? Why didn't your friend come with you?"

She looked over at him and then rested her chin on her knees, as if to make herself as small as possible. Her voice was so quiet he almost couldn't hear her.

"He told me to be careful. I thought I was. He couldn't come with me. It was too dangerous."

Donovan had to wonder what kind of danger could be so dangerous that it would inspire a man who supposedly cared about a girl to leave her wandering off all by herself.

"Is he the one who gave you the gold?"

She nodded.

"He said that mercenaries didn't work for cheap, but the right one would be worth the payment."

She took a deep breath and collected herself.

"You're one of them, aren't you?"

He raised an eyebrow and looked over at her.

"One of them?"

She blushed but didn't turn away.

"A mercenary."

He sighed and nodded.

"I am. Donovan Cole, at your service."

She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Her eyes took in the thick muscles in his arms and the sword hilt protruding from his back.

"Donovan."

She breathed the name as if tasting it. Her eyes connected with his and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Thank you. What will you charge me to take me from here to Safe Haven?"

His first thought was, "How much do you have?" He was fairly certain she would have paid him whatever he asked, but it didn't feel right to take advantage of her that way.

"It's thirty silver a day, and Safe Haven is about a three days' journey from here. We're going to need supplies and gear. Neither of us is equipped. I wasn't exactly ready for a trip. You come home with me tonight. I'll grab my things and we can head out first light."

Her face flushed scarlet and she closed her eyes, bit her lip, and nodded without looking at him.

"Don't worry. You can take the bed. I'll be sleeping on the floor."

Relief flooded her face. He could visibly see her relax. He could understand, after what happened at The Crossroads, why she might have been worried about being alone with a man she barely knew.

"If you don't mind me asking, what's your name? I'm not in the habit of bringing home strangers."

Her brows raised and a smile spread across her face. It was a small, tired smile that didn't quite reach her eyes but it softened her features.

"Gabrielle. Gabrielle Galena."

Donovan was not a man who was in the habit of smiling, but he attempted one to try and put her at ease.

"Pleased to meet you, Gabrielle Galena. May I ask what takes you to Safe Haven?"

Safe Haven was across the border, in the Kingdom of Solaria. It was no easy trip, and only those who were truly desperate even dared it. Few enough even knew about it. Most of those were smugglers and thieves on the run from the authorities or merchants in search of riches.

Gabrielle didn't fit any of those categories. She was most definitely a mystery, and the more he knew about her the more intrigued he was becoming. His first assessment of her was halfway correct. Whatever she was fleeing, it was bound to be trouble. However, he was starting to think she might well be worth it.

Chapter 5. A Tempting

Offer

*** FIVE YEARS EARLIER ***

"Monica, right?"

Monica turned to look in the direction of the male voice. The older gentleman was not much taller than she was with a balding head, a slight paunch, and wire rimmed glasses that perched precariously at the end of his nose. She didn't recognize him and kept walking. Whatever he wanted, she wasn't buying.

The man seemed completely nonplussed by her obvious brushoff. He simply quickened his pace to catch up with her.

"You're going to want to talk to me, Ms. Sloan. I have the power to make your dreams come true."

She snorted. As a pickup line, it wasn't bad. It was at least original.

"I doubt it."

He chuckled.

"I understand you're looking for someone to fund a special project of yours. I think I can help."

Monica didn't stop walking but slowed her pace.

"How did you know about that?"

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, smiled, and extended a hand in her direction.

"I'm Charlie McKinley, Military Research Advisor to the U.S. Army. It's my job to find special projects like yours that seem to have a lot of potential and fund them."

This time she stopped completely and gave him her full attention. It wasn't at all what she'd expected to hear. Since she'd spoken with Jerry about it, she hadn't talked to anyone else. She'd been researching avenues on the internet, trying to figure out who to approach and how, but she hadn't talked to anyone else. She'd decided not to open up to anyone again until she was 100% sure she could make it happen. It was too disheartening listening to other people's criticisms.

Monica tried to hide the excitement she felt at hearing those words. She knew for a fact that creating an advanced 3d printer capable of not only printing a real, live being but one that would come pre-programmed with skills, knowledge, and memories was going to cost a whole lot of money, and it was the exact kind of money the military might have at its disposal. If she could talk them into funding it, Jerry could eat the cute little stationary set he'd shown her the other day.

On the other hand, the fact that she hadn't spoken to anyone else and the military still managed to find out about it disturbed her. How much did they know about it and where had they gotten the information?

"How did you know about my project?"

Charlie didn't stop smiling, but the smile grew thinner and his eyes grew a shade colder.

"It's our job to know, Ms. Sloan. Are you interested in the funding or not?"

Monica wasn't completely naïve. She was aware that the government monitored all internet activity and every phone call made. It was just disturbing to have those facts confirmed.

"How much do you know about it?"

Charlie reached down and pulled a thin dossier out of his briefcase. He opened it up and handed it to her.

"Here's all the information we've gleaned about the project. Let me know if there is any information we're missing."

Monica felt a chill run down her spine as she flipped through the paperwork. There in the folder was every piece of information about the project she was so sure was securely stored on her private cloud drive. It was everything she'd collected over the last five months related to the project. Apparently, nothing on the web was truly sacred. She looked up at Charlie. His hazel eyes were staring at her expectantly.

"Wow. I knew you guys spied on us. I just didn't realize how much you did it."

Charlie shrugged and accepted the folder back, tucking it carefully back into the briefcase.

"If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."

Monica shook her head and crossed her arms.

"Quoting Sun Tzu isn't exactly a confidence builder. The Art of War may be a great read, but the man who wrote it was not exactly trustworthy. This is the same guy who stated that all warfare is based on deception. If you're willing to treat your friends the same way you treat your enemies, how does that make you better than the people you're fighting?"

Charlie's smile returned and this one was more genuine.

"A woman who knows her military books. I can appreciate and admire that. I can also understand your concerns about privacy and about why we keep our friends and allies under the same level of surveillance we keep our enemies. I hope you can also appreciate, then, that it isn't always easy to tell the difference between your friends and your enemies. That's why surveillance is needed."

Monica frowned and looked at her watch.

"You can justify it all you like. That doesn't make it less ugly. Still, you know about my project and you're interested in funding it. Fine. Let's say I accept. What strings come attached to the funding?"

Charlie pulled a business card out of the briefcase and handed it to her.

"This isn't the time or the place to discuss those kind of details. Call the number on that card and set up an appointment with my secretary. We can go over everything until you're satisfied with the terms and conditions of the arrangement."

Monica tapped the corner of the business card against her chin and looked at him, appraising what she saw there, and tried to decide whether she really wanted to work with the man or not. Something about him and about the situation just didn't sit well with her. Still, it might be her only chance to get her project funded. It was almost certainly the only thing she could do to avoid having to hear another taunt from Jerry about the wedding he'd spent the last year planning for her.

"I'll think about it."

With those words, she walked off headed toward her next class, Introduction to Biology. She was working as a teacher's assistant in the biological engineering department. Helping weed out the freshmen from the program was part of her assigned duties.

She knew she probably should toss the card in the can and keep walking. However, the temptation of seeing her dreams finally realized, of having her inspirations vindicated in front of everyone who didn't believe in her and – she had to admit it – of proving Jerry wrong about her – was incredibly strong. She briefly touched the St. Christopher medal she wore around her neck.

"I wish you were here to guide me, Dad."

It had been ten years since the last time she'd heard the sound of her father's voice. Not a day went by that she didn't ache to see him again, or to run to him for advice. As the daughter of a police officer, she'd known intellectually that his job was dangerous. However, he'd always seemed so much larger than life, so invincible, that she never worried about him. It just didn't seem possible that there would come a time when he didn't come home. Until the day he didn't.

The worst part was that his death was a case of friendly fire. Her father's partner and her godfather, Detective Jackson "Jack" Davis, was the accidental killer. They were going in on a raid on a heavily armed group when the door flew open. Her father was covering low and Jack was covering high. Her dad saw what Jack didn't – the man coming out wasn't armed. He stood up to tackle the man so that Jack wouldn't shoot him and got shot instead.

She'd blamed Jack at first. He was an easy target for the anger she'd felt at how unfair the whole thing was. By the time she'd finally found a way to forgive him, he'd quit the force and moved away. She'd lost track of where he was or even what he was doing. She felt so bad for how she treated him that she didn't try too hard to find him. It was something that still crossed her mind from time to time. She wondered to this day if Uncle Jack would have quit if she hadn't blamed him for what happened.

Her mother sold the house she'd grown up in and moved them all closer to town. She'd used the pension money, the life insurance policy, and the money from the sale of the house on Lake Tahoe to be sure that Monica and her three younger sisters all got a solid Catholic education and were able to graduate college debt free. Her mother waited until the last of the girls left home before she remarried.

Monica understood her mother's need for a relationship, but she struggled with it. It was hard to see another man taking the place where her father belonged.

Jerry was waiting for her outside the door when class ended. She could see by the look on his face he was about to needle her about her project. Normally, she'd have been annoyed. Today, she was grateful for the distraction. It was better than walking around haunted by thoughts of the past.

Jerry handed her a colorful brochure with the words, "Love Saga Books" written in thick red calligraphic font across the front fold.

"I was thinking that these would make the absolute perfect guest gifts for our wedding. I mean, imagine the story of our love captured in a book for everyone who attends. The prices aren't bad, either. We can get hardbound editions for the wedding party and softcover books for guests. What do you think?"

Monica shook her head.

"Yes. The very romantic story of how I agreed to marry you because you won a bet? That story?"

Jerry grinned.

"It is romantic. I'm pretty sure there's at least a half-dozen romance novels on my mother's bookshelves that start out exactly that way. Ours could be a real-life version."

Monica handed him back the brochure. She couldn't resist bursting his bubble.

"You'll be happy to know I was approached today by some guy from the military. He says he might fund the project."

Jerry's mouth practically dropped open in shock and then his eyes narrowed. His face took on a very serious and somber look to it that was uncharacteristic of him.

"You didn't accept, did you?"

Monica was tempted to tell him she had just to see his reaction, but she didn't like lying to him. He was still her best friend.

"Not yet. I'm planning to set an appointment to work out the details first."

Jerry stood directly in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"You can't accept it, Monica. Don't do it."

Monica frowned and her blue eyes started to turn icy pale.

"You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do."

Jerry took his hands off her and held them up as if surrendering.

"I know I don't. But I'm begging you. Please don't do it."

Monica could tell he was dead serious about this. The uneasy feeling she'd had earlier grew stronger. Jerry wasn't the kind of person to take a stand on things often. He usually backed down the moment there was a confrontation. It was a trait of his that she found particularly annoying, although it sometimes worked to her advantage.

"What's the matter? You afraid you'll have to tell your mom the wedding is off?"

Jerry's face flushed red and his voice was intense. This was really bothering him, and it was starting to make her wonder why.

"Monica, I will drop the whole thing if you'll just promise me you won't accept the funding from the military. I'm serious. The bet's off. Just don't accept the funding."

Monica took a step back.

"Tell me why, Jerry. Tell me why I should say no. This is my dream. What wouldn't you do to see your dream come true?"

Jerry's normally pale blue eyes were a cloudy grey.

"You're not stupid, Monica. You're the smartest woman I know. You know they aren't planning on playing patty cake with your work. You know they are going to destroy lives with it. A lot of lives. And all that blood is going to be on your hands if you do this."

Monica suddenly felt defensive.

"Maybe it does destroy lives, but it's going to be lives of people who would just destroy our country and us. It's going to be used to protect us, that's all. Besides, when did you start caring? I thought you didn't get involved in politics or government."

Jerry frowned.

"I've always cared, Monica. I just don't believe in giving the system credibility by pretending that my vote actually matters. And you ought to know better than to believe that technology like that is never 'only' going to be used to protect people. Let me ask you something – how many people, other than me, have you told about your project? If I know you, probably nobody else, am I right?"

The hair on the back of Monica's neck began to raise. She knew where Jerry was going with this. She clenched her jaw and refused to acknowledge it, though. He waited for her to own up to the truth but when he could see she wasn't going to, he spoke anyway.

"If they're busy spying on you, and you're supposed to be their friend, what makes you think they're going to let you keep control over your little project once you get it working for them? If you can't trust them with your information, what makes you think you can trust them with anything else you do? The military's not your friend, Monica. It's not my friend, and it's not the friend of our country. It's not even run by our government."

Monica shook her head. She'd been listening until he started straying into his conspiracy theories. She really wished he'd get out more.

"Jerry, I know you believe in those conspiracy things, but I don't. And I'm not going to let your fears run my life. You can sit home spending the time digging up all those crackpot podcasts of yours run by other guys who live in their mom's basements and don't have anything better to do, but I'm pursuing my dreams. The military exists to protect our country. If my project helps them to do that job better and more efficiently, I'm honored to serve them and grateful I can make a little money doing it, too."

Jerry crossed his arms and shut his mouth, walking away without another word. He tossed the brochure he'd handed her earlier into the garbage can. Monica winced as she watched him go, but pulled her cell phone out and dialed the number on the business card.

"Yes, this is Monica Sloan. I'd like to schedule an appointment with Charles McKinley."

In spite of all her brave talk, she hoped she wasn't making a huge mistake. She still wasn't sure what good the ability to bring book characters to life would do the military. It seemed an odd thing for them to be interested in funding.

Still, they were her best hope yet. She just hoped Jerry would still agree to work with her on this if they did fund it. She was going to need a brain like his if her project was going to be a success. Besides, she couldn't imagine life without him in it.

She peered down into the trash can where Jerry had thrown the brochure. If it was covered in anything slimy or disgusting, she wasn't going to touch it. However, if it landed on paper, she was going to retrieve it. As much and as often as she'd protested Jerry's wedding planning endeavors, they were the single most romantic thing a guy had ever done for her.

The sheer amount of effort and attention to detail he'd put into planning everything had touched her and shone a side of him that she'd never imagined was there. Everything he'd selected was something she would have picked herself.

She got home that night and took a leather-bound scrapbook from off the bookshelf. Inside of it were pictures of Jerry and her at various events in high school. They'd been each other's prom dates when neither of them got asked. She flipped through the pages slowly until she got to the back.

Here was all the stuff for their wedding he'd given her over the last year. She smiled as she slid the brochure into the back page. She hoped someday she'd need it.

Chapter 6. A Story To Tell

Vernon Kelly stood at the graveside of his beloved wife, Lucy. Snow covered everything except the freshly turned earth on which he stood and her tombstone. His heart ached as he traced the letters of her name with a finger.

A single blue butterfly with black tipped wings landed on the tombstone beside him. It seemed oblivious to his presence, crawling along the top of the grey polished granite, as if in search of something.

It was joined by another a few moments later. Then two more. Vernon watched in awe as an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies touched down covering every surface, including him, that wasn't covered with snow.

He held still, hardly daring to breath for fear that he would disturb them, but as suddenly as they came they rose up and began to move toward a light that shone up ahead from between the tall pines at the top of the hill. He wanted to stop them, to warn them that the cold winds that blew just outside where Lucy's grave stood were going to destroy them, but they seemed impervious to it and moved steadily forward toward the light.

Vernon's curiosity drew him away from Lucy's grave toward the light with them. He couldn't remember having ever noticed it before in the many times he'd been here over the years. The wind howled all around him but it didn't touch him or bother him in the slightest. The area where the light touched was just warm enough to keep out the chill but not so warm as to make him sweat. He took off his coat and placed it over his arm.

The walk up the hill was quite steep, but Vernon found that his knees and back didn't ache as he walked nor was he winded by the effort of getting there. He felt good, better than he had in years. At the top of the hill, he could finally see the source of the light. It was a doorway, but there was no building around it, nothing to indicate where that doorway might take him. There was no door to open, either. It was simply a doorway.

Vernon attempted to peer around the doorway, but there seemed to be nothing but more hills and towering pines behind it. It was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. The butterflies entered the doorway and disappeared. He felt sad watching them go.

"Follow them!"

A voice inside his head prompted him. He hesitated for just a moment and stepped through the doorway into the light. He closed his eyes at the sudden brightness until he felt a pair of small hands took hold of his.

"Vernon, you came! I thought you'd never make it."

He knew the sound of that voice. Tears sprang to his eyes and he fought with the urge to keep his eyes shut out of fear that if he opened them, she would be gone just as had happened to him a thousand nights before this.

"Come on, Vernon. Open your eyes. I have so much to show you!"

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes at Lucy's command. He swept her up in a hug so tight, as if he could keep her from every leaving. She showered kisses on his face and her laughter rang in his ears.

"You're going to have to put me down eventually, you know."

Her protest was belied by the way she rested her head against his chest and the way her arms wrapped tight around his neck. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in her scent. Tears of joy ran down his face.

"Oh, Lucy, why did you leave me?"

She laughed and slid out of his arms.

"Vernon, you silly boy. I never once left you. I've been with you this whole time."

She reached for his hand and held it to her face, rubbing her cheeks against the back of it. Then she moved forward, tugging him with her.

"Come."

He moved with her, walking beside her. The air was perfect here and a gentle breeze blew through it. Everywhere he looked there were flowers blooming and the song of birds serenaded them.

"Lucy, I want to stay with you this time. Don't make me leave."

Lucy looked up into Vernon's face and shook her head. She smiled, but there was a sadness to it.

"You aren't finished yet."

Vernon drew back as if he'd been slapped. His voice choked.

"Please, Lucy. Don't send me away. What haven't I finished?"

Lucy squeezed his hand gently.

"There's so much more you need to write."

Vernon shook his head and stopped walking, but he didn't let go of her hand.

"I can't write, Lucy. You were my inspiration, the only reason I finished. I don't have anything left in me."

Lucy's big blue eyes looked into his face and he could see the regret in them as she reached up to cup his face with the palm of her hand. She stroked his cheek with her thumb.

"You have so much more in you than you ever give yourself credit for having. The world needs you, Vernon. You can't stay with me. Not yet."

Vernon got down on his knees before her and put his arms around her waist and wept. She said nothing. She just wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her.

"Lucy, I'm so tired. I can't carry this burden anymore. I don't know what you want from me."

Lucy kissed the top of his head, put her hand under his chin, and made him look into her face. Her eyes were sad but her smile was sweet.

"You must write our story, Vernon. You are the only one who can do this. You may not want to be, but you are the hero. The world needs your words. It will die without you, and all the work you did to ensure that I would be remembered will be for nothing."

She hugged him to her once more and then tugged on his arms.

"Come on, Vernon. We don't have much time left. I've made something special for you. You need to see this."

He gave in and allowed her to lead him forward. Every step brought another tear to his eyes. He was going to fail her. He couldn't do what she wanted him to do.

"Lucy, I can't. I can't write our story. I can't go back through that all over again. Just the thought of it tears me to pieces."

She ignored him this time and continued pulling him along a path. Suddenly, they were standing in her studio. He hadn't been in here since she'd died. The faint smells of paint fumes and lilac mingled together in the air.

In the center of the studio, covered in a burlap wrap, tied with a bright red bow, was something a few inches taller than he was and a good deal broader. He couldn't imagine what it could be.

"Unwrap it. It's yours.

Her voice sounded so eager, almost childlike in its enthusiasm. His heart wasn't in it, but he didn't want to disappoint her. He stepped up and untied the bow. The burlap fell away to reveal a statue of Donovan Cole in pure white clay that was so lifelike he had to reach out and touch it to confirm that it wasn't alive.

"Do you like it?"

He reached out to sweep her up and gave her a thorough kiss that left her breathless before releasing her.

"It's amazing. You've done an incredible job."

She clapped her hands and a radiant smile spread across her face.

"You haven't seen the best part yet."

Vernon wondered how much more there could be to this.

"The best part?"

Lucy nodded.

"I promised your words would be brought to life, don't you remember?"

Vernon looked over at the statue.

"But it's not living. It's just clay."

Lucy's smile broadened and she laughed.

"Oh, Vernon, we're all just clay until someone breathes life into us. He's the same way. You'll see."

Vernon shook his head.

"You should have been the writer. You always had the imagination for it."

Lucy wrapped her arms around him and kissed the hollow of his neck.

"I only captured what I saw. I saw the world the way it could be if we became who we were meant to be. Capturing a vision takes skill, not imagination."

Vernon shook his head and chuckled ruefully.

"Why can't you envision me staying here with you?"

Lucy sighed and shook her head.

"You're not ready yet. The world needs you. You still have work to do, and it would be selfish of me to keep you."

Vernon frowned and hugged her close to him.

"I told you. I can't do what you want me to do. I can't write our story. It hurts just thinking of it."

Lucy's words murmured against his skin.

"It only hurts because you keep running from it. Face up to it. Everything you need to fight the battle is there with you. You just have to search for it and I promise you that you will find what you need to do the work you've been given to do. And when you're done, you can come home to me and stay."

Vernon shook his head in silent refutation of her words.

"You don't understand, Lucy. I can't do it. I'll never be able to do it."

The sound of insistent ringing interrupted their conversation. Lucy pulled away from him with a sigh and then kissed his cheek.

"That's my alarm. I have to go. I can't stay. You have work to do, and so do I. Write our story, Vernon."

He tried to clutch her closer to him, but all that was left was thin air. She was gone, and he was alone. The light, the warmth, the studio, it was all gone. He woke up in tears, calling her name, but there was no answer. There never was.

He lay in the bed trying to gather up the strength he needed to get out of it. It was a daily battle he fought with himself. He stared over at the portrait of Lucy that hung on the wall to the left of the door.

"I know, I know. I'm getting up."

Life without Lucy seemed pointless to him. But the fact that he knew she wouldn't approve of his suicide gave him just enough motivation to get up and out of bed each day. There had been a few very dark days over the years where he'd tried to take his own life, but each time something had stopped him. Before Lucy's death, he'd been adamant that there was no life after death. Now, he wasn't so sure.

The phone began to ring downstairs and Vernon sighed. He didn't get many callers these days. The phones stopped ringing when Vernon stopped agreeing to make appearances or give talks or much of anything else. He could count on one hand the number of people who might be calling, and he didn't relish the thought of talking to most of them.

After making his way downstairs to the kitchen phone, he looked at the caller ID. The name read Anna Winters. It was his agent. He looked at the calendar beside the phone. It was March 20th. The first day of spring. She called him four times a year, almost like clockwork. The last call had come at Christmas.

Had he really lost track of so much time? Days just seemed to blend one into another.

He debated ignoring her call. It wouldn't be the first time. He knew what she wanted. She wanted another book to sell, and he didn't have one to give her. He almost turned away, but the phone began to ring. It was not like Anna to call so insistently. She was persistent, but not usually a pest.

"How can I help you, Anna?"

A reluctant curiosity hung in his voice. He didn't want to admit it, but she'd gotten his attention.

"Vernon, so glad to reach you. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Her voice was as warm and inviting as a cup of coffee with a friend. It surprised him at how much he was enjoying the call. He felt a sudden hunger for interaction with other human beings.

"Not at all. I was just taking a nap."

Truthfully, he spent most of his days sleeping. It was the best way to pass time.

"Good, good. Listen, I've got some big news for you. A major television studio has approached us with an offer for the rights to Tormented Love. There's just one catch."

Vernon knew there was a trap there, but he took the bait anyway.

"What's the catch?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Anna responded.

"You have to agree to write a sequel."

Vernon swallowed back a lump in his throat. Lucy's words, "Write our story, Vernon," echoed in his mind.

"I can't. I can't do it."

Anna's voice was insistent but firm.

"You can, Vernon. If you need help, I can send someone to you. She's a master at pulling stories out of people. I'll set up a meeting for the two of you to talk. If you don't like her, you can always change your mind later."

A tear rolled down Vernon's cheek and he felt his nose begin to clog up. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke the words.

"On one condition."

Anna's voice was just a little too eager. He could tell how much this meant to her, and he felt bad for having put her through so much. He hadn't been lying, though. He didn't see how a sequel was possible, but he had a story he needed to tell and a request he couldn't deny.

"What's the condition?"

Vernon sighed deeply. "For you, Lucy" was his only thought.

"She helps me tell my – our- story first."

Anna seemed intrigued, but hesitant.

"Your story? Yours and whose?"

Vernon opened his mouth and tried to speak, but couldn't.

"Vernon? Are you still there? Whose story?"

It took him a full minute before he could get the words out of his mouth, and he was desperately afraid she was going to hang up before then.

"Me and my wife, my Lucy. Our story."

Anna was quiet and he thought he'd lost her. When she spoke it was with a gravity and a sincerity that surprised him.

"Vernon, I would be honored. Do we have a deal?"

Vernon clutched the phone tightly. His hands were shaking from the effort to control the emotions sweeping through him. Relief warred with fear, regret mingled with hope, and above all there was a resolve to do what Lucy wanted him to do not matter what it cost him to do it. If this was the price he paid for the right to be with her again, he would do it.

"We have a deal."

Chapter 7. A Demon Most Foul

Donovan paced like a caged tiger inside Jerry's house. He missed the feeling of the warm sun on his face and the cool breezes blowing on his skin, the weight of his sword on his back, and the freedom of being able to go where he wanted when he wanted. He hated being dependent on Jerry for food, for clothing, and for shelter. He was used to taking care of himself. Even as a child he'd had more independence than this.

"You don't have an ID, you aren't in the system, and the last thing we need is questions being asked that we can't answer. Stay inside until I get home, and don't answer the door."

He didn't know what to do with himself. He was useless in this world. There was no need for a man with his skills. Nobody needed someone who could hunt, fish, trap, track, or battle with a sword. He'd watched enough television to know that they had weapons that would render a sword nothing more than a fancy play thing. Fighting with his fists was against the law here and would result in a trip to jail.

All he could do as he paced was think about Gabrielle and the world he'd left behind. He found himself more and more miserable with every step. There had to be a way back. There just had to be. He couldn't live in this world. There was nothing here for him. He had no purpose here, no reason for being. He didn't belong here and every encounter reminded him of that fact.

He heard the sound of Jerry's car pulling into the driveway and was dismayed by how eager he suddenly felt to hear the jingle of keys in the door. It was something to break the relentless monotony of his existence. It was human interaction, a chance to get out, and to possibly explore the world around him. He needed it.

Jerry swept in the doorway with two bags in his right hand. He set them on the dining room table.

"Time to eat. I didn't feel like cooking tonight, so I just picked us up some burgers. I think you'll like them."

Donovan walked over to the table and sat down. Jerry slid a bag in his direction. Donovan peered dubiously at the contents and pulled them out, imitating Jerry. He found the taste of it to his liking and was soon finished. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he started eating.

"How was your day?"

Jerry's attempt at conversation irritated Donovan. He gave him a stare that would have sent lesser men scurrying for cover but seemed not to affect Jerry at all. Donovan crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

"You could at least be civil, you know. I'm trying. It'd be nice if you would try, too. I know you don't want to be here, but you are here, and the sooner you get used to that idea and accept it, the better off you'll be."

Donovan turned to look at Jerry, a scowl creeping over his face.

"Accept it? What is there for me to accept? There is nothing for me here! Nothing. I have nothing to do all day except wait for you to come back. I have no skills which would allow me to work or to provide for myself. I hate this world. I hate this existence. I hate the way I feel, and to be perfectly honest – I hate you."

Jerry drew back and flushed red.

"Hate me? What have I done to you except try to help you? You're the one who isn't grateful at all."

Donovan's lip curled in a sneer.

"Grateful? Grateful for this prison, this cage, in which you've thrust me? You're right. I'm not grateful. I didn't ask you to create me. Why should I be grateful to you for my existence? All I wanted was to be with Gabrielle."

Jerry stood up and cleared his place at the table.

"You can't blame me for the way things turned out with you and Gabrielle. I had nothing to do with that. You can blame the author for that."

Donovan stood up suddenly and thumped his fists on the table. Adrenaline pumped through his system and his face turned a dangerous shade of red. His words came out in a roar.

"I do blame the author. I blame the author for every miserable moment he made me suffer. I blame the author for giving me a woman worthy of loving and then taking me away from her. But I blame you for bringing me to this hell hole from which I can't escape."

Jerry looked at Donovan.

"You think you had it hard? You weren't the only one to suffer in that book, you know. You should read Gabrielle's story. She's been through way worse things than you ever had, and instead of going all bitter and angry about it, she did something good with it. She took her pain and she used it to set people free. You could learn something from her."

Donovan's eyes narrowed as he studied Jerry.

"What do you mean? How do you know about her life?"

Jerry glanced over at Donovan.

"She's the main character of the book. You're not. Most of the book is about her life and her story, about all the things she went through before she even met you. You think you had it rough? You have no idea."

Jerry's words intrigued him.

"Read me this book. I want to know everything."

Jerry shrugged.

"I don't have that kind of time, Donovan. I have to work. I'll tell you what, though. If you'll calm down and start acting like a civilized human being, I'll pick you up a copy of the audio version. You can listen to the story as much as you want."

Donovan picked up his own things from the dinner table and brought them to Jerry.

"When? When will you get it?"

Jerry chuckled and shook his head.

"I'll bring it home with me tomorrow night. I'll show you how to work the CD player, too. That way you can listen whenever you want."

The next day seemed to crawl by even more slowly than usual. Donovan forced himself to hold back his impatience when Jerry finally showed up that following evening with a few bags full of groceries and a clear plastic bag with a familiar image inside it. After dinner, Jerry showed him how to work the CD player and helped him remove the audio cd from the packaging.

"You put these headphones on and you push this button"

Jerry pointed toward the one in the middle.

"and you'll be able to hear it being read to you. You adjust the volume over here"

There was a dial on the side that moved from very loud to very soft.

"and that's it."

That third day, Donovan spent the entire day listening to the story that unfolded. The more he learned about Gabrielle, the more deeply in love with her he fell. She was an exquisite creature with courage he'd never dreamt was beating in that heart. He'd known hardened soldiers of war who had less of it than she.

Jerry was right. She had gone through so much more than he, both before and after his death, and yet never wavered in her ability to love others or to put their own needs above hers. He felt ashamed of the way that he'd treated her, and guilty for the things he'd done to betray her trust. He didn't deserve to be with her. She was so far above him that it seemed laughable he'd ever thought of making her his own.

His current misery was well earned. Jerry's folly in creating him was the punishment he deserved for all the wicked things he'd done. He could never be worthy of her. That knowledge cut right through his heart, severing it in two, and he cried as he had not cried since he was a child.

He cried out of grief for the pain of his loss, and he cried for the pain she'd been forced to endure because of him. She was truly a woman worthy of admiration and loyalty. In all of the seven kingdoms, there could never be another woman like her, of that he was sure. But he, like so many others, had neither appreciated her nor seen her for the gem that she was until it was too late.

Outrage at the injustice of what she was forced to go through filled his soul. That damnable author took everything from her! She was good, decent, and kind and the author repaid all that by taking from her everything that mattered to her. He left her with nothing. There was no family for her, no husband to love her, and no children to remember her. She was all alone.

He could not change her story, but he could destroy the demon that tormented her. He could find and destroy Vernon Kelly. He could see to it that her pain was avenged and justice restored. The resolve to destroy Vernon gave him something he'd been missing since the day he awakened. It gave him a purpose, and with that purpose a drive and determination to see it through. He didn't know how he was going to manage it, but he knew that he would. Or he would die trying.

"How far did you get in the story?"

Jerry seemed eager to share the experience with him. Donovan was going to need his help to find Vernon, and so he decided to play along.

"I finished it."

Jerry's mouth dropped open and then he seemed to remember himself and close it again.

"What did you think?"

Donovan leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips.

"You were right. Her story is incredible. She is an even more incredible woman than I thought."

He hesitated and decided adding this would only help his cause.

"I don't hate you for bringing me to this world. After listening to her story, I know I deserve to be where I am. I could never, in a thousand lifetimes, be worthy of her. If I'm suffering, it is only fitting for the life that I lived."

Jerry's brows raised.

"Well, I don't know about that. You are the reason she found the courage to fight back. You are the reason she made it to Safe Haven. Who knows what might have happened to her without you? You're a hero, Donovan!"

Donovan wished those words were true, but he knew that they weren't.

"She deserved better. That curr of an author should have given her better than me. What I don't understand is why he seemed so determined to hurt her, to take everything from her. She didn't deserve that!"

He found himself getting angry again at the thought of it and tried to hold himself in check.

"Heroes have to go through hell before they can carve a path to heaven. It's part of the hero's journey. You should look into that. All that stuff a hero goes through is what turns them into heroes. It's what makes the reader love them so much."

Donovan closed his eyes and crossed his arms.

"I think the author of that book is a demon fouler than any I'd ever imagined could possibly exist. The things he did to Gabrielle, to me, to the good people of our land. It was just evil. Pure and unadulterated evil. What could possibly justify the things that he did?"

Jerry chuckled, clearly warming up to the topic. He seemed oblivious to the dark tone of Donovan's voice.

"Vernon Kelly is a genius. He sure made me feel for those people. I have never read a book as often as I read that one. It just gets better every time I do. You should listen to it again. You'll learn new things."

Donovan already had plans to do just that. If he couldn't be with Gabrielle in truth, he could at least rejoin her in the realm of imagination. In his mind's eye, he could hold her close to him, even if he couldn't hold her in the world in which he was now consigned to living.

"I hate him. I despise and loathe the man with every fiber of my being. If I had the opportunity to destroy him, I would not hesitate to do so. There can be no justification for what he did to her, to me, to the world in which we lived. You think him a genius? I think him a madman."

Jerry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I can understand why it bothers you, but it's not evil to tell a story. It's not evil to destroy a world you created with your own imagination. Writers and storytellers do that all the time. If you built it, you have the right to do with it as you see fit. Besides, look at all the good that came because you died the way you did and because Gabrielle went through everything she went through. Gabrielle would never have stood up to the queen like that if it hadn't been for your death. She was able to break a thousand-year spell over the land because of her love for you. Her bravery in fighting the queen set everyone free."

Donovan stared at Jerry for a moment and then looked away in disgust.

"You would not think it so justified if it were your world being destroyed. If it were your death that led to the world being saved, would you still think that the author had the right to do with you whatever he or she willed? I doubt it. You don't know what it's like to be a pawn in someone else's game. I do."

Chapter 8. Words On a Page

"Monica, I need an update on my desk by the end of day today. I need an outline of exactly where you are in the project as of right now and a time table for delivery within the week. Is that understood?"

Monica struggled to hide the feeling of dread that crept from her heart to her gut as Charlie gave the orders.

"Sir, I...There's no way. I don't think I can give you that with any accuracy, sir."

Charlie's face didn't move a muscle, but the normally warm hazel of his eyes became almost as dark as night.

"I have been given six months to get a human prototype wrapped up, tied in a bow, and delivered to the general. If I don't deliver, this project gets shut down. A project I personally stuck my neck out and staked my reputation on for you. I assured the general that even though you were young and relatively inexperienced, you could handle things. You were capable and you would not disappoint. Was I wrong?"

Monica blushed.

"No, sir. You weren't wrong. I just need more time."

Charlie shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

"Don't we all. But time isn't something we can control, and you're running out of it. I don't care what you have to do to get this project turned in on time and on budget, but you're going to do it. I'm not flushing my 26-year career down the drain because you couldn't handle things. Is that clear?"

Monica couldn't believe her ears. It was her worst nightmare come to life. She was failing, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She swallowed back tears. They wouldn't do her any good here.

"Yes, sir."

Charlie looked back at his screen.

"You're dismissed."

She stood up and headed for the door, keeping a firm lock on her emotions. This was not the time or the place to fall apart. She headed down the hallway and to her office, closed the door, and locked it before putting her head on the desk.

She was scared, angry, frustrated, and hurt all at the same time. She'd been given a herculean task to accomplish, and she knew she and her team were closer than they'd ever been. The fact that the general was threatening to pull funding now was just unfair.

She brushed away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She refused to cry. She wasn't going to let that weasel Charlie break her down. She knew just who she needed to talk to. The one person she was sure could help her out of this jam. She stood up and walked down the hallway to his office and knocked.

"Jerry? You available?"

She opened the door to find Jerry staring at a computer screen. He didn't seem to have heard her at all. This was nothing new. It was what normally happened when he got busy solving a problem, but today she needed his full attention.

"Jerry?"

She tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped. The startled look he gave her told her everything. He might be physically present, but his mind was miles away.

"Oh! Monica. What can I do for you?"

She shut the door to his office and took a seat.

"I've been given orders by Charlie to give him a project update by end of day today. He wants an outline for exactly how we are going to get from our present position to delivering the first human book character prototype to him within the next six months including time lines for when we are going to deliver those milestones. I don't have the slightest clue how we are going to do this, Jerry, and I'm scared. If he shuts this project down, I doubt I'll ever be able to get funding for another project like this ever again. I doubt I'll be able to get work again."

Jerry was looking at her, but his next question caught her so completely off guard she was stunned into silence.

"Do you think what we're doing is right? I mean, is it fair to take them out of their world, the only world they've ever known, and bring them into ours?"

He was looking through her more than at her and he had this slight frown on his face. His brows were furrowed and she recognized that expression. He wasn't listening to a thing she was saying. She felt like slapping him.

"Jerry, I don't have time for philosophy 101, okay? I need your help. Didn't you hear me?"

Jerry sighed and nodded. His face relaxed ever so slightly, but his eyes still weren't quite meeting hers.

"I'm sorry. It's just something I've been wondering lately. I mean, is what we're doing even ethical? Do we have the right to do it?"

Monica reached out and put her hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the back of his chair.

"I need you to listen to me. They are going to shut this project down and we are both going to be out of work if you do not help me fix this. Do you understand?"

Jerry looked straight at her for the first time since she'd arrived.

"I understand. You're worried about your job. You're worried about the money. But what about the book characters you want to create? What about their lives? What about their worries? What happens to them once you create them?"

Monica felt like she was talking to someone straight out of a lunatic asylum. She wanted to scream. She leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders, making sure that she had his full attention.

"Jerry, who cares?! They aren't real people. They are book characters, for crying out loud, it's not like they have lives or families or feelings. They're just words on a page that we're trying to turn into a person."

Jerry grabbed hold of her wrists and pulled her hands off his shoulders. He leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were very focused and she could tell he was serious about this.

"You don't get it, do you? They will be real people. That's the goal of the experiment. To create real, living, breathing, thinking, feeling people. They will have memories of families and friends they can't go back to. They will have memories of living a life that they can't return to. Is it right to do that to them? Is that fair to them? Don't we have a responsibility to them once we've created them?"

Monica could feel herself getting red in the face. Of all the days, Jerry chose today to go off the deep end. She knew he had feelings for her. She decided to use that to try and break through to him.

"Jerry, if you ever cared about me, I need you to help me. I can't do this without you. You're worried about book characters that might need you. I'm a living, breathing person and I DO need you. Please stop playing pretend and focus on helping me."

Jerry didn't say a word to her. The corners of his eyes and lips turned down. He shook his head and looked away, as if he couldn't bear to look at her anymore. For the first time since she'd met him, she felt ugly in his sight, as if he had rejected her. He'd been the one person in her life who always made her feel beautiful even on her worst days.

"I'll have something to you in a few hours. Don't worry. Your job will be safe."

His tone was flat, dead, and without a trace of the affection it normally carried. She couldn't understand what she'd done wrong.

"Jerry, don't. Don't be upset with me. I'm trying to protect all of us, okay? It's not just my job, it's your job, too."

He pulled up a program on his computer and didn't look at her.

"Some things are more important than a job to me, Monica. I guess that's where we're different."

His voice was soft and gentle but the words hit her heart like a sledgehammer.

"You don't have the right to judge me. I'm not a bad person. I've done nothing wrong. I'm proud of my career. I'm proud of the work I've done to get where I am today. What's wrong with that?"

He didn't respond to her outburst, just continued punching in keys on the keyboard. She wanted to grab his hands, make him listen to her, make him tell her things were okay. That she was still okay. Instead, she walked out the door as tears slid down her cheeks. Charlie's threats had not been able to break her, but Jerry could.

She had no idea what had changed between them, or why, but she knew it had. She got back to her desk, covered her face with her hands, and broke down. She knew she should be frantically working to pull together the report Charlie wanted, but she couldn't focus. All she could think about was Jerry. She wanted to apologize, but she didn't know what to say because she still didn't know what she'd done wrong.

At 3 minutes until 4 pm, she heard a knock at the door. She got up to open it, hoping it would be Jerry wanting to talk with her. Instead, she found a file folder in her in box. She opened it up and found everything she needed to give to Charlie tucked neatly inside. The time table was there, with mile markers every three weeks, that would take her from where they were in the project to the point where they would have a living, breathing prototype in just a few months.

She could have kissed Jerry. In spite of every reservation he had, he'd come through for her. She headed down the hallway toward Charlie's office.

"You're early."

Charlie looked up from his paperwork.

"I trust this is good news and not a resignation letter you're turning in?"

She smiled triumphantly and laid the open folder on his desk in front of him.

"No such luck, sir. My team came through. We should be able to deliver everything you're asking for six weeks early."

Charlie stood and stretched out a hand. She took it and they shook.

"Congratulations. You've saved the project. I'll get this over to the general right away. I knew my confidence in you was well-founded."

Those words were like a soothing balm on her soul. She beamed like a school girl who'd been given an A by her favorite teacher.

"Thank you, sir. Now, if you don't mind, I've got some work to do."

She headed toward Jerry's office to thank him, hoping to catch him before he left for the day, but his office was empty. The triumphant smile she'd worn just moments earlier slipped from her face, taking with it the warmth of her victory. Suddenly it all felt as hollow and empty as the office she was standing in right then.

Without Jerry on her side, things just didn't feel right. She couldn't let this go. She wasn't sure how, but she needed to work things out with him. She tried calling him on his cell phone to invite him out to dinner, but he wasn't answering. This wasn't like him. He was usually so quick to forgive, so quick to relent, but not today. A nagging feeling that he had finally reached his limit with her crept in like a poison dart into her heart.

She bit her lip and thought about what she could do to win him back. She still wasn't sure why he was so upset with her, but maybe it was time to hear him out. Maybe it was time to try and see things from his point of view. She headed home from the office and changed into the dress he seemed to like best on her, grabbed their favorite cheap wine from the corner grocery store, his favorite takeout Chinese food, and headed over to his house.

One way or another, she wasn't going to leave until this was settled. She didn't care what she had to do to make things up with him, but it was going to happen. They'd been friends for far too long to let something like this come between them.

Chapter 9. Making Hard Choices

"I blame you for bringing me to this hell hole from which I can't escape."

Donovan's words rang in Jerry's ears. He couldn't get them out. He stared at the computer screen, but his eyes were glazed over, his mind firmly back in that moment. What had he done?

He hadn't meant to hurt anyone when he brought Donovan to life. He was thinking that he could create for himself a male friend, someone who would understand his struggles and be able to encourage him to take the risks he knew he needed to take in order to become the man he wanted to be.

He'd lived his life surrounded by women, and that wasn't something he regretted, but he craved something they couldn't give him. He craved someone who understood what it was like to be him.

He'd also hoped that in bringing Donovan to life, he'd become a hero worthy of Monica. He would swoop in, rescue her project, save her day, and prove himself to be the kind of man that she could count on to provide for and protect her. The kind of man that he could look in the mirror and be happy to see looking back at him.

Donovan hadn't exactly turned out the way he'd planned. Donovan didn't outright hate him, but he certainly didn't like him or want to be a friend. He looked at Jerry more like a prison ward than a friend or mentor. No matter what Jerry did or said, it was inevitably the wrong thing. He couldn't please Donovan.

It would have been easier to hand Donovan over to Monica and Charlie, but Jerry couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd created Donovan. In a sense, that made him Donovan's father, and that was a responsibility Jerry took very seriously. He'd always wanted to be a father, but he didn't want to be the kind of father that his own father was.

He didn't want to be the kind of father who got a girl pregnant and then walked out on her, or produced a child only to abandoned them. He wanted to be a father who helped to guide and shape his child into being a good, decent man worthy of other people's respect and admiration.

Donovan was a good, decent man worthy of other people's respect and admiration in the book, but he certainly wasn't behaving that way in this world. He was acting like an angry, petulant teenager. It was giving Jerry a headache, and he was at his wits end trying to figure out how to help him.

He thought that giving Donovan a copy of his own story would help, but it seemed to have just added fuel to his fire. He was even more angry, even if that anger was not directed at Jerry anymore, and all he seemed interested in doing was listening to that audiobook over and over and over again. Jerry didn't know how to reach him.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear his name being called. The tap on his shoulder jolted him out of his reverie and just about caused him to fall out of his chair.

"Oh! Monica."

He felt embarrassed at being caught so off-guard by her. His face blushed a shade of unattractive crimson. He tried to pretend like it was no big deal.

"What can I do for you?"

Monica walked over to the doorway of his office, looked out and peered both ways down the hallway as if trying to be sure no one else was looking, and then shut the door behind her. His palms began to sweat and he wiped them nervously on his pants, hoping she wouldn't notice.

She flopped down into the seat next to his as if she were a marionette and her strings had been cut. She buried her head in her hands as she poured out her heart to him.

"I've been given orders by Charlie to give him a project update by end of day today. He wants an outline for exactly how we are going to get from our present position to delivering the first human book character prototype to him within the next six months including time lines for when we are going to deliver those milestones. I don't have the slightest clue how we are going to do this, Jerry, and I'm scared. If he shuts this project down, I doubt I'll ever be able to get funding for another project like this ever again. I doubt I'll be able to get work again."

Jerry felt incredibly guilty. He could solve her problem in an instant, get himself a promotion, and her a bonus. He could make all of her worries go away. All he had to do was produce Donovan. But he felt a need to protect Donovan. He didn't trust the military. They wouldn't care about Donovan. They wouldn't worry about his happiness or his safety. They were going to use him for their own ends.

Could he trust Monica? Would she care about Donovan? Would she protect him? He had to know before he told her the truth.

"Do you think what we're doing is right? I mean, is it fair to take them out of their world, the only world they've ever known, and bring them into ours?"

Monica looked at him like he had just sprouted a third head. Her eyes bulged and her face was getting red. She was upset, and he hated upsetting her, but this was too important. There was a life at stake.

"Jerry, I don't have time for philosophy 101, okay? I need your help. Didn't you hear me?"

He wanted to cry. Of course, he'd heard her. She wasn't listening to him. And he couldn't explain himself. He couldn't tell her more without giving up Donovan.

He sighed deeply and looked away. He didn't want to see the fear in her eyes, or the worry on her face. He didn't want to carry that burden on top of the one he already bore.

"I'm sorry. It's just something I've been wondering lately. I mean, is what we're doing even ethical? Do we have the right to do it?"

It wasn't a lie. He had been wondering this exact thing. Before he knew what was happening, Monica had reached out and pinned him to the back of his chair with both hands on his shoulders. Her face was so close to his he could have kissed her. Normally, he would have welcomed this, but right now the last thing he wanted was to look her in the eyes. He was too afraid of what she might see if she did.

"I need you to listen to me. They are going to shut this project down and we are both going to be out of work if you do not help me fix this. Do you understand?"

A surge of anger rose up in him. Was that really all she cared about was the money? Was that all that mattered to her? What about Donovan? What about the other characters that might be brought to life by this machine? What were their rights? Didn't they matter to her? That anger gave him the courage to do what he otherwise might never have done.

He took a stand and looked straight at her.

"I understand. You're worried about your job. You're worried about the money. But what about the book characters you want to create? What about their lives? What about their worries? What happens to them once you create them?"

Monica seemed completely oblivious to his concerns. She practically yelled at him.

"Jerry, who cares?! They aren't real people. They are book characters, for crying out loud, it's not like they have lives or families or feelings. They're just words on a page that we're trying to turn into a person."

He felt sick at his stomach. How could she say these things and mean them? How could she not see the truth? Suddenly, he wanted very much to get away from her. He reached up and took hold of her wrists, pulling her arms away from his shoulders gently but firmly.

"You don't get it, do you? They will be real people. That's the goal of the experiment. To create real, living, breathing, thinking, feeling people. They will have memories of families they can't go back to. They will have memories of living a life that they can't return to. Is it right to do that to them? Is that fair to them? Don't we have a responsibility to them once we've created them?"

Monica was starting to get red in the face. Jerry normally found her anger sexy, but today it left him cold.

"Jerry, if you ever cared about me, I need you to help me. I can't do this without you. You're worried about book characters that might need you. I'm a living, breathing person and I DO need you. Please stop playing pretend and focus on helping me."

He wanted to cry. This was not the Monica he knew. This woman who was willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to save her job was not the Monica he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. He still loved her, but what she was asking of him was to betray everything he believed was good, right, and just. He felt like he'd lost something precious and valuable. He shook his head and looked away.

He had the data. He could give her the steps he took to create Donovan without giving her Donovan. He could save her job, at least for now, without betraying his creation.

Someday, he would have to make the hard choice. Someday, he could see now, he was going to have to choose between the two of them, and that killed him.

He felt so tired. There was nothing left in him when he finally did answer her.

"I'll have something to you in a few hours. Don't worry. Your job will be safe."

She sounded so hurt and so bewildered when she responded to him.

"Jerry, don't. Don't be upset with me. I'm trying to protect all of us, okay? It's not just my job, it's your job, too."

He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't. It was clear she didn't understand what she was doing to him. She didn't understand, and he couldn't explain it to her.

He pulled up a program on the computer and began plugging in the data that she would need, trying to focus all of his attention on the work so that the ache inside him wouldn't tear him to pieces.

"Some things are more important than a job to me, Monica. I guess that's where we're different."

He didn't look at her, couldn't look at her, but he could hear the anger and defensiveness in her voice.

"You don't have the right to judge me. I'm not a bad person. I've done nothing wrong. I'm proud of my career. I'm proud of the work I've done to get where I am today. What's wrong with that?"

There was nothing he could say to her right then, so he didn't. He just kept working on the report she was going to need.

It took him a little over three hours to put it together. He gave her just enough information to be believable and for the military to see how things could progress, without giving her all the information she'd need to duplicate his results. It would do. He slipped the report into her inbox outside her door, knocked once, and turned away.

He'd been her hero, but the victory was hollow. He didn't feel triumphant. He felt defeated. He'd won, but the winning meant the loss of something even more valuable to him. There was only an hour until work was due to be over. He headed home early. Donovan was in his room when he arrived home, and Jerry didn't feel up to more fighting, so he left him there.

He walked into the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. Things were just about ready, and he was preparing to call Donovan to the table, when he heard a knock at the door. Curious, he turned off the stove, and headed toward the front room. He rarely had visitors.

He opened up the door to find Monica standing there with a bottle of wine in one hand and Chinese takeout in the other. She was wearing a red silk dress and matching red pumps. She looked incredible. His heart sank.

"Can I come in?"

This was about the last thing he'd needed or wanted. It was the nail in the coffin of his day. There was no way he could let her in and risk an encounter with Donovan. She couldn't find out about him. Not now, and maybe not ever. He reached up for the keys beside the door and grabbed them off their peg.

"I'm sorry. I was on my way out. I have some errands to run."

Her blue eyes pleaded with him, but he couldn't give in this time. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. There was too much at stake. He closed the door firmly behind him and took a step forward onto the porch.

"Maybe another night."

She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her dark curls bounced everywhere.

"You can't be serious? I know you don't have any errands to run. I know you're still upset with me, but we can talk this out. Please?"

Jerry clenched his jaw and made his way slowly to the car.

"I told you, I can't. I'm sorry."

Her mouth dropped open and she looked so hurt he wanted to apologize, scoop her up in his arms, and kiss that look off her face, but he couldn't. He couldn't let her in anymore. She had chosen a side, and it wasn't his.

"Jerry, wait. Do you really have to go?"

He hesitated for just a moment, stuck his key in the car door and pulled it open with a sigh.

"I really do."

He pulled out of the driveway and focused on the road. He couldn't erase the image of her standing on the sidewalk. There was so much of him that wanted to turn back and take her inside, talk to her all night, unburden himself of the truth.

The only thing stopping him was Donovan. Damn the man! It wasn't Donovan's fault that he'd been brought to life. He hadn't, as he'd told Jerry, asked for this life. It was his fault, his mistake, and his responsibility now. And he would accept the consequences for those mistakes and accept the responsibility of cleaning up his own mess.

He drove up and down the highway for 30 minutes, not paying attention to where he was going, just trying to lose himself in the task at hand. By the time he arrived back home, Monica was gone. He'd expected no less.

Donovan was nowhere in sight, but the food on the stove was half gone. He assumed Donovan had discovered it and helped himself. Jerry was glad. At least that much was done. He helped himself to a small bowl and then went back to his own room. He was so exhausted he felt sure that sleep would overtake him right away, but all he could think about was the events of the day. They kept replaying in his mind like a movie he couldn't stop watching.

Chapter 10. Good Friends

Barton Masters tossed a folder across the table in Kelly's direction.

"This is your new assignment. I don't care what you have to do in order to get him on our payroll. Do it."

Kelly looked through the dossier in front of her. The man in the picture was a bit short, balding, and was wearing thick coke-bottle classes. She flipped through the pages. He was a military research advisor. The kind of man who spent a lot of his life being overlooked and ignored by beautiful women like her.

"It doesn't seem like it should be too hard. What's so special about him?"

Barton's thin lips pursed tightly together. He looked like he'd sucked on a lemon.

"It isn't him. It's what he's working on that interests us, but none of that should matter to you."

He leaned closer to Kelly, his grey eyes narrowing and his voice taking on a dangerous edge to it.

"All that should matter to you is that you deliver him to us. And, as I said earlier, I don't care what you have to do to get the job done. Just be sure you get it done."

Kelly shivered despite the warmth of the conference room. She felt goosebumps raising on her arms but resisted the urge to put her jacket back on. She didn't want him to know just how much he terrified her.

"I won't disappoint you, sir."

Barton's smile was far from reassuring.

"I know you won't. Because you know what happens to you if you do."

He stood up, straightened his tie, and walked out of the conference room without a second look back. Kelly watched him to be sure he was gone before she retrieved the file he'd left behind. She spent the next three weeks studying the dossier and making careful notes before she began to try and connect with her subject.

Charles Xavier McKinley, also known as Charlie, lived alone in a single room apartment on the lower east side of town. She rented an apartment in the same building just for the purposes of being able to observe him more closely. He rarely had visitors. None of those visitors were female. If he had a girlfriend, she clearly lived elsewhere.

He did have a few male visitors, mainly on Friday nights, usually five at a time. They all arrived around 7 pm and left around 1:30 am that Saturday morning. Charlie never seemed to have overnight guests of either gender. For a man his age, it made him an anomaly.

Saturday nights he spent at a dive bar downtown called The Loop Hole. It was known for three things: drinking, gambling, and its connections to the mafia. Gambling and drinking weren't illegal in this town, and the mafia connections were tough to prove.

After six weeks of tracking Charlie's habits, she felt ready for the approach. She picked a Saturday night and positioned herself in a prime spot at the bar, where she would be clearly visible and clearly alone. She ordered a soda over ice and waited for him to arrive.

At exactly 7:00, Charlie showed up. However, he took a back seat in the corner and didn't seem to notice her at all. She waited twenty minutes so as not to look too intentional in what she was doing, paid her bar tab, grabbed her drink, and made her way in Charlie's direction. She put on her most brilliant smile as she made her approach.

"You mind if I join you?"

Charlie's expression didn't change and he shrugged.

"It's a free country."

She found his reaction intriguing. Most men when presented with a beautiful woman who looked genuinely happy to see them were all over themselves trying to get her to sit with them. Charlie was not most men.

"Nice to finally meet you. I'm Kelly."

She extended a hand to shake and Charlie was polite enough to accept it.

"Finally meet me?"

His voice didn't change, but his question indicated some measure of interest. She hoped so.

"I moved into your building about a month ago. I've noticed you around, but I didn't really have a chance to introduce myself."

He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes were pretty. A warm hazel. It was probably the prettiest thing about him.

"I see."

That was all he said before he looked away again, his eyes scanning the room.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

She was starting to feel a bit frustrated by his lack of engagement.

"Yes."

His answer was to the point.

"Oh. You have a date?"

He shrugged and continued searching the crowd.

"You might say that."

Kelly decided to hang around until his "date" arrived. It would be interesting to see both who it was and what the reaction was to her continued presence. That might tell her something she could use. She didn't have long to wait.

A tall, very handsome looking man in a suit walked through the front door. Kelly recognized him. It was Joe Terrazzini. She'd seen that face more than a few times in the newspapers. He was rumored to belong to the mafia, but those rumors were never substantiated.

Joe strode purposefully toward their table, as if he were on a mission. His eyebrows raised and his eyes widened when he spotted Kelly. Clearly he was not expecting Charlie to have company. This was an interesting development.

"Charlie, you did not tell me you were bringing a date. Who is this lovely angel that is seated here with you?"

Charlie raised a single eyebrow and the right-hand corner of his mouth raised revealing a dimple in his left cheek.

"Oh, she's not with me. She was just introducing herself. Kelly, I think she said her name was, isn't that right?"

Charlie looked over at her expectantly, and Joe smiled appraisingly, his eyes sweeping over every inch of her.

"That's right. Kelly Langer. And you are?"

She extended a hand in Joe's direction, as if she had no idea who he was. He took the proffered hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. The look he gave her was full of a promise for more of where that came from but she couldn't afford that kind of distraction. She forcibly reminded herself that Charlie was her objective.

"Enchanted. Joe Terrazzini, proprietor of this establishment. Unfortunately, Charlie and I can't stay and enjoy the company. We have business to attend to, but let me give you my card."

He kept his eyes locked on hers, took a card out of his wallet, and handed it to her.

"Feel free to call me anytime. And now, if you'll excuse us, I'm afraid we have to be going."

Charlie and Joe headed toward the back room together without so much as a backward glance in her direction. She took the card and tucked it into her purse. What kind of business did Charlie have with Joe? That was something she needed to find out.

She continued to pursue Charlie over the next few months. She would "accidentally" run into him at the mailbox, the grocery store, the laundry mat, and anywhere else she thought she could get him alone. Charlie remained aloof. He was polite, but disengaged, and her usual tactics just weren't working on him. He wasn't interested in her. She decided to resort to a more direct method.

She knocked on his door.

"Do you mind if I come in? I could use some company."

Charlie sighed and leaned up against the door jam.

"Kelly, would you do us both a favor?"

Kelly blinked in surprise and looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

Charlie shook his head and chuckled.

"If I let you come in would you just go ahead and tell me what it is you want from me already so you and I can both get back to our lives?"

Her mouth just about dropped open, but she managed to keep it shut.

"I just want a friend, Charlie."

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"No, you don't. The world is full of people who are lonely and looking for friendship. You've ignored everyone else in this building. You clearly want something, and you want it from me. You either come inside and tell me what it is or I close the door and you walk away. Which is it?"

Kelly sighed and shoved her hands in her jean pockets.

"Let me in and I'll tell you exactly what I want from you."

Charlie nodded, stepped back from the doorway, and let her inside.

"Mastering the minimalist approach, I see."

Charlie gestured toward the lone couch in the apartment.

"I don't believe in accumulating unnecessary attachments. Take a seat, and let's talk about what it is you want."

Kelly sat down and waited until Charlie was in a seat facing her before she started.

"Charlie, you have access to some very valuable information, and my bosses want that information. I have been put in charge of getting that information from you."

She leaned forward suggestively.

"And I am willing to do...whatever...it takes to get that information."

Charlie snorted and shook his head.

"That much is painfully obvious. You are making this way too easy. There's no challenge here at all. I could order you to strip naked, bend over, and as long as I promised you the information you wanted when I was done, you'd do it. Maybe this kind of thing works with other guys, but I'm not interested in getting played and you're not really interested in me. So let's drop the act, cut to the chase, and be done with it already. What do you want to know?"

Kelly hesitated. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. She wasn't sure how much she should tell him.

"There's some research you're doing right now that my bosses are very interested in acquiring. How much would it cost us to get that information from you?"

Charlie laughed suddenly.

"Lady, you couldn't pay me enough to sell that information to you. I'm eight years away from retirement on a government pension. I sell you that information and I'll be spending my golden years in a military brig. No, thank you."

Kelly smiled. Charlie hadn't protested about his honor or his patriotic duty or his reputation. He'd protested about the money. Money was something The Masters had in plenty.

"Charlie, what's your monthly pension going to be? Maybe $2,500 a month? Maybe $5,000? Name whatever your pension rate is and we'll quadruple it. The information is worth far more than that to my employers."

Charlie shook his head.

"Not happening, Kelly. I'm not taking the risk of spending my retirement years in a place like Guantanamo Bay. No amount of money you could pay me would do a damned bit of good there."

His secondary concern seemed largely to be the risk of arrest. That, too, was something the Masters were good at handling.

"I can guarantee you immunity. The people I serve have friends in very high places. You could be investigated, but I can assure you that nothing would ever come of the investigation. You, your retirement, and your future would be secure just as long as you provided everything my employers are requesting."

Charlie sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"I don't trust you, Kelly. And I don't know who your employers are, but I don't trust them either. If they're as well placed and powerful as they say they are, they don't need me. They can just get the information directly from the military. It's not that hard. Why go through all of this work to get to me? What's your end game?"

He shook his head and stood up.

"You're out of luck, Kelly. You're going to have to find someone else to play. I'll see you out the door, but I don't expect to see you again."

Kelly tried to hide the panic she felt. This was a failure. An absolute, abject failure. Barton Masters did not deal well with failures. She slid a card out of her pants pocket and placed it on the coffee table.

"Keep the card. If you ever need my help, Charlie, you know who to call."

Charlie's door closing was the only answer she'd gotten from him. Kelly wasn't used to rejection, especially from men like Charlie. She'd kept digging, kept trying to find something she could use on Charlie to change his mind, and was just about ready to give up when she got the unexpected call.

"Kelly, it's Charlie. I need your help."

She'd tried to be gracious when he'd arrived in her office that day. His desperation was evident. It was hard not to gloat.

"Charlie is here to see you, ma'm."

Kelly looked over at her assistant, an elderly woman with a tight grey bun on top of her head and a powder blue polyester pants suit that was probably as old as she was, and smiled.

"Thank you, Bev. If you'll see him in, I'd appreciate it."

Minutes later, Charlie's short, balding head was entering her door and casually taking a seat in a chair facing her.

"So good to see you, Charlie. I thought you'd never call."

She pretended to ignore him, keeping her eyes fastened on her computer screen. It felt good to be in the position of power this time.

"Neither did I, but I have a problem and you said that you could help, so I'm hoping the offer is still good."

She looked over at Charlie, smiled encouragingly, and placed a manicured hand on his arm.

"Charlie, I love to help my friends. What can I do for you today?"

He glanced at the hand on his arm, raised an eyebrow, and one corner of his mouth turned up. He didn't remove her hand, but the message was clear enough. He was not impressed. She left it there on purpose. She wanted him to know she was in control this time. He was hers.

"I'll get to the point. You need information, and I need money. I've got a $20,000 problem I need to make go away today. I just need to know what information I have that you need that would be worth that $20,000."

Kelly's eyes narrowed slightly and she drummed her fingers on her desk as if thinking through her options. She felt like doing a victory dance, but she didn't want Charlie to know just how eager she was to give him whatever he wanted. He was a tough nut to crack, but that just made the victory all the more sweet.

"Oh, Charlie. That kind of money won't come cheap. Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, I'd happily pay you that if I had it, but for this I'm going to have to go to my bosses and they...well, let's just say they may not like you as much as I do. What can you give me to prove that you have something they're going to want?"

Charlie sighed and took out an envelope from his breast pocket. He looked at it, tapped it on the palm of his hand, and then tossed it on her desk.

"I think that should get things started."

Kelly cocked her head to the side slightly as she swept up the envelope and opened it up to reveal the contents. It was copies of classified documents stamped "Project Paper Dolls."

She raised a single eyebrow as she read through them. It took an act of will to keep her mouth from dropping open in surprise. She felt her heart race with excitement as she realized what she was looking at.

"I do think we might have something. Please wait here."

She slid out from behind her desk and headed out the door to a second office. She didn't need to do this. She had all the authorization she needed to get Charlie whatever he wanted. However, she was enjoying the opportunity to make him squirm.

She wasn't sure what brought him to her today, but she was going to find out. If Charlie had a button she could push, she wanted to know exactly where that button was and how it worked. Ten minutes later, she walked back into her office with a smile on her face.

"Charlie, I am relieved to tell you the management has agreed to give you a check for $20,000."

She paused dramatically and sighed before continuing.

"There is, however, a hitch. They don't feel the information you provided them is worth the money you're requesting. They want more. A lot more."

Charlie frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

"How much more is it going to take, Kelly? I've given you everything I have."

She shrugged, took a seat, and pulled out her checkbook. She grabbed a pen out of the holder and looked him in the eyes.

"Let's just say that from now on, whenever you have something to report to high command, you're going to stop by my offices first. You're going to bring the whole report straight to me, and we're going to visit for an hour or so while I scan copies of it. Then, when we're through chatting, I'm going to send you on your way to deliver that report to your bosses. Deal?"

Kelly kept her eyes locked onto his for far longer than was socially acceptable or comfortable as she waited for his reply.

"Deal."

He sounded like he'd choked on something when he replied. It was good to know she'd finally found a weak spot. Her smile broadened and she finished making the check out, tore it out of the book, and handed it to him.

"We are going to be such good friends, Charlie. I'm so glad you stopped by. I know I'll be seeing you again very soon. I can't tell you how happy that makes me."

This time, Charlie didn't meet her eyes as he accepted the check. He tucked it into his right breast pocket, stood up, straightened his jacket, and headed out the door. She waited until he was gone before she sent the text message.

"Unicorn leashed."

Ten minutes later, she got a return text.

"Adoption fee?"

She smiled as she typed in her response.

"20k."

Charlie could have asked for ten times that amount and her bosses would have paid it. The information was worth far more than that to them. However, the fact that she'd gotten it for so little was a point of pride on her part.

She wasn't expecting an update so soon, but less than a week later, Charlie was back in her office. He slid a thin blue folder out of his briefcase and placed it on her desk.

"How's work?"

She pulled a hand scanner out of her desk and began scanning the documents into her computer as they chatted casually.

"A little stressful these days with the tight deadlines and all, but otherwise good. We've made some important progress and I think we're finally picking up steam."

She nodded briefly.

"That's good to hear. Seen Joe lately?"

She was still curious about their relationship, but now that Charlie was on the hook it wasn't as big a deal to her. And getting tangled up with Joe personally was not something that was likely to be good for her professionally. The Masters certainly wouldn't appreciate the relationship.

Charlie winced and then chuckled.

"On occasion. I'm surprised you haven't called. He did give you his card."

She looked over at him briefly, but kept her eyes largely focused on scanning the material.

"Mmm. There are some calls it's just better not to make."

Charlie leaned back and looked around at her office as he waited for her to finish.

"I guess that's true."

She scanned the last page, handed the file to Charlie, and sat back down.

"Thanks for stopping by, Charlie. I hope you'll let me know if I can ever do anything for you again. My door is always open."

Charlie collected the folder and headed out the door without bothering to reply.

Want More?

Please consider making a contribution to the "If Words Could Kill" crowdfunding campaign:

http://40daywriter.com/if-words-could-kill-crowdfunding

Enjoying This Sample?

AWESOME! Please consider leaving an honest review and sharing this out with your friends.

About the Author:

Brandy M. Miller

Brandy M. Miller lives with her husband in Denver, Colorado where she spends her time helping other people write their stories and teaches writing online. She published 7 books prior to this.

She learned to read at the age of 4 and became an avid reader. Books were her best friends and her most trusted advisors.

Today, she encourages people to write their own stories but also to write fiction.

"It is in writing our own story that you discover the hidden gold hiding in the worst day of your life. It is in writing fiction that you learn the most about what it must be like to be God."

Connect with Brandy online:

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/40DayWriter

Twitter:

http://twitter.com/WriterBrandy

Email:

brandy@40daywriter.com
