 
### Deliverance: Where are our Children

### (A Serial Novel) Episode 2 of 9

### By Gary Sapp

### Copyright 2014 Gary Sapp

### Smashwords Edition

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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

Our Story so Far

Roxanne

Thomas

Serena

Xavier

Serena

Xavier

Angel

Thomas

Chris

Louis

Get caught up in the 'Rapture'

Dedication

Nest Egg Publishing Note

Nest Egg Publishing Presents Gary Sapp

Where to find this author online
Our Story so Far:

While incarcerated as an inmate at Calhoun State Prison in southwest Georgia, Xavier Prince, the leader of A House in Chains, confronts Michael Davenport; a man that he believes has knowledge of what turns out to be the 411 attacks upstate in Atlanta. Serena Tennyson and her Pandora associates carry out the highly coordinated, highly lethal attacks weeks later against the Andrew Young Youth Center, The Fox Theatre and the mayor of the city itself, Ernestine Johnson. On her deathbed, rotting away from a yet to be identified poison, Mayor Johnson enlist the aid of Thomas Pepper, a freelance reporter, to find out the answers to the three questions that every Person of Color in America wants to know. The FBI recruits a renowned Clinical Psychologist, Dr. Angel Hicks-Dupree to consult on the crisis in Atlanta—and after a confrontation with her husband, Dr. Seth Dupree, she reluctantly agrees to help. Her childhood friend, Special Agent Christopher Prince, turns out to be one of the hostages being held at the Fox Theatre. Meanwhile, his half-brother, Xavier, is confronted with his own siege that breaks out at Calhoun Prison on the eve of his scheduled release. In the meantime, Christopher Prince escapes the theatre alive, but immediately faces a new predicament when he receives a series of text messages that his 20 year old stepdaughter has come up missing.

Roxanne

Using the cover of darkness, she could have killed Special Agent Christopher Prince when he entered Piedmont Park from the south entrance without scanning the shadowed area off and to the right of him, or when he failed to glance in the silhouetted spectrum of corridors above his head when he passed under the water slide, or when he walked too close to peach trees boarding the skating rink.

He appeared to be alert, especially considering it was 1:00 am and the hell the man had suffered through over the past 36 hours. In fact, other than favoring his lower back when he walked, Roxanne Sanchez thought that Chris looked no worse for the wear, at least on the surface. Still, she needed him to be sharp both mentally and physically, with the horrors she was bringing to his life.

She had sent him a series of texts after she was certain that he had finally opened the first one and he had followed her instructions to the letter: _Come alone. After you pass underneath the standing area beneath the skating rink, wait ten minutes, and approach the kiddies' playgrounds from over by the bicycle trails. Sit in the swing that is farthest to the right. This will position you in a wide open space and protects_ both _of us from ambush._ I _will approach you from the merry go round. Do not get up from the swing. Do not attempt to call me._

Roxanne Sanchez:

She was a coffee-colored, shapely Latino in her mid-thirties. She had dark shoulder length hair and dark eyes, a crooked nose and black lips stick on thin lips that curse words seemed to flow from between them far too often. Or so her mother had said. She'd paid too much for her body spray, her selection of panties was too risqué, her boots too long and her slacks hugged her hips far too tightly. Roxanne knew this and didn't give a damn what anyone thought of her or her choice of attire.

She used a long fingernail of her index finger to chip away at the bark from a tree trunk, while she stole a panoramic view of the entire park. Piedmont had been grand enough to host an Olympic celebration all those years ago, and yet had remained small enough to retain a good measure of its intimacy. Mayor Ernestine Johnson had been the latest of Atlanta's Mayors to use tax revenue to refurbish most of the picnic areas, plant new trees and spice up the other shrubbery, and extend three of the walking and bike trails.

And now she was dead.

Two men were out for a late night jog in the murky air. _How are you two standing to breathe this air?_ They seemed to circle back towards her and she lifted the cell out of her back pocket with one hand to check the time. It read 12:45AM back at her. She rested her other hand on her gun that was sitting in the holster inside her jean jacket. _Don't corner me;_ she silently spat the words at them. _If I'm enough of a monster to place this steel at the temple of two innocent little girls and threaten to kill them both, then what would I do to you two?_

When Roxanne left the bureau training program for her gig in private investigations, she first took on work where she could get it: She found an unfaithful husband in Albany, uncovered how a shady business was cheating its customers in Montgomery, and investigated faulty disability claims all over Louisiana, while brokering her services for one of the state's most prestigious insurance companies. As both her reputation and bank account grew she ventured further away from her childhood home of Atlanta.

Six months later Roxanne finally settled in one of the small border towns near El Paso, Texas, doing some missing person' s investigations on both sides of The Rio Grande. Most of these were simple runways cases.

She began working with a Mexican Police Chief after a couple more months, sharing professional duties during the day...and falling in bed with him during the night.

Victor Castillo:

He was a 35 year old brown skinned man. He had a slim but muscular torso, a bald head and spoke with a deep, raspy voice. Roxanne found him to be the ultimate study in contrast...the moon and the sun, the squall and the tranquil... the darkness and the light. He and his partner Gonzales fought injustice, or at least their vision of it, with a steel hand of viciousness and ruthlessness that almost... _frightened_ her.

Yet, he could be so very tender when he touched her. She told herself that she didn't love him. She didn't _need_ his love. Those feelings were left reserved for a man back home that she could never have. Victor, however, was a man of vices like _most_ men who were cursed with them: He liquored too much, puffed like a chimney on his Cuban cigars and gambled at craps and poker and roulette. Vices had destroyed Roxanne's her father and her only sister. _No,_ she reminded herself, _Rachel's addictions ruined her life for sure, but it was Dr Angel Hicks Dupree_ killed _her._ She had vowed to never forget the woman's role in Rachel's demise.

And someday Roxanne Sanchez would make the good doctor pay for her sins against her family.

As for Victor, Roxanne had been content with his company, his silly serenades in her ear as they showered, his rock hard abs, and the way he held her lower back in place when he _cojamosed_ her from behind. One night, after a particularly intense session of lovemaking she noted the look in his dark eyes that told her that he'd crossed his _own_ private border, although his pride did not allow him to verbalize it to her. He _did_ say in that raspy voice: _I know that you are a big girl, Senorita, but always watch your back when you are down here...down below. Never allow yourself to dip in Cartel business..._ ever. _You Americans think you understand them, but you don't. You think the cartels are about weapons and drugs or money...no, they are about_ property. _The cartels are not satisfied until they own your body, your soul; they want to own_ all _of you._

She rolled on top of him and showed appreciation for his concern for the rest of the night until she serenaded _him_ with moans of her orgasm.

For 30 more days her days were productive and profitable and her nights for a passion and pleasure.

On the 31st day she met a man who would change her life forever.

Julio Vargas:

He was a pie faced, pallid colored Mexican man who wore a toupee to cover his naked scalp, a thick moustache covered his top lip, and he looked as if he had been well fed to this point of his middle aged life.

He sat on his lush couch and told Roxanne that one of local cartels had kidnapped his two oldest daughters who were only 14 and 12 years old. Vargas' wife gnawed at her fingernail and burst into tears when her husband had mentioned the girls ages.

Lying in bed together later that night, Victor told her that by now the girls had been repeatedly raped and even worse had been branded with the cartel seal on the nape of their necks. _Vargas fronts as a small time business man but behind the scenes he's a hood who deals guns for the cartels. He's not very good at either one. And his accountant is a moron. He'd gotten pretty deep in the red for them to take the females though._ Still, Vargas served as an unofficial mayor of a small village of about 50 families or so just west of where they were now. They call it the Hill. Those villagers depended on Vargas to maintain peace with the cartels. He finished by telling her that whoever the cartels regional leader was he considered the debt paid in full now. Victor had gotten to his feet then, his vice of Bourbon calling him from her bed. _The girls are property now, Senorita,_ he had said as if the manner was a matter of fact and nothing else. This man who Roxanne had given herself to could be a study of contrast, of darkness and light. _Vargas only called on you to save face in front of his wife for his screw up. He can't take his girls back even if he wanted to. Besides..._ he had turned and became one with the shadows, but his voice rasped the truth out at her... _he still has three other daughters left._

So Roxanne poked her head in a few doors for a few days and knocked on a few more...to play the game with Vargas was playing with wife...or so she told Victor.

In actually, she was twisting arms and bashing skulls in the way that her lover had shown her over her tenure down here.

Roxanne should have heeded Victor's warning.

She found them. And within an hour or so of their discovery she'd snuck them off of the compound without setting off an alarm or firing a shot. She brought the girls back to Vargas at his home, his wife running as fast as her weight allowed her to greet her children in the foyer. Two of Vargas' men wrestled Mrs. Vargas to the ground before she could touch their faces. Roxanne heard the woman's shoulder _pop_ when her arm hit the tiled floor.

Vargas stood motionless. He looked surprised. The surprised bled into a pained expression. The pained expression died a fast death and anger replaced it.

_This is cartel property._ He pointed a fat finger, one for each daughter. _Take them back from where you found them._

Mrs. Vargas' grief took her back to the tile as she screamed for all who were the house to know her displeasure, to share a mother's misery.

When Roxanne didn't immediately move, Vargas' men stepped in the girls directions to follow his instructions themselves.

That is when Roxanne had put her gun to the temple of the oldest girl and pressed the head of the other so tightly against the first, that when she squeezed a round off the younger girl would likely share her sister's fate.

_You know not what you do here._ Tears dropped from Vargas' eyes where they had been absent when he told Roxanne of these same girls' abductions days earlier. _They are the cartel's_ property. _You do not damage cartel property._ And then he added: _I have three other daughters_

She backed out of Vargas' residence...and out the country without another word and stuck the girls with a family in a remote corner of the world where they would never be found.

24 hours after she left Vargas the cartel's incursion into the Hill began. Those 50 families or so were slaughtered and the Hill was burned to the ground.

Roxanne Sanchez never saw Victor Castillo, or heard his silly serenades in her ear or any of the rest ever again.

He did send her a text in the same manner that she'd sent Christopher Prince earlier tonight. It said:

You did not heed my words, Senorita. You dipped your hands in cartel business. Someday, when the time is right, Gonzales and I will stop what we are doing here...and find you.

I will see you suffer for what you have done here down below.

I will see you suffer before your end.

The two men had jogged past her without incident. She noticed sweat on her brow even though the night was cool and crisp. She pulled her cell out of her back pocket and it said 1:00 AM. She got her boots beneath her and walked towards the swings where Chris was seated.

"Sanchez?" Chris said and it warmed her heart that he would remember her face so quickly. It had been 6 years now. "Roxanne Sanchez, my God, is that you?"

"It is, Chris." He stood up from the swing and found his footing in the loose sand. "How are you?"

He nodded his bald head once, made a quick sweep of the park with his eyes and then settled his focus back on her. "I'm good, or at least I thought I was. Look, our line of work has taught me not to believe in coincidences. I've been casing this park for the better part of 45 minutes. It's 1:00 AM in the morning. Except for those two men I saw jog past you a few minutes ago, there isn't anyone else here." She watched his gaze turn serious, his opaque skin beautiful in the full moon's light. "It was you who have been sending me the text messages. It was you who asked me here. What in the hell is going on here, Roxanne? What is the meaning of all this and what does it has to do with my step daughter?"

Roxanne pulled her hoodie up over her ears and stepped closer to him. She needed to gage his reactions to the news she was about to tell him about. _Never again will I allow lives to be lost because I failed to judge people correctly._ "Chris, your step daughter is missing?"

"Erica? And when did this happen?" He rubbed at his nose and mouth and she heard him whistle. "And if this is true at all, how did you become involved?"

She didn't blink. "Your ex-wife hired me about two weeks ago."

"Denise hired you a couple of weeks ago, that means that Erica has supposedly been missing even longer than that." Even in the faint light, Roxanne could see his naked brow curl in hurt and anger. "And I'm just hearing about this tonight. Yea," He nodded. "This would be very typical of how my ex-wife conducts her business."

Roxanne let Chris stew in his anger for a minute or two. The night's air had grown thick with smoke. Most of it, she figured, blew in from the brushfires that had plagued Atlanta's metro area during the year long drought. A drought she knew, that had until the last 36 hours, had dominated the local news scene. Yet, at least a portion of haze was the gift of the explosion that had occurred originally at The Andrew Young Center three days ago. The fires had spread to the shotgun houses that sat adjacent to the center, but the dry conditions and the loose brush milling about, had caused an entire block or two to go up in smoke. Local firefighters told reporters that they had never seen anything like the conditions plaguing the city.

"Denise hesitated to involve you at all, Chris." Roxanne said, remembering that fact alone caused knots in her belly. "She wouldn't elaborate on what circumstances would cause her to think like that. Denise only told me that there had been some...difficulties in the relationship between the three of you. I finally convinced her that you needed to know what was going on. After all, you had helped raise Erica. You _are_ her father, even if biology says that you aren't. Despite any difficulties that you three might have struggled through, you had the right to know that she's come up missing."

Chris rubbed at his smooth chin, working something out in his mind. "You say that Denise hired you two weeks ago. How long did she think Erica was missing before that?"

"The official APD reports state that she went missing on or about the 10th of March."

"Did anyone say where she was last seen?"

The born investigator in Chris had taken hold. _Good, you are still sharp indeed._ "The few people that I got to talk to me said she'd been hanging out with some of her friends in and around some neighborhoods in College Park." Chris flashed an unsettling look. "And if you don't mind me asking this, you give me the impression that you don't truly believe that this young woman is missing?"

He exhaled a deep breath he'd been holding. "Erica is 20 years old and she's been doing this kind of thing almost half her life. She first started ditching school at 12. And that was just a start of a laundry list of issues she's put us through."

"Word on the street is that trouble often found her?"

"Especially when you meet if half way," Chris nodded, sat down in the swing and took another deep breath. She noticed that it was something about the swing that brought a pleasant memory up to the surface of Chris' mind. "Did Denise talk to you about Erica, I mean on a more personal level?"

Roxanne sat in the swing next to him. "No, not really," She said. "She gave me some names, you know a list of family members and friends that she liked to hang out with. She did state, like I heard in the street, that trouble could find Erica, but she didn't elaborate on it further."

Chris looked over at her and the skin around his brow curled as if he'd made his mind up about sharing something important with her. "Like I said earlier, Erica first ditched school at 12 years old. The school gave Denise a call. We went looking for her. We found her a few blocks from the house...giving oral sex to this older kid _,_ a 15 year old in the back of a parked car."

"Whoa."

"I wish I could say these types of incidents were isolated and that this type of behavior ended there. By the time Erica herself had reached 15years old, she'd served two separate stints at the local juvenile detention center. She served once for a string of petty theft charges and she did a stretch for violence against another female minor with a knife."

"What about running away?"

"She'd do the teenaged thing; get pissed about something or the other, and hall ass for a day two and show back up at our house when she got hungry or one of her so called friends grew tired of her act." He said. "I think I remember four days as the longest time she'd ever disappeared without a single word from her: No phone call, or anything. So when you ask me if I'm surprised that she's come up missing again, then I guess my answer would have to stand at no, I'm not surprised with anything that Erica gets herself into."

"Are you worried about her?'

Chris considered her question a moment. "Yea...maybe a little," He got up out of the swing and began walking towards one of the trails, downwind of the smoke. "Look, I know how my reaction may all appear to an outsider." _You don't know a damned thing;_ Roxanne thought, the image of Vargas, his screaming wife, and those precious girls buried in her head, but let him go on nonetheless.

"Every family has issues, Roxanne. But those _difficulties,_ as Denise stated to you, cut far deeper than a half dozen families endure. When the three of us were together, especially the last year or two my marriage, we defined what a dysfunctional family meant."

_I know about dysfunctional families as well, Chris._ And she was thinking about her own family, not the ones that she had interfered with across the border. This wasn't the time to dwell on her mother and sister right now, though. She needed to focus her energy and thoughts on the case at hand. "I see." She stopped walking and turned to face him. He had gained a little weight around his middle, but he was still a handsome man. "Before we go on about Erica, are _you_ okay?" She wasn't showing any real weakness by simply asking. It was simple courtesy, nothing more. "You know...after what happened to you over the past several days?"

"I'm going to make it, Roxanne." He smiled at her and something inside her melted as it always had before. "You haven't changed. I wondered what became of you after you left the academy."

"Yea," She smiled back. "I've moved around a bit. I've seen a lot of the country. I went and did my own thing. I've been doing professional investigative work ever since." The hard lessons she learned in Mexico doused her smile just as quick. Chris had to wonder what if had been the cause of the smile's dismissal.

"Professional investigator, I like the term, though I don't think I've ever heard anyone use it in that manner before. Good for you, Roxanne."

"Thanks. And the road from falling out of the FBI's academy to all of this wasn't as narrow as you think."

Prince nodded at that. "It never is." She saw something stir in his face, stood in silence and let it flow. "During my marriage with Denise, Erica and I were never close. Like I said before, she's pulled disappearing acts before. She's also grown and not responsible for letting Denise or anyone else knows her every movement. I haven't spoken to Erica in months. I've had a lot on my plate." The FBI Special Agent peered out over the horizon to the space where The Andrew Young Center once stood. "And after 411, I expect this plate to only grow with responsibility."

"I know that."

"What you don't know, Roxanne, if that the relationship between my ex-wife, my step daughter and me goes well past the point of dysfunction. It goes past the point of toxic. That's all that I can say about it for now."

An awkward silence fell over them before Prince broke in again. "You have my number; I expect daily reports on your findings."

"I will."

Christopher Prince put his hands in his jacket pockets, turned again towards the heart of the city, glared at the moonlight, and then turned his clean shaven head back towards her as he stepped closer.

"Roxanne, I'm holding you personally responsible for bringing Erica back to her mother...whether she is alive or not. She is her only child, her baby. And every mother should know whether their baby is alive or not."

_I know that truth all too well._ Roxanne stood there a moment longer and gazed into his eyes, searching for what exactly, she could not say. She finally heard herself saying, "That is how it should be."

Prince's cell phone interrupts the silence that occurred between them afterwards. He excuses himself, doesn't seem to recognize the number at first glance, and then steps over to the side to take the call, then makes his way back over to her at last five minutes later.

"You kept texting me," He continued on as if the conversation they were having before had never been interrupted. "I never responded to any of your first half dozen texts. After some time you must have realized I was involved in 411 in some capacity."

"Yea, I knew about the 411 and I was aware about the siege specifically. And I knew you had a date and tickets to the show."

The look on his face said that he recognized she was an investigator, but he was unsure whether he'd appreciated her keeping tabs on him. Instead he asked, "After the carnage of the first night, how did you know that I was still alive?"

The monster that raged inside Roxanne Sanchez – that allowed her to escape her own siege at Vargas' home shrugged into the early morning darkness, "We're survivors, Chris," She finally said. "You and I both know how to survive."

Though I've survived by being a monster, Chris; how can anyone ever love a monster?
Thomas

He went to slide the key into lock on the front entrance to his townhome in Upper Dunwoody—

The door was _already_ unlocked...and opened slightly.

Fighting back panic, Thomas decided against calling 911 from the cell phone in his hand—at least not yet, and peered inside.

He took as a small of a step as a man his size could manage and opened the door the entire way. He was unarmed. He only owned one weapon and knew he would never reach it in his bedroom, if a prowler was somewhere in the living quarters between here and there—

"Hello, Thomas." Serena Tennyson, leader of Pandora, was sitting on the edge of an easy chair that Thomas often dozed in after a long day of writing or interviewing. She was wearing a dark blue pants suit with her feet planted firmly on his hardwood floor. The suit highlighted the rich texture of her red hair. "Hopefully you will remember who I am. I don't want to waste the little time we have together with us having to reintroduce—"

"I know who you are." Thomas slid along his front door to an adjacent wall, sweating worse now that he _knew_ who had invaded his home.

He'd just made it home from a particularly raunchy session with a woman named Darcy. They'd spent half the night together when her husband had surprised them both by taking an earlier flight and returning to their suburban Atlanta home nearly a day sooner than he was expected. Thomas had to squeeze his large frame into the couple's walk in closet and stayed there until the man had fallen asleep, nearly an hour later, and only then was allowed to escape into the Escalade that experience had long taught him to park smartly a couple of houses down the street.

He hadn't had the chance to shower, and he was sure that Darcy's scent was all over him, especially with the perspiration pouring from underneath his armpits with this discovery. "I know what you are capable of? The whole world has been reminded over that past few days, what you are capable of, Serena."

"Then my appearance here shouldn't come as a real shock to you, Thomas." She swallowed a mouthful of bottled water that she'd brought with her. Other than a case of beer, Thomas was sure there was very little to drink in the fridge. She was sitting perfectly still. "Try to relax, Thomas. Breathe. The first thing I need you to do is to assure me that you won't do anything volatile. I can guarantee your safety during the duration of my visit only if you promise not to dial 911 or try to leave this place until we are finished with our business."

Thomas found a spot in front of his bar and halted his motion there, his pulse racing in his ears with a new thought. _If you help me, you will gain enemies on both sides of this conflict._ Mayor Ernestine Johnson had said in the last minutes before she died. _They both will harass you. They will threaten you. They may even kill you. Yes, Thomas, they may try and kill you."_

"You, of all the people in the world, are going to guarantee my safety, huh?" Thomas snorted and then pointed at her. "Right now, lady, you are the most hunted woman who ever lived. I'm standing her in the same room with you. How safe can I actually _be_?"

Serena sat back in his chair a moment. "I guess we will see."

Thomas' heavy breathing slowly subsided, oxygen beginning to feed his starving brain allowing him to regain some his wits... and then a revelation. "Sophie?" He began to scanning the hard wood floors and moving the couch, coffee table, bookcase, and stereo player aside in frantic search for his pet. "Sophie?" He called again, growing distraught that she would ever answer his call again. "What have you people done with my dog?"

"That... _thing_ is being kept at a nearby kennel." Thomas could see the distaste written as Serena's thin top lip lifted into a sneer. "It is being detained there, but otherwise is not being mistreated."

" _She,"_ Thomas said. "Her name is Sophie. She is a living, breathing animal with feelings."

"Whatever." Serena sat erect again, as if her real discomfort came from any relaxation that the chair may have provided her. "I would advise you to be more immediately concerned with your own health and well-being." She paused to allow him to swallow that dose of reality. "If we have an agreement, then please sit down. We have much to discuss and we've wasted enough time as it is."

Standing on these hard wood floors for long periods of time had recently started his lower back and feet to ache. He put one hand on his side and continued to stand despite his discomforts. "What could you possibly want from me, Serena?"

"I've had you followed. I know that you spoke candidly with Mayor Ernestine Johnson before her passing."

"Ernestine who,"

"Don't fuck with me, Thomas." Serena stood. She drained the last ounces out of her water bottle, walked over and dropped the empty plastic into the recycle bin, retrieved another from a pack she brought with her. "I'm sure you and the city's former mayor spoke at length on several matters, including the three questions that every Person of Color in this Color wants to know?"

Thomas laughed, a sickly sound that he hoped drowned out all of the anxiety and fear he was actually feeling at the moment. _Yes, Thomas, they may even try to kill you._ They might at that, but he _had_ made a promise to the dying woman. He tried to push the conversation in a different direction. "So if I'm guessing correctly, you are here to use me as a propaganda tool in denying portions of what has transpired in this city over the past 36 hours?"

"You have it backwards actually," She sipped at her water bottle, looking as if she were savoring its taste. "And I'll let you get away with changing the subject only long enough to verify that Pandora, under my orders, _did_ launch all three attacks that the world has come to know as 411, as these operations began on April 1, 2011."

"Why do you need me to confirm this for you, Serena?" Thomas asked. "Through whatever channels you chose to use, your people already established that you perpetrated these offensives to the media."

"You've been an esteemed journalist a long time, Thomas. You know, as well as I do, that those channels do serve a purpose," She glided over to where he was standing. He wanted to step away, but found himself paralyzed in a single block of space. She put a hand on one of his shoulders. "But when America hears these same words utter from my lips, and when they see my face today they will know once and for all that everything they've feared is true. That's why I am here today."

"You're talking about my online show. You're going to appear on my blog."

"Two million hits a day. I surely don't miss an episode." Serena took another hit of her water and pushed her red hair out of her pale face. "I'm going to give your viewers...I'm to give the whole world all the _truth_ they can handle."

For the first time since he saw this woman sitting uninvited in his home, he felt a rousing of curiosity that thrust some of his fear aside. _Maybe this doesn't have to be a deadly invitation after all._ He folded his arms, relaxed his breathing, deciding that it was ill advised to push his luck any further. _And I'm interested in how much you truly_ know _about what is said during my coming and goings._ Serena had more than enough resources at her disposal to have him followed, no doubt that she knew that he'd been asked to the mayor's estate and subsequently to her chambers to confer with her before her unfortunate passing... _but you don't know what was said between us or you wouldn't have asked._

"There are three questions that every Person of Color in this country wants answered." He echoed what she had said a few minutes earlier.

Serena nodded once. "Who killed President Adolphus Sweet? Who is the Caretaker? And, of course, what is the Whirlwind?"

He imagined he was struggling to keep the shocked look off of his face. "Are you going to tell the audience the answers to those questions today?"

"No." She replied without anger. "I will say that once the answer to one of the first two questions is revealed, the other two answers almost will reveal themselves. I'm hopeful that it won't come to that."

"You've already shown that you have the power to stop me from learning the truth, Serena." He said cautiously. "My question to you, is _will_ you stop me?"

"I'm hopeful that it won't come to that." She said again and then quickly added, "Our time together grows short, Thomas. May we begin this interview?"

"I record the show from a studio in my basement." He flashed Serena his best goofy smile. "I'm sure you already know where it is."

"Of course I do, Thomas," Serena waved her arm towards the appropriate door and his nerves flared up again. "It's in your best interest to go first."

The studio is a box shaped room which is more wide than big in its owner's eyes and he kicked himself again for not having it painted beyond the bland white it was originally assigned. He also could have had piped the central air and heat down here but decided against it at the time to save a dime. Serena went about shivering almost immediately, sitting her water bottle down for the first time. He had to fight against his own instincts and not give her his jacket top, unknowing of how Pandora's leader would take to his gentlemanly offer of goodwill.

Instead he got down to the business at hand. "I don't normally operate this equipment myself. It might take me as long as 20 minutes to half an hour to set up everything."

Serena pulled a stopwatch out of her pants pocket, synchronized it with the time on her wristwatch and pushed the top button. "30 minutes, Thomas," She sat on one of the two stools he used in his interviews. "I'm holding you to that timeframe."

If Serena had made that last statement as some implied threat, he hadn't had the time to concentrate on it. Instead, he glared at a nearby magnetic calendar he had stuck on a makeshift bookshelf over by where his main camera rested on a lanyard.

"What is it, Thomas?" Serena asked. She looked more comfortable sitting atop this stool than she ever did in his easy chair. "What's wrong?"

Thomas sat back on his own seat without looking back at it, dumbfounded. "I have a maid, her name is Eloise." He glared back at the calendar to be sure. "She comes in once a week to clean the townhouse for me."

Serena rubbed her shoulders for warmth. "Again, Thomas, you haven't told me anything that I already don't already know about you and your life. She is scheduled to clean this place tomorrow."

Thomas slid his stool nearly on top of Serena. He dared put his hands on hers so she could not back away from him. "Did you know that Eloise needed to clean a day early this week." He ducked his head, searching his memory banks for confirmation of what his mind was processing. "There was something...maybe a midweek vacation with her husband who had requested some days off."

"I'm sure that she told you the last time you slept with her, Thomas. That is what you do with her after she finishes cleaning—"

"She has a key." He dared lurch his head closer "She normally would have been here by now and she's never late. Where is she _,_ Serena? Is she being _detained_ as well?"

For the first time since this particular conversation has been struck, Serena's expression flashed blankness at Thomas and caused him to blink rapidly in panic.

Then he watches Serena tilt her head ever so slightly to the right. If he weren't sitting this close, sitting so dangerously close to her, he might not have noted the small movement.

"Are you hearing this?" She said with a hushed voice into some type of communication device clipped to her collar. He had never noticed it was there before now. "Roger." She listened to what the party on the other end had to say. "Contact, Shooter. I need this data ASAP." She paused. "Understood; Oracle out."

Still locked in by his vice grip on her stool, Serena leaned in towards Thomas close enough that their lips were close enough to touch. "I'm sure we are well within the 30 minutes I gave you to ready us for this interview, Thomas." She said in a low voice that reminded him who was in control here. "Shall we begin?"
Serena

The field leader of Pandora watched one red light flash above the largest of Thomas Pepper's tabletop computers. He'd finished the setup with still over six minutes to spare. _Well done, Thomas;_ It was time.

Thomas' intro played with its usual dramatic flair, one Serena Tennyson though was full of preamble, but contained very little true substance. _I might fault his methods but his madness hold much merit,_ his popularity and most importantly to her, his ratings didn't lie. _That is the specific reason that I am sitting in this icebox of a room._

"Please introduce yourself and state the purpose of your visit to my program today?" Thomas asked and took his seat beside her.

She glanced one final time at the stopwatch hanging from a nail just out of sight of the camera. She had set it for the exact time that this broadcast would begin. She had committed the remainder of the countdown to memory. The FBI would have this transmission signal decoded, itemized and her exact location transmitted to local law enforcement within minutes. She had that much time...and little more, to honor one of her final promises made to Caretaker before he died two years ago.

_After you enact 411, give a moment's pause, so that your adversaries have one last chance to save their selves from destruction._ She remembered as if the greatest man she'd ever known had said it to her just yesterday. _Allow them a chance to save face, allow_ both _sides to back away from the brink. Remember the sacrifices that I have made, Serena. I_ order _you to save as many lives as you can_

"Serena...are you still with us," Thomas was saying.

"I am and thank you for this opportunity to join you today on your show, Thomas." Her smile would not bare its fruit, but she ran her fingers on his knee in an act of humanity that the television cameras liked. Even these micro sized cameras that they were using here in Thomas' igloo of a studio. "My name, as most of you out there know is Serena Tennyson, and I come today to speak on behalf of Pandora." It often troubled her to misrepresent Pandora and its followers as if she were its lord and governor. Yet, she reminded herself that just as Pilot's features had to remain near anonymous to her that his very existence had to remain a secret to the outside world. _We did agree that he will reveal himself if I fail to make it back—_

For those who are watching or listening to the podcast, Serena, would you briefly elaborate on what Pandora's mission statement is and perhaps a small origin of how this group came to be?"

"I will, Thomas. Thank you." Serena sat up a little straighter. Thomas was reading from a questionnaire that she had prepared in advance. Off camera, she informed him that this was _his_ show being broadcast from _his_ home, and so his large personality and ego during the filming of this episode was not only permitted but encouraged. However, he was not allowed to deviate from the prepared questionnaire. If he defied her wishes, a _technical difficulty_ sign would flash across his viewer's computers screens, static would infiltrate the podcast...and Thomas Pepper would be killed minutes later by Pandora agents nearby. "In layman's terms Pandora is attempting to preserve the fragile harmony that exists between the most influential races in our country maintaining the status quo."

Thomas squirmed and did a half turn on his stool that already seemed to buckle under his weight. "You did say status quo?"

"I did."

"I find your response and use of terminology interesting; as I'm sure many in my audience would as well." He split equal time looking at the camera and at her. He'd mastered the technique. He'd surpassed Oprah Winfrey and Barbara Walters as the nation's most trusted interviewer over the past number of years. If he were as skillful at researching then he would do Mayor Johnson's dying wish honor. She had chosen well. _And so have I._

"Some in tonight's web audience would argue that a dominant race, a race that both you and I belong to, have diligently, and sometimes forcefully attempted to keep the prominent minority in this country disadvantaged, if not oppressed?"

_Very impressive, Thomas,_ he nearly read her passage word for word without a prompter or looking at his notes. Still, she fixed Thomas with one of her trademark hard stares that would infuriate some in the audience, and intimidate the rest which was far more important, of course. "I would call that response ignorant." She took a staged deep breath and spun her stool slightly to face the camera to her left and allowed what youthful features she still had remaining, to highlight her face. "And I truly find it sad that such lies and innuendo have left so many misinformed on various fronts vital to understanding our position."

"Please educate us," Thomas said in a deadpan voice.

"People of Color and their culture have blossomed in both status and standing since the twilight of the Civil Rights Movement. Do discrimination, prejudice, and blatant racism still exist in today's world? Well, of course if does. And unfortunately, Thomas, in all likelihood, despite our best efforts, you and I will not live long enough to see a complete eradication of hatred from either side in our lifetime. Even here, in the melting pot that is America, living amongst the most civilized people on this planet, pockets of close minded individuals and groups of individuals will carry the banner of hatred around with them." Serena paused for breath and a drink of water. She fought off chills with all of the concentration she could muster. A first impression still meant so much. She knew she would have one opportunity to get this next passage perfect. "Pandora does not endorse, support, or encourage hatemongering on any level, whatsoever. Pandora was founded by a man who cherished _all_ life. Everything thing that I do, have done, and will do is based on the Caretaker's ideals and principals." She straightened a bit and twisted her long neck so she would deliver the next part of her monologue to the camera facing her from the right. "That being said, make no mistake, Pandora will not tolerate the further deterioration of an already tedious relationship between our race and those who now proclaim themselves People of Color. Extremists' elements, such as those who populate separatist groups like A House in Chains, are the prime offenders of hatemongering."

Thomas slid back in his chair. "I see." She watched a question form on his bearded face. It was not a matter of when he would ask it, but _how._ "So you would proclaim the simultaneous and highly choreographed April 1st attacks on The Andrew Young Center, The Siege of the Fox Theater, and the blatant murder of Atlanta's Mayor Ernestine Johnson by poisoning as what, Serena, and an act of extending the hand of friendship?"

"Even I wouldn't be so bold." Serena said and took another deep breath and hoped Thomas Pepper would wisely follow her lead. "I will say this: While each and every life is precious in the eyes of your god, the alternative for this continued defiance by forenamed parties will only result in more People of Color rushing to greet Him."

Thomas looked uncomfortably shaken, _as he should be;_ he tugged at his collar, glanced at the center camera a second, and looked back in her general direction, but whether he was afraid or disgusted by her, he continued to make eye contact with her all the same.

"You speak as if an escalation is coming?"

She took the time to steal a hard gaze at the stopwatch hanging on the nail near the center camera. Serena guessed that she came across as a farsighted middle aged woman to the audience, who had left her spectacles home, but that was a price she was prepared to pay. She no longer wished to trust what little time they had left before the authorities arrived to intuition only. _We are running around two minutes behind schedule even with the ...distractions set in place._ She'd come too far now not to finish delivering Caretaker's message. _They must hear this, no matter the cost. I must keep my word...no matter the personal price I must pay._

"People of Color always ask the same three questions, Thomas."

He spoke out of turn, but that was fine by her. "Who killed President Adolphus Sweet? Who is this Caretaker than you speak so fondly of, and what is the Whirlwind?"

"And they are all worthy questions, Thomas." It took every fiber of her being not to warm herself. She was so far away from the Dragon's flames, so far away from its love. "The first is immaterial, in fact most people are asking the wrong question when it comes to Sweet's murder. The second question is inconsequential. The Caretaker is dead, is identity died with him. I will never give up it up unless it benefits those of us he left behind. And the third question...oh dear, Thomas, You, I, no one in your audience, no one in the entire _world_ hopes to learn what the Whirlwind is." She considered something that was off script. "I will tell you this: the wraith of The Whirlwind has already been exhibited twice before. You saw it the second time it was showcased, but you missed it with your eyes wide open the first time." Serena nearly smiled.

Thomas recovered from whatever state of stun he had fell into. "Back to these conditions you were speaking of?"

"They are very simple, Thomas." Serena knew she was nearly out of time. "And they are no different than what we have asked before 411 was enacted." Serena saved the center camera for the epilogue of her interview with Thomas Pepper. "First, Xavier Prince is already an inmate at Calhoun State Prison in southwest Georgia. He is scheduled to be released later today. He is to voluntarily rescind this discharge, plead guilty to further charges that include terrorism, munity, collusion, and hate crimes, and remain at this facility until a new trail of his peers can be assembled. Secondly, the other surviving members of A House in Chains governmental body, The Circle, is to turn themselves over to authorities, and share in the guilt and the charges I just laid out to you of their beloved leader. Lastly, A House in Chains is to be unconditionally disbanded, as I and my Pandora associates are prepared to disband as well. We can all turn away from an inevitable conflict before it, as you stated earlier, before it escalates."

"I'm sure that if Xavier Prince can hear this broadcast that he and his associates are considering your offer as we speak." Thomas gave his last statement the proper dramatic pause its implication deserved and then carried on smoothly. Serena's answer to the specifics of what this provocation is was to be featured last. "You admitted to me off camera that at least part of the operational portion that went on at the Fox Theatre suffered through ...tactical errors as you put it, Serena, would you care to elaborate."

"It did," Serena found the left camera again. "Benny Stanton, Luna Belle and their associates were ordered hold the theatre for a signal night, then to proceed in killing as many patrons as their ammunition had allowed, exit the premises, and then torch the building."

Thomas Pepper looked ill. "I hope that you don't believe that this acknowledgement of a breach in your orders doesn't comfort the families and friends of those who lost loved ones there?"

"Of course not," Serena said dispassionately. In fact this _breach_ of my orders, as you so eloquently put it, saved lives of People of Color because a mission that was never intended to go on nearly as long as it had did just that." She found the right camera once again. "What I am saying is that Stanton was under my command. His actions are ultimately my responsibility. And Stanton's and his failings fall directly in that pocket of small minded people we spoke of earlier, Thomas. Pandora would have never bartered, therefore extended those civilian's suffering, for a hatemonger like James Carter."

"Let's talk for a minute about James Carter now that you mentioned him." Thomas said in a rush. He'd finally gone off script. And Serena knew that her people, specifically Rohm had vacated this theatre of operations, per her orders. And unlike those idiots Stanton and Belle, Shooter had followed orders so far to the letter. "You stated earlier in this interview that Pandora is not blatant hatemongers, yet you ally yourselves with a man like James Carter who has been notorious for exercising bigoted behavior such as being involved in intimidations, lynches, and beatings of People of Color. In fact he is solely responsible for the whip marks that are rumored to be on Xavier Prince's back right now in some hideous incident when these two men roomed together at Princeton."

Serena snapped back at him. "Carter and all the people who share his narrow mindlessness will not be welcome once the new world order that the Caretaker died trying to create finally comes into existence."

Thomas raised his voice to match hers. "And yet, he serves a purpose right now?"

"He does."

"So you would have us believe—"

"Believe what you _will,_ Thomas." Serena was standing, and silently cursed both Thomas and herself for her burst of anger. "I'm disgusted with the losses suffered in the Black Community over the past three days. But parents, children, and friends of those who have fallen can be comforted that their loved ones deaths were not in vain. Pandora has suffered losses as well. But we _all_ can bring this...season of death to a close. I have laid out Pandora's conditions for this to happen, the ball, as they say, is in their court to comply."

The stopwatch beeped.

Their interview...and their _time_ had come to an end.

Serena sat back on her stool and took the longest pull Thomas had seen from her water and acted as if the heated exchange between them had never occurred. She found the precious center camera, one last time. "I am sure by this point of this broadcast, that members of various law enforcement agencies may feel compelled to act against me. I'm sending out me sternest warning against such a hasty...and futile exercise. Pandora has not left me unprotected against such retaliations. Contrary to what had been written, said, or speculated about me, I have no desire to see needless bloodshed. Allow me to conclude my interview with Thomas Pepper, leave his residence, and return to Pandora without incident, and you have my word that no law enforcement official will be hurt. Defy my wishes and you only have yourselves and your foolish pride to blame for the losses that you will suffer."

Thomas was still standing, nearly on top of her. Sweat had begun falling from his curly hair. "What is this escalation?" He asked. " _Damn you, Serena_ _say something._ "

"For years People of Color have wanted the answer to the same three questions: Who killed President Adolphus Sweet? Who is The Caretaker? And what is the Whirlwind?" Serena said in a monotone voice. "Three days ago, Pandora answered the one question that had been brewing for several months: What is the 411?" She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, blocked out how cold she really was and filled her thoughts with the warmth and love of the Dragon. "It is highly probable that I will be dead soon. What is more important is that in after the days that I am gone, after I am caught up in the Rapture of the Dragon, that you, People of Color have turned away from wickedness, turned away from you vile leaders."

Serena walked off of the set at a steady pace while the cameras still rolled on. She only quickened it after she heard the first explosion in the distance. Thomas nearly fell to the floor and looked around wildly. She picked up a yellow rose from off of the shelf where she had left it the previous night when Pandora first started its incursion of Thomas' home.

She placed the yellow rose on an empty space on the table inches in front of the camera and then takes her place next to a shaken Thomas who takes an involuntarily step back from her positioning. She finds the center camera and a subtle, dignified calm in her tone once again. "If you choose to side with the likes of Xavier Prince, the Circle and A House in Chains, then this local community will have a new, pressing question to ask. Thank you for your time and attention."

"What?" Thomas said stupidly and turned the cameras off as a second explosion erupts, one whose epicenter was closer than the first.

They sprinted up the stairs, returning to Thomas' main living quarters. And though the temperature is instantly ten degrees warmer than that in the basement, Serena can barely contain her trembling. Thomas seems to be oblivious, or he is occupied with the detonations occurring outside.

" _What in the hell are these explosions, Serena_?"

Serena begins to unbutton her blouse. "As I said, Pandora was prepared for my peaceful exodus from your townhouse, Thomas. It is apparent that A House in Chains is not the only association not heeding my words these days."

A third explosion, this one the loudest and closest to his townhouse, rocks the building's foundation, breaks his living room windows, and knocks both of them to his wooden floor.

" _God almighty, what is that_?"

"I had every street that leads to this residence mined." Serena stopped long enough to unbuckle her pants and fold them neatly on top of her jacket and blouse. She kicks off her flats. "The last few explosions you heard were the ones laid closest to this property. There were a dozen or more scattered about the five mile radius. They were activated only after I made my plea to the authorities not to come here. I told you, Thomas, Pandora values civilian life."

"God almighty," Was all that Thomas Pepper could offer as he neared tears.

Serena turned her back on him, unfastened her sheer bra and stepped out of her white cotton panties. She could feel the man in Thomas staring at what men stared at in nude women, her long legs, her curt but shapely buttocks...but she guessed through all of his lustful thoughts that he gazed longest and hardest at the tattoo of the Dragon that encompassed her entire back, featuring the Dragon's tongue licking the side of her neck.

When she spun back around, Thomas verified her theory two fold as he sat on his wooden floor with an astonished look plastered on his bearded face.

They both heard the blades of a helicopter beginning to hover somewhere outside of his dining room window.

"What am I doing?" She asked the question out loud of what he must have been thinking at the moment. I'm doing what all field generals must do in wartime when the battle is lost." She lay flat on her nonexistent stomach and spread arms as wide as each extremity would go. "I'm surrendering so I can live to fight another day." She looked up long enough to make eye contact with him. "Although you are not the object of the FBI's attention or wraith, I advise you to undress as I have. They may not enter this place with the idea of restraint in their hearts."

Thomas must have figured her for being right, because he undressed as quick as his sizeable fingers allowed and joined her...at a cautious distance on the hard wood floor.

She could hear the first wave of men pushing up the stairs. Thomas must have heard it too because he tried to bury his face as far the unforgiving floor would allow him. _Perhaps this_ is _a suicide,_ Serena thought about Pilot's words when the first pang of fear hit her in the chest. At least her fear had a warm element to it as she felt it rush though the rest of her body.

"Am I all that you thought I would be, Thomas?"

"What?" Thomas asked as she heard three, four, and uncountable number of vehicles breaking at street level. The chopper had taken residence outside of the front window now.

"What did you day?"

She poked her head up again and pointed her chin in the direction of Thomas' spare bed room that served as an office. "I've been waiting here for you to arrive last night. I made myself at home. I saw the office...the pictures that you've clipped from magazines and printed off of the internet. You have many that even I didn't even know existed of me. It is quite an impressive shrine."

He reddened from either embarrassment or fear. "We are the beautiful and the bold," He finally said as heavy footsteps push their way to the top of the stairway.

Agents of the FBI announced their obvious presence and have busted down his door by the sentence conclusion. Three...four...ten armed agents pour into his townhouse with pistols and rifles drawn in every direction. A dozen more agents slide in behind them once an alley was created. Serena was sure that Thomas never knew his place could ever fit so many human beings inside its walls.

Special Agent Christopher Prince is amongst the second wave of FBI who entered the townhouse.

"Agent, Prince, welcome." Serena announces conversationally. He, like most of the men in this room, wearing the cursed vest with FBI stenciled on the back. It is the one that she has loathed so much when she slaved for the bureau all those years before Pandora summoned her to serve, before The Caretaker called her home. "Your brother must surrender to the authorities at Calhoun Prison. Time is short. If you want to truly serve your people. You will make your younger sibling comply, his time, _all_ of our time is running out."

Christopher Prince and the room full of agents seem to be almost mesmerized by her words. She used the silence to her advantage. "I've said enough for now. I'd like to evoke my right of silence as it is presented under The United States Constitution."

"Whatever you say," Agent Prince kept his gun trained on Serena's forehead as he spoke to a younger female who was just arriving through the open space where the front door once stood. He scanned the room, snatched Thomas Pepper's jacket off of the floor and through it across her buttock and the upper part of her legs. "Agent Blue, read this woman her rights, stand her up, and get her dressed and then get her the hell out of here."

Agent Blue does as she is commanded and cuffs Serena quickly. Prince helps her to her feet while another female agent shields her womanhood from view.

Four agents begin to escort her from the front while two more agents join Prince and the two women behind her.

Three male agents are helping poor Thomas Pepper to his feet. He looks as he has some of his curly hair has fallen out, and as if he has lost five pounds since before the interview began. There are dark circles under his eyes. "Serena?" He calls out to her and then: " _Serena_ ," He said again with enough urgency to stop her...and the FBI agents in their tracks. "No more games," Thomas said "Tell me...tell _us_ what is this new pressing question that People of Color will be asking in the days to come. Tell us now," Thomas pleaded, Serena thinking she did see tears misting in his eyes. He was weak. Outside of men like Caretaker and her father, they were _all_ so weak. Still, she had nearly gotten the man killed in his own home, so he was entitled to something out of this deal. He deserved to know. They _all_ deserved a chance to know the truth. So she lifted her head high enough so everyone in the room could see another yellow rose resting on top of Thomas' artificial fireplace where she kept company with the Dragon while she waited on him to return home.

"A yellow rose," Thomas said in a low voice, but everyone in the room was perfectly still, they could all hear. "A yellow rose stands for sympathy. You said it was to be another localized event. Who do People of Color in Atlanta need sympathy for, Serena?"

"Themselves," Serena said. "What is the 411 is now in the past. What is The Whirlwind is in our probable future...but for now the immediate question they all will be asking is, _where are our children?"_
Xavier

"It's alright, I've been expecting them," Julian Moore waved Xavier Prince, Warden Donald Bright, and Rose Dixon towards the crude checkpoint of file cabinets and high chairs with his pistol. "Shake them down, make sure they aren't armed and then let them through."

Julian Moore:

He was a brown skinned, wiry shaped Black man, whose eyes were large and very intense. He was tattooed from neck to foot and wore too much hair on his head for Xavier's taste.

He'd chosen an ideal location here down on the South end of the first floor for keeping these hostages safe, but well secured. The library was Calhoun's oldest structure in an already aged composition more wide than deep, with ten foot ceilings and was windowless as far as Xavier could see. He himself had spent many hours in this place during his in incarceration. This morning, Xavier could have lived without the musty smell that reminded him of old socks waiting to be washed in the laundry room. He tugged at his tunic as well; _damn, you would have chosen the only area in this whole prison that gets consistently warm this time of year, it is steaming down here._ Xavier knew that this zone set right on top of the prison's furnace. And Julian had his people intentionally turn the gage up to its highest setting.

Julian's Black Knights admitted Xavier and the others after an intense round of pat downs. Xavier heard one man, whose chest hair pushed up out of his tee shirt yell, what in the hell _he_ was doing here? Xavier was unsure whether the question was directed at him or the warden. The hostages, and it looked to be near a dozen civilians and a host of Calhoun's guards among them, were bound, gagged, stripped of all clothing except their under clothes and being kept together on the floor of the Fiction section of the Reading Library, packed tight and undignified in some type of cage.

"Julian," The wiry man lay his gun down on the table and embraced him like a brother. "What are _we_ doing?"

" _We_ wanted to see you before you left for Atlanta, left here for _freedom."_

"I was told that you demanded that I take part in any negotiation."

Xavier planted a hand on each hip and rolled his eyes back at the warden who was shifting in his stance and finding something more interesting to look at on the dirty carpet. _So you lied to my face, Donald._ Even in Warden Bright's darkest hour he was still cool, the ice still flowed through his veins. Circumstance had certainly dictated that Xavier would never call this man a friend, but he could respect the way he carried himself.

"I couldn't accept a release with these people's lives hanging in the balance." Xavier would play the warden's game, at least a little while longer. He turned his focus back to Julian. "I needed to stay around long enough to see you get through this."

Julian flashed his associates a look, perhaps 20 armed men in this room alone. "I tried to convince them to wait a few days longer, but the visitation from the Georgia State Council on Prisoner Safety and Welfare was too ironic, and to great an opportunity to let pass. _And Riot's Last Gleaming was upon Calhoun at last_." Julian said and raised his pistol high to the ceiling. The other prisoners cheered loudly.

The warden stepped in behind them after the applause died down. "Let's cut to the chase shall we gentlemen?" He said in a low voice. "You two know that I can't allow this...this insurrection to stand." He lowered his tone even further when he addressed Julian directly. "Inmate Moore, I must demand that that you release those state employees and prison guards into my custody immediately, return Calhoun to my control, and then return peacefully to your cells while you still can."

A dozen black Knights laughed behind them.

Julian's tone matched the wardens. "You aren't in a position to demand anything here... _sir."_

Warden Bright pushed past Xavier and Julian and then two Black Knights to where the hostages were being held. Half a dozen inmates trained their guns on him and Rose Dixon took a large step forward as if she would defend her warden...or die trying. Julian raised his right hand in the air for peace. He knew the warden's actions were truly of no consequence here.

"Is everyone here okay?" Warden Bright squeezed the bars with his fingers. "Does anyone need medical attention?" The ten men and two women made eye contact with him as best they could, but all shook their heads. The prison guards were being kept closer towards the copy room. "I need each and every one of you to trust me. I am searching for a way to secure your release as soon as possible." One of the women started crying, her pleas muffed by the gag over her mouth. "Be strong for your families. I won't let you die here. You have my word on that."

Julian hopped up on a desk and sat down. "Then, Warden, you must be prepared to give in to our demands." He said. "This prison that you inherited is a hell hole. You are a Prince of the damned."

"Look...Julian is it?" Xavier watched the Black Knight nod. "I've read my predecessors logs. Warden Fain's decade long rule here was nothing short of a travesty, to say the least. That, in part, is the reason I was brought in." Bright took his place next to Xavier and Rose Dixon. "But you haven't given my administration a chance to settle in. We haven't had a fair opportunity to fix what's broken here." He pointed towards the cage, the hostages hanging on his every word. "This gets us nowhere."

Rose said, "The National Guard and The Georgia State Police are in route as we speak, Inmate Moore. What kind of mood do you think they will be when they arrive and find out that not only that you have taken state employees hostage, but have them caged like common animals?"

"Look at the concern etched on my face, fat girl." Julian gleefully hopped down off the desk again. Xavier had known the man almost from the day he started his sentence. This wasn't an act, but Julian had been known to let his passions govern his thinking patterns. He turned his large eyes on Xavier. "You should have gotten the hell out of this place when you had the chance, bro." He said to Warden Bright. "And beyond our grievances we have nothing to talk about."

The warden cautiously pulled Julian's list out of his shirt pocket and read some of the list aloud so that the hostages specifically could hear them. "Every issue on your list is solvable or at least correctable, given adequate time an attention."

"Time's running low," Julian sprinted over to the cage and waved his pistol at the state workers. "These good folks over here don't have a lot of time."

Xavier swallowed hard. Up into this point he had been satisfied to lie back in the background of this crisis and observe. Now that he had attainted at least a little information, he knew it was time to start keeping his word to warden. He stuck a toothpick in his mouth.

"Julian, you are too smart to let a tremendous opportunity to advocate change—real change in this place, pass through your fingertips."

Julian's large eyes sunk a little as he tried to mask the hurt, the betrayal he'd obviously felt at that moment. "What in hell are you talking about, bro? And whose side are you on anyway?" He kept his pistol out, but thankfully with the barrel pointed towards the floor as he approached Xavier. "Your father taught us to seek retribution for sins committed against our brethren. This _is_ what we are doing here."

"Isaac Prince did say just that." Xavier stood on his toes and said it loud enough for the entire room to hear. "And I thought I taught you better than that, Julian. Have you completed the first to parts of the mandate? Have you and these Black Knights of yours gained self-respect first, respect of your family after that, and finally the respect of your community. Have you really?" When Julian failed to answer immediately, Xavier said, "My father taught us only after these tasks are completed in full, may we seek the retribution against those who have sinned against us."

Warden Bright finally spoke into the silence that followed. "Julian, you have my word that my office will bid out three or four of these maintenance issues by the close of business hours today."

"I'll hold him to his word, Julian." Xavier said.

Julian kept his pistol raised but dropped his head. Xavier knew from his long conversations with the man that the former gang banger was giving their proposal a long consideration. And where Julian Moore lead the Black Knights were likely to follow—

And then it all went to hell.

Rose Dixon moved quicker than any woman her size had the right to. She snatched Julian's pistol out of the grasp out of an inmate idly standing next to her, batted Julian's pistol from his hand, and had the first man's pistol lodged against Julian's head in one lighting motion.

" _Damn you, Rose,"_ Warden screamed at the woman. " _What are you doing?"_

Rose backed both her large frame and Julian, who she had in a choke hold, to the wall so no other inmate could slip in behind her. "Inmate Moore, you will order these men of yours to release these civilians right now or I will blow your brains all over this library."

Two of the Black Knights grabbed Xavier and he could feel the cold steel of guns planted on each side of his temple. A shiver ran down his spine. He had known fear before, but rarely had he experienced an episode bathed in such urgency. Warden Bright wasn't doing much better as three inmates surrounded him. The two guards that had accompanied them down here had drawn the remainder of gang bangers attention.

"Everyone," Xavier struggled to keep his voice from quivering. "Lower your weapons."

"Rose," The warden used his indoor voice, ironically suited for a library. "Mr. Moore and I were very close to reaching a gentleman's agreement weren't we, Julian?"

"How about it, Julian," Xavier asked, he tried to tilt his head away from at least one of the barrels trained on him. "Do we have an agreement, or are you going to sit back and allow a slaughter to begin over cold cells, clogged toilets, and frozen meals?"

"Sure," Julian struggled to say through the choke hold. Rose loosened her grip some. "All of the hostages we are holding here and the security personnel that are being held near the copy room will be released _only_ after the warden here agrees to all 31 of the issues that I've written on that paper."

Just as a victorious grin begins to play on Warden Bright's face it disappeared as if it never existed in the first place. He scanned the list again...and again from top to bottom with a trembling hand.

"Julian, you must be in error, son." He said. "You've got it numbered. I only count 30 requests on this paper."

Julian makes a hand motion for Warden Bright to flip the paper over to the other side.

The Warden exhaled in exasperation and looked away. "You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious." Julian didn't blink. Rose had released her grip enough for Julian to walk away from her without incident. The Black Knights still had their guns pointed at the three of them, but Xavier felt as if the chance of a slaughter had been downgraded a notch or two. He hoped that trend would continue. A lot depended on what Julian said next. "In exchange for the lives of your sweet, innocent civilians, Warden, I want these five known Klansmen brought here from the west wing. They were found guilty in a court of law and are now serving life sentences for the lynching and murder of three Black activists over in Albany seven years ago." Julian finally found his place, directly in front of Xavier Prince.

"You just said it, Julian," The warden said. "They were convicted in a Georgia court of law. They are serving _life_ sentences, justice has been served. What else could you possibly want from these men?"

"I want justice for what they've done _here."_

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

Xavier said, "Do you really want to do this, Julian."

"I tried to wait until you were released, my brother." Was all that Julian Moore could manage, he hugged Xavier Prince around his neck and whispered in the other man's ear. "You've done so much for me. I owed you this. I owed you...justice."

Julian released Xavier and turned back so that every inmate, prison guard, hostage and...every warden would hear his words...and remember.

"Let me tell you all a story, a true story, a tale full of glory _and_ sadness. A few years ago a young man by the name of Xavier Prince was accepted into Princeton University prestigious law school. He was only one of 138 who were accepted into a small, but impressive class that included another name that would be familiar to most people in this room, a hatemonger named James Carter." Julian Moore said, letting the names and faces burrow themselves in his listeners conscious. "Two men with very different roomed together, but rarely interacted, or at least it appeared that way to the other members of the freshman class and staff at the law school. Xavier and James Carter even roomed together." Julian looked back at Xavier with large, sympathetic eyes. "This man was the only Black man in the entire law program at the time; we are talking about Princeton here. Xavier Prince thrived during the day. He quickly rose to the top of his class. Some of his instructors have commented, even when they are interviewed now, that this man may have had the brightest law mind they had ever seen. I only wish he had done as well after dark. There were nights when he did feel...isolated. There were nights when he felt so very alone."

Julian began to pace the floor, slow at first, but soon his stride quickened until it was nearing a fever pitch. "James Carter hadn't had a whole lot to say to Xavier over the first year. In fact, there were times that the other young man seemed downright hostile to the young Georgia native, the son of a renowned Black activist, who had founded A House in Chains years earlier. Carter had grown up in Georgia as well. He'd been raised as the son of a man who ran a local chapter of the Ku Klux Klan."

Julian Moore had stopped in one sudden motion. All eyes in the room were fixed on him. Even Xavier Prince watched his every move.

One night, one very fateful night, Carter finally spoke at length with Xavier Prince. Carter knew about the other man's past and told Xavier that they should not allow their father's decisions affect how they lived their lives moving forward. They were going to be lawyers if not judges someday. They were going to change the world! Why should they not act like friends and go out and celebrate the future." Julian said and looked at Xavier Prince for a long time. It was Xavier who gazed away at last because he already knew how this tale ended, the horror that soon followed. He had lived it, of course.

"Carter had laid an ambush in waiting for Xavier Prince. Four local men from a New Jersey chapter of the Klan helped Carter beat the black man within inches of his life."

The woman hostage who had cried earlier looked as if a fresh round of tears were building in the corners of her eyes. An inmate cursed. Warden Bright said, "God Almighty," and looked away.

Julian continued when the room quieted again. "This is all heartbreaking but true. Yet, friends and neighbors, we haven't reached the tragic climax of this story just yet." He put a long emphasis of his pronouncement of the word _just_ for effect. "The four local men stripped Xavier of his shirt, then they stripped him of his pants and his underwear...and then they stripped a Black man...a Man of Color...of everything left that was meaningful to him. They stripped Xavier Prince of his _dignity_." Julian stopped for breath. This was a harrowing tale for Xavier Prince to hear. And if he hadn't experienced it...lived through it himself...he might not have believed such a horrible thing could have truly have happened.

"James Carter took a bullwhip that was a going away gift from his father, and whipped Xavier with it. He lashed him...once...twice... _thrice..._ again and again...and again. He told Xavier that _he_ was in control here. The man on the wrong end of the bullwhip was actually the governor of his own fate. Carter told him that the lashes would only continue until the beaten man screamed."

One of the inmates, a man who looked the part of a fish out of water, walked behind Prince, gave him a hard measured look...and ripped the shirt from Xavier's body. He had to see for himself if Julian Moore's story were true.

Xavier Prince stood motionless in the middle of the library, lonely once again, except for his scars and the mark of A House of Chains to comfort him.

"32 strokes later, for each year that Sarah Woodward, Xavier Prince mother had lived, he finally did scream. Some neighbor residents have testified years later that they heard it. They say that this scream...this _sheik_ that went on, what sounded like forever...sounded inhuman."

Julian Moore stopped long enough to center his attention on Warden Bright. "This inhumanity hadn't written its final chapter and verse just yet." Julian stressed the _just_ one last time. "The four local Klan's men had planted a cross in an empty lot just off campus. However, Carter, the young brilliant mind that he was, had the men dig the cross up and alter its shape. After all, Xavier Prince was the son of the founder of A House in Chains. He deserved better than to have his wrist and ankles strapped to a cross like _lesser_ Black men.

"A half an hour later the other men had reshaped the cross into an X...for Xavier, of course." Julian suddenly stopped, choked back tears. Three other hostages, several inmates and one prison guard, who had a dash of salt and a pinch of pepper in his beard failed to hold back theirs. Xavier drunkard eyes only misted. "He was nude and beaten, so it took the strength of three men to rope his wrist and ankles to the X. Carter watched the entire scene with his own arms crossed...and a satisfied grin on his face."

"Xavier was up against a wind. He hung there until an 11 year old white girl saw him while she was walking to the bus stop two days later. Neighbors say that she had unleashed quite an impressive scream out herself."

Warden Donald Bright rubbed at his nose and mouth again and again until Xavier thought the man's face would chafe. Rose Dixon never moved, and her pretty face showed little reaction.

Julian Moore finished the story by saying, "For a long time, Xavier Prince never revealed who did it. The Four local men went back their lives. James Carter suddenly got homesick, quit school, and went home to work in the family business." Julian Moore said. "But the walk of death and life would not take Xavier Prince without a fight. He recovered from his wounds in a local hospital over the next several weeks, returned to Princeton...finished at the top of his class, and earned and graduated with a law degree."

"And these men you are asking for that are in this prison?" Warden Donald Bright asked while the room still sat quietly, in a stunned silence. It was such a quiet moment that it felt it the Earth herself was holding still. "What do they specifically have to do with the disturbing story you just told us?"

"I have proof that these types of men can't be rehabilitated. I have proof that that these types of men have the culture of hate for Men of Color imbedded in their hardened hearts." Julian Moore scooped up Xavier's shirt from the floor and handed it back to him. After he put it back on Julian said to the warden, while never taking his eyes off Xavier. "Most importantly, I have proof that James Carter had paid these men to kill Xavier Prince as he was originally scheduled to leave Calhoun Prison today."
Serena

The FBI hoped to sneak her into the courthouse after midnight and under the cover of darkness.

Serena Tennyson estimated that at least a 1000 Atlanta resident had proven their logic flawed.

They had camped out in the parking lot across the street from the courthouse, in the bowels of the parking garage behind the building and had begun sitting on the curve beside the road. Most were baring picket signs, screaming obscenities, humming old Bible hymns and chanting. The boldest of them had flung eggs and pebbles and stones at her, before the APD identified the offenders and launched their selves into the mob to apprehend them.

Serena could barely breathe in the bullet proof vest that covered her from just below her neck to her shins. The FBI has stuck a helmet, something what a gladiator would dawn before entering the coliseum for battle. Special Agent Christopher Prince continued to keep his vice like grip on her already chained wrist with his left hand, while shoving the back of her hair and head as far down as her tall frame could manage. His partner, Agent Tabitha Blue, pushed her forward by the base of her spine. Serena had never felt so irritated and so... _comforted_ by another human being's touch.

" _Make a hole people,"_ Agent Blue screamed at the mass of uniformed police and members of the press that had clogged the walkway that led to one the side entrances of the courthouse.

Serena felt nauseated...discombobulated...as if he were now floating and not walking. For a single moment in time she was transported back in time, back in _place._ This scene played out so very much like the way her marathon races would end when she was in her freshman year in high school. Reporters, teammates...and most importantly, her father, would be waiting for her as she led the field after a long race.

_I want you to remember how you feel right now;_ he had told her after winning a particularly grueling contest. _When life throws you its most tormenting curve, when mankind is at its ugliest, I want you to think of how you overcame it all to achieve this triumph. I want you to always treasure_ this _moment right here, right now; and never forget the Dragon's call: You'll do fine, you will be good, and you can still fly._

A stone found the tiniest gap between the lid and the protective visor and stuck her near her left cheek.

"It came from over there," Blue stopped long enough to tug at the shirt tail of one of the uniformed officers. "I want the person who threw that arrested right now." Blue stood back to back with Serena, and wrapped her arms around the other woman's hips killing any gap between them. "Stop this madness, now. I promise you that Justice will be served if you allow us to do our jobs." She spun back around and quickly restarted where she left off shoving Serena forward. "Make a Goddamned hole, people." Blue said. "Move it."

The processing portion of her detention was an exercise in time consumption and humiliation. First, a butterball of a man drinking from a coffee mug, greeted Agent Prince, shook his hand, and told him that they would be assigning two female officers to stay with the prisoner at all times while they process her. Secondly, the two women joined the FBI ensemble, walked her to the area where they fingerprinted her, snapped several mug shots, and unlocked her wrist and ankle chains and made her shower. "It's so cold in here." She hugged herself, twisting around so the Dragon showcased its power and beauty to all the nonbelievers in the low lighting, until the two female officers protected her privacy by blocking anyone else's line of vision with their own frames.

"Your processing will be concluded soon enough." Agent Prince signed a form for one officer whose hair was a matted mess, and then entered his authorization code on a data pad for another one who had a grease stain on his chin. "They're scheduling you for a very early arraignment in the morning—he looked at the digital clock on the wall—later _this_ morning."

"Thank you," Serena said with her lip quivering, her body warming at a glacial pace. Agent Prince ignored her and had already taken steps toward the exit. "You have proven to be every bit the opponent that your brother has been."

Agent Prince spun back around. "I'll say this to you this one time, Serena," He said. "Don't talk to me, don't _ever_ talk to me."

Serena lowered her head, letting the warming water wash over her red hair. "As you wish," He turned back to exit again when Serena added: "But you and I will fellowship again before my end, before the Whirlwind begins. I have seen it in the flames."

Serena's words had halted the special agent's progress in the middle of the doorway. _You are a strong man, Christopher...stronger than your brother is in fact, but at the end of the day, if you do not turn from your nonbelieving ways and accept the Dragon..._

And yet, Agent Prince did not accept the Dragon into his heart then and Serena doubted that he would anytime soon, as he walked out of the door without responding or looking back at her.

An hour later it was all over.

Serena lay on the hard tile of her jail cell. When Serena parents died weeks after she'd won that marathon, she'd lived the remainder of her adolescent years moving from border home to border home. The family's changed. The rules and regulations changed. The rooms changed. The beds changed. The floors _never_ changed. She had found a stability, familiarity and comfort in them that had stayed with her all the way through adulthood. Lying on this floor was no different than the one in her condominium in suburban Atlanta home and no different than luxurious hotel suite that Pilot had leased for her at The Bank of America Hotel where she was staying when she unleashed 411 on the city of Atlanta.

Agent Tabitha Blue and the two other female agents had long abandoned her for other duties. She knew, from research, that the courthouse and adjoining jail housed at least 50 female prisoners but they had isolated her from the other inmates. The room was too cool to her liking, the lighting low, and she was far from the Dragon's flames...or its love.

They had assigned her three uniformed officers, one of them female, the other two males, all three People of Color on the other side of her bars. Serena was sure that there were countless other officers on the other side of the door, down the hall, and guarding the sides of the building. The FBI wanted to guarantee that no one would try to extract her from the courthouse and no one was getting in either.

At last, a blessed sleep threatened to pull her up into its bosom, she prayed it would be without nightmare...or visions...

Serena Tennyson was wrong.

She was so _very_ wrong...

The light that greeted her on the other side of sleep, or wherever this was, nearly blinded her. She had to shield her eyes from the brightness as she walked towards the lone figure that she saw. Someone...it looked like a man, was sitting cross legged on a wooden bench in a park. There were no birds humming or flying, no bees buzzing about, there didn't even so seem to be ants crawling in the dirt. Outside of Serena and this man, there didn't look to be anything living in the park besides the trees and bushes and flowers scattered about.

She walked up to the bench.

Thomas Pepper looked back over his shoulder at her.

"Hello." He said. "I thought you would never get here."

"What are _you_ doing here?" Serena asked. She would not panic the way a non-believer would. The Dragon had exposed to her to an abundance of stimuli since she had accepted his calling after her parents death. Visions and prophecy had been introduced her in dreams before...this was no different.

"Your contact with Pepper at his home, that _intimacy_ you experienced with that man led to _this._ I am but a shadow, an echo of that man you know on the other side." He beckoned her to sit next to him. After she obeyed, he said, "Serena, I'm here today... _tonight_ in your world _,_ to offer you the opportunity to turn away from the path you are walking. This is _your_ last chance to avoid disaster. This is _your_ last chance to avoid The Whirlwind."

"The Whirlwind," She laughed the sound of it foreign in her own ears. "The Whirlwind is something that Caretaker conjured up, something that I will implement of my enemies if it—"

"The Whirlwind is something a great deal more personal than that, Serena." Thomas Pepper or this entity that wore his guise said. "Serena, every human being, even those who follow the teachings of the Dragon like you do, potentially suffer from their _own_ Whirlwind if they are pushing too hard...if they are reckless. You have been reckless, Serena."

She sat back on her heels. "I have followed the teachings of The Dragon. I have followed the wishes of the Caretaker."

"You have not exercised free will. Your recklessness will result in destruction beyond repair and the death of a great many people. From this point forward you will bring out the bad in good men. And bring out the _worse_ in bad men. Yet, if you turn away right now, then your Dragon is little more than a metaphor...your Caretaker in error, or a liar."

Serena had no response for what Thomas Pepper said. He was on his feet; a big man dressed in one of the other's signature tailored suits and extended a big left hand to her. She avoided human contact as often as he could...but he wasn't quite _human_ was he? _And until Thomas Pepper, the_ real _Thomas Pepper had seen my nakedness as I undressed in front of him at his townhouse before the Feds arrived..._ no man had ever seen all of her. Serena had kept herself pure as the teachings of the Dragon had expected of her. She accepted his hand and walked with him.

One minute all of the light in the entire world was behind them, while darkness ruled the realm in front of them. After another minute, three doors appeared out of the nothingness. Serena waited on Thomas to explain...but all he did was squeeze her hand...touch her unlike she had ever allowed a man on the other side to touch her before.

He wore a tired, sad look on his squared jaw. "As you can see, Serena there is three doors in front of you. Behind each one is a point that you can avoid your Whirlwind, here and now. If you choose not to...if you choose unwisely, then you risk the probable outcome of what you see evolve from behind each door." He said. She nodded in understanding, but did not interrupt.

"When you are exposed to each scenario, I will ask you to turn away and that door will close to you forever. Again, if you choose not to...again, if you choose unwisely, we will move to the next door and so on. If you have not turned way back the time the third and final door shuts, I will simply ask you to turn _around,_ so you may continue you're walking your path towards your own personal Whirlwind." He paused for a very long time. "Do you understand, Serena?"

"I do."

Thomas released her hand and she let it fall to her side.

The first door opened and a tiger...albeit it a _paper tiger_ leaped out. She drew back, fearing at first that she would be the object of its attention. It swerved around her, lay on its stomach for an instant, snarled and let out a mighty roar. Then it repeated the same action, but when it opened its fanged mouth this time it _purred_ like a common housecat would. In fact, Serena took notice of its stripes and how the stripes altered color and shape and number with each blink of her eye, as if the thing didn't know what type of tiger it actually was.Finally, the darker stripes remained, the snarl intense, and Serena imagined the roar would be frightening when it decided to unleash it again.

Six chocolate covered paper children began walking hand and hand down a paper street. Serena watched the snarl from the paper tiger intensify. At the right moment he pounced on the children...one...and then another...and another, until he was standing with all of his weight on top of them. The chocolate children flapped their arms and legs but the tiger was too heavy, too powerful to remove. Their mouths opened to scream and either Serena couldn't hear them or the sound wasn't coming out.

Another minute passed. In the second minute, one of the paper chocolate children stopped waving his arms and legs...he stopped moving at all. The next minute saw another child repeat the action or _inaction_ of the first one. The remaining children opened their mouths wider, but again Serena heard nothing ushering out.

Thomas Pepper said, "What is your decision, Serena?"

She folded her arms and stood flatfooted in defiance. "I understand the symbolism here, Thomas." She said in a confident voice. "The Paper Tiger is Louis/Hugh Keaton. Those children are caricatures of Black children in Atlanta. Although the two deaths are unfortunate, Operation _Where are our Children_ looks as if it succeeded as I planned it."

So Serena nodded her head, _no._

The first door closed, she heard an audible _click_ of a lock bolting and second door opened immediately thereafter behind her.

Thomas Pepper said, "You should turn away."

And Serena was surrounded by flames.

The _Whirlwind_ was all around her. Thomas looked unfazed. She fanned the flames as best she could, but they only seemed to grow in intensity and heat. She ran back into the light and seemed to find some relief from the inferno there. Thomas was standing next to her at this point as if he'd always been by her side.

In the distance, Serena saw a small scaled replica of Atlanta. The flames had encompassed the city from the sides and from areas both front and behind it. Paper people ran one way and then another. She _could_ hear them screaming this time. The shrieks of fear and pain nearly overwhelmed her. Some of the cries cascaded from people that she knew.

_Am I signally responsible for all of this death and destruction,_ Serena thought, but dared not say aloud.

"You are," Thomas voiced the answer to her thought. He turned to her but never lost his eye for the flames. "Turn away from your path here, turn away right now and this destruction stops before it ever begins."

Serena neared tears. Her father had sacrificed so much. The Caretaker had sacrificed so much more.

"No." She said again.

The second door closed, and once again she heard an audible _click_ of a lock bolting and the third and final door opened immediately thereafter behind her.

Thomas Pepper said, "You should turn away."

There was a huge paper chocolate man stomping about. What Serena noticed most about him is that he wore a crown on his brow that grew larger and larger...and _larger_ as the minutes passed them by. He had a flock of paper people walking behind him. And there numbers grew so big, so fast that Serena quit trying to count them all.

Across a street, a group of paper pasty white people were marching towards to where the huge chocolate man with the oversized crown and his flock were standing.

The crown eventually grew _too_ large for the chocolate king and Serena heard it rattle as it fell around his ankles. He clumsily marched on and tripped over his own crown. If he was dead or injured from his fall, Serena could not tell.

Both the chocolate colored paper people and the pasty white paper people paused for only a minute as if they were honoring the fallen, drew out paper _sticks_ and charged each other.

Many of the chocolate covered people fell from what...some type of an _illness_ or disorder ...even before the battle had been engaged.

When the combat had ended there were scores on both sides who had been slaughtered. Serena saw such much red paint...so much blood, that she felt the same sensations in her gut, chest, head and face as she did when The FBI rushed her into the side entrance of the courthouse.

She hugged herself, and felt her body trembling.

Thomas had to stop himself for reaching out to comfort her. He bore a look mixed of frustration, disbelief, anger and sadness.

He said to her, "You should turn away."

"I _can't, Thomas."_ She yelled over the cries of the dead and dying. "Even if I wanted to, _I've come too far to turn back now."_

The final door closed, and Serena found that after she blinked again that she and Thomas were seated on the wooden bench as when this whole episode started. This time, however, she saw birds flying in the sky, she heard bees buzzing about, and a school of ants crawled on her shoe.

Thomas Pepper had changed with the scene as well.

He had lost a lot of his weight, his hair had thinned and most of the life had drained out of his eyes.

He was watching children playing in the distance...what appeared to be _real_ children, not paper caricatures, playing together in a space perfect for viewing although he couldn't reach out to them as he might have wanted to.

He slowly turned around and found her eyes with his own tired, sad eyes.

And Thomas Pepper or whatever this entity had been said, "You should turn around, Serena." And when she did not right away he said again with gruff in his tone. " _You should turn around..."_

...And when Serena did finally turn around, she was back on the jail's floor and had tuned in time enough to hear one of the male uniformed officers' call out to the other one. "Hey Freddy,"

Officer Fred Dennison:

He was a brown skinned Black man who was all chests, shoulders, afro and beard. Since his friend had broken his concentration, he stopped doing his paperwork long enough to stretch and yawn. The lone female officer noisily pushed her chair back from her own desk and told the other two that she was stepping out back for a smoke and would make another pot of coffee, if they wanted some, when she got back.

Dennison called out to her: "Please do, Pam. Just make sure you wash your nasty ass hands before you do." Both men laughed. She removed the cigarette from her fingers long enough to give her co-workers the finger before closing the door behind her.

Fred stretched again and said to the other officer: "And Joe, I ain't got time for your bullshit. It's almost 7:30 AM. The sun's already up. You see all this paperwork I still got to finish before the end of our shift an hour from now. The old lady's about sick of all the overtime I've been working. I'm going to get this shit done, and work a little somethin'...somethin' this morning with her before she's off to work herself."

Joe Wilson had ignored his friend and edged himself closer to her cell. "Yea, you'll tell me anything, Freddy. But I've seen you watching this one since they brought her ass in last night." Wilson said to his friend Fred Dennison without looking at him. "Why don't you come a little closer and take a closer look at this."

Officer Joe Wilson:

He had a small build, golden brown skin, green eyes and his hair could not decide whether it was brown or red when the sunlight hit it from above.

"She's a little bony for my taste, man." Officer Dennison replied and went back to his paperwork. "I know you like them types though. I'll tell you what...why don't you look enough for the both of us while I finish this—"

"Why don't you come over here?" Joe Wilson waved a single finger at her.

Serena's heart thumped louder in her chest as she sat up and slid her frame into the corner of her cell as far as she could from Officer Joe Wilson and his little probing green eyes. He kept summoning his friend to his side, the other man finally giving in to the chiding.

"You know, I was talking to one of the reporters outside, you know after the cameras finally went dark last night." Officer Wilson said. "Patsy Clark, you know the brunette who looks like she needs a new hairstylist, actually allowed the word _brilliant_ come out of her mouth when she went to describing this bitch. Patsy thought that even after what this woman said on that web program with that other reporter...what's his name...the big guy?"

Dennison nodded his fat head. "Yea, you are talking about Pepper, Thomas Pepper who used to write for _The Advocate."_

"Yea, that's him."

"And now that you say it, I remember what you told me that chick reporter said to you last night." Dennison's frown grew intense. "She thought it took a superior mind to conjure up mining those streets that led to Pepper's crib like that."

Wilson shook an oversized key ring out of his pocket, sifts through them until he has found the correct one, and unlocks her cell...and steps inside. Dennison takes a long hard look over his shoulder for Pam, gazes back at his partner and ask him what in the hell did he think he was doing.

"If she's so smart I need her to educate me some."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know Johnathan Boatwright?"

Dennison had to search his memory. "Yea, I know him; he's a skinny dude who worked Buckhead a lot last year."

"He _was_ a skinny dude, man." Joe Wilson said. "He was one of the first patrolmen to get the call when the feds learned that she was up at Pepper's townhouse."

" _Boom!"_ Fred said and threw his hands towards the ceiling to highlight the effect.

Serena jumped. She steadied her left hand as Fred Dennison laughed out loud at his own stupidity. _Stay calm, Stay focused, s_ he thought, _let them have their fun. They aren't stupid enough to try anything with you._

Under normal circumstances her training would provide her with more than an adequate chance to disarm and kill both these men with simply her bare hands. But she'd been weakened by her processing, her lack of food and proper rest. And, rather she wanted to admit it or not, shaken to her marrow by the vision she'd experienced with the parody of Thomas Pepper and his three doors to prophecy.

And that hard look...the look of hatred, especially in the eye of the big one, Officer Fred Dennison unnerved her.

"A blast like that normally would kill a man on the spot." Officer Wilson was saying.

"What, Joe, don't tell me that he survived?"

"Nah, man...Boatwright died last night." Wilson sounded remorseful. "He lived long enough for me and some of the guys to see him at the hospital."

Wilson began to approach her again, while his partner backpedaled towards the door where Officer Pam Greer had walked out of to smoke her cigarette. Serena felt the cold steel of the bars behind her massage her shoulders as he leaned on them. Her lips trembled and she tasted something sour in her mouth.

Joe Wilson stood nearly on top of where she was seated.

"I'll never forget the look of uncertainty plastered in Boatwright's eyes even as his face couldn't be seen under all those bandages." Joe said in a low voice that only she could hear. Fred Dennison was well out of hearing range. "He was so scared."

Serena had hoped that Dennison, at the least, would come to his senses when he reached the door. But instead of looking out of it for Officer Greer she heard him lock it, the bolt sliding true with an audible _click._

The sound reminiscent of the closing doors of prophecy in the vision she experienced earlier.

"What I like is that the same look my friend had in his eyes before he died," Wilson continued. His friend Dennison had reentered the cell and locked it behind him. "I really like that you... you little _brilliant_ bitch, you have that look on _your_ face right now as well."

Joe Wilson shook his red head once and then again. "But I'm going to wipe that look off of your face; there ain't any reason for you to be scared of old Joe." He slid his belt through his loop, handed his gun to Fred and began to unbutton his pants. He asked about Greer, while he kicked off his shoes.

Dennison's hard look held up. He told Wilson that Greer was probably running her mouth with the detectives who were arriving early for their shift. She ain't had a steady man in months.

"Well, that fact is gonna change real fast for you isn't it, Rooster?" Joe said to her as he lifted her chin. "Even after you threatened Black children in front of the entire world, it wasn't a guarantee that our justice system would convict you. Even after you admitted that you gave the order to kill innocent people on 411 there was _still_ no guarantee that they would toss you in a cell like this one and throw away the key."

"You're right, Joe." Dennison agreed. " _They_ always get off."

He squatted down next to her and Serena turned her head away. "What I am going to do right now...I'm going to be _brilliant._ I am going to prove once and for all that rape is not about sex but about _power._ I'm not the least bit attracted to you. But I'm going to _guarantee_ that you never forget this moment of my total control over you."

Wilson ripped at her jail issued gown, while he fumbled with releasing his manhood from his trousers. Dennison has his own gun out and pointed at her head and the look of hatred on his face is unnecessary because Serena was already convinced that he will shoot her if she makes too much of a fuss.

Serena struggled, shook her head wildly in denial, and managed to flip over, ending up on her knees.

That didn't work in her favor however. Wilson uses the bars of the cell...and then his own body weight to pin her in the corner.

Serena had exhausted her last avenues of escape.

If she dared to scream, she knows that Dennison will shoot her.

She can feel Wilson's hand ripping at her underwear...she can feel _him_ hardening as it begins to part her thighs and grace her pubic hairs.

Serena remembered her conversation with Louis Keaton, in what feels like a lifetime ago: _And often too many of them are uneducated, unreliable and act too_ uncivilized _to contribute to society._

Wilson slapped her once across her head and when her face took the brunt of an impact with the bars all of her resistance at last came to an end.

As the first tears ran down her face, Serena Tennyson looked past the bars, and in her mind's eye she saw her father waiting for her at the end of a grueling marathon. _I want you to remember how you feel right now_ , his voice resonated lovingly in her mind, _when life throws you its most tormenting curve, when_ _mankind is at its ugliest_ , _I want you to think of how you overcame it all to achieve this triumph. I want you to always treasure this moment right here, right now; and never forget the Dragon's call:_

You will be fine.

You'll be good.

You can still fly.

Serena heard a gunshot.

And then she heard the glass on the topside of the door where Officer Pam Greer has gone to smoke shattering.

Officer Joe Wilson stopped before he could finish entering her, before he could go where she had allowed _no_ man to go before in her life. The woman was calling for them.

Dennison said, "Turn your ass around, Pam, and walk back out of here right now."

Pam Greer held her nine millimeter out in front of her, her feet planted squarely on the tile, and didn't move, not with eight shots still left in her gun.

"Back off of the prisoner _right now_ ," She commanded them. "If both of you idiots want to live you'll do as I say."

Serena could hear the cavalry—dozens upon dozens of uniformed officers running towards this block. Wilson yells back at Greer that Serena deserves this and so much more. Dennison turns his own gun on Pam—a mistake in which she makes him pay with his life, when she fires two rounds into the skin just above his left eye before he completed his turn.

"Joe, don't make me kill you too." Pam said, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Officer Pam Greer:

She was a petite brown skinned black woman with big brown eyes, big lips and a stylish haircut who was holding a big nine millimeter handgun in her small hands.

Wilson knew that he wouldn't be able to reach his gun that was trapped underneath Fred Dennison's dead body—so he must have decided right then—that if he was going to die this morning that he would serve Serena her breakfast first.

He grabbed Serena by her head and decided to shove his manhood between her _other_ lips instead—

And Officer Pam Greer dropped him where he once stood by shooting him in his head.

Serena never moved from her seated place on the tile, while she watched the room fill with uniformed officers. One of the senior voices called for Officer Greer to stand down, first in a commanding, then a more sympathetic tone. She lowered her weapon but did not holster it.

Instead, she unlocked the cell door, entered, and kicked both weapons away from the carcass that was once Officer Fred Dennison. She choked back further tears and placed two fingers on his neck and checks for a pulse. Serena notes that death has robbed Dennison of his hard look that he must have learned to master over the years.

Next, while the other officers stare in a stunned silence, Officer Pam Greer moves on to Officer Wilson, performs the same ritual on him and finally stood up at her full height, finally relaxing her grip on her gun enough for a comrade to lift it from her fingers with a pen.

Three more officers entered Serena's cell and began to escort Greer out, as quickly as the woman who saved her, could manage.

"Officer Greer?" Serena called out to the other woman. Two plain clothed detectives began to attend to Serena's needs and sat her on the cot. " _Officer Greer?"_ She said when the petite, uniformed woman failed to answer her call the first time.

It took all of the strength and some time for the group of women to turn Greer so that the two women could see each other's face.

"I should thank you." Serena said.

Greer screamed.

When she had finished at last she said, "I've worked with both of those men for over five years. I know Joe's brother. I've met Fred's wife." She began to sob uncontrollably. "And now I have to go home this morning and explain to them that I killed them...for _you._ " Pam's head lowered in shame. "I killed these men because of you. So... don't...thank...me."

An hour after Officer Pam Greer was escorted out of her cell, Serena watched a half dozen detectives begin to mechanically examine the crime scene. Another group of three detectives took care of her needs. Serena was told by one, who knew his way around a buffet, that they would need a statement before the FBI arrived and took over the investigation. Her appearance in front of the Judge would be postponed for at least a day now, maybe two. She also was told that she had to refrain from showering until medical personnel could examine her.

Two hours later after she had made her statement, showered and changed, Serena lay on the tiled floor of a new cell with one window high above, and traded local law enforcement for a team of federal agents who were tasked at guarding her this time.

Serena shivered.

Behind her, rays of sunlight were glowing from the window. She wanted to warm herself...yet she remembered that once someone very dear to her saying that beams of sunlight radiating throughout small pockets of space, like in this room, were like the eyes of God piercing through. And that the guilty shied away from this light for fear of His judgment raining upon them.

If she didn't believe it the human deity...then why was she so... _hesitant_ ...Perhaps he _did_ exist after all?

She crawled backwards, lay in the trail of the light and let God's judgment rain upon her.
Xavier

"So deep down, at least a part of you knew that Julian would do something like this all along?"

Warden Donald Bright's blonde hair had darkened with sweat and his cheeks had reddened into a fine color of cinnamon. The entire search party: Xavier Prince, Warden Bright, Rose Dixon and two other uniformed were winded after a trek up to the sixth floor produced empty results. All five of Carter's men had escaped with many of the inmates on that level when A Riot's Last Gleaming started.

Xavier kept walking and didn't provide a response. Warden Bright quickened his pace and circled in front of the smaller man and blocked his path. Prince drunkard eyes flashed him a look or irritation. _We don't have time for this._ "Alright, Warden...so I _guessed_ that he would." Xavier cut his eyes at Rose Dixon who was hanging on every word exchanged between the two men.

Warden Bright caught his silent messaging. "Ah...Rose, take these two men and begin a search of the southwest block. When I studied the diagram of this place, I saw some isolated points over there that might provide a man some hiding spots." He pointed a finger at her. "Tell _no one_ any specifics of what you are searching for."

After this search party had concluded their meeting with Julian, Warden Bright had gone alone to speak with representatives of both the Georgia State Police and the National Guard. They had agreed, at least for now, to abide by his wishes and provide tactical support and a perimeter defense and not allow any convict to leave the interior of the prison itself. Bright told Xavier that they were on a time frame of two or three hours, no more, to bring this matter to a head. The woman who led the Georgia State Patrol assemblage told him that there had been an _incident_ at the courthouse in downtown Atlanta already during Serena Tennyson's arraignment. She wouldn't go into further details with him, but privately mentioned that state couldn't tolerate any more screw-ups.

Rose Dixon hadn't moved. "I won't leave you alone with this man. I don't trust him and either should you, Warden. For all we know, he may have been on this riot business with inmate Moore all along."

Warden Bright squeezed her big hands with some affection and smiled at her, the woman's own overreaction back in the library that nearly cost all of their lives forgiven. "I'll be fine, Rose." He said. "By splitting up, we will cover more ground this way. We need to find Carter's men before Julian's Black Knights get their hands on them. We'll be in a better position to bargain for the hostage's lives if we do."

Rose Dixon reluctantly agreed with a curt nod. After she and the two uniforms vacated the scene Xavier said, "Make no mistake here, Warden, the grievances on the front side of your list are all legitimate. Fain's rule here was a reign in Hell." Xavier stopped to rest and leaned his back against a nearby brick wall. "For the flip side of that paper, I suspected that the opportunity for Julian and his Black Knight's to strike back at Carter's associates would be too great to pass up once he figured I was safely off the premises." He stood up straight again. "You said you want truth from me. Well, the truth is I didn't know the specifics of this plan, or whether there was a plan at all, despite what your bodyguard thinks. I _do_ know that Julian is carrying out his plan the way that _I_ would, if I were in his place."

"Fain, that freaking idiot," Warden Bright spat on the floor. "How could he schedule this inspection, allow any unnecessary civilian passage through this place, especially the day of your scheduled release, knowing how volatile this situation had grown here."

"Did you get a radio off of one those uniformed officers before we left?"

"Shit, I didn't," He peered down the hallway, whistled at two uniforms within a patrol group and commanded that someone fetch him a radio. A bucktoothed sergeant gave Xavier a hard stare, but handed the Warden a radio anyway. Xavier took it and turned to channel four.

"What are you doing, Prince?" The Warden wanted to know. "Who in the hell are you calling?"

"Backup," Xavier grinned. "Julian has his plans. I have mine."

The Warden listened as Xavier disguises his voice, making it darker, richer as if he were of Mexican or Columbian decent and called for a guard named Evans.

Xavier completed a list of commands in Latin.

The man, Evans, on the other end responded in Latin as well, Xavier turned the dial to the off position and handed the radio back to the warden.

Warden Bright was struggling to keep his mouth closed and the look of astonishment off of his brow. "Who was that? What did you tell him?"

"Lieutenant Vincent Evans has been one of the most decorated guards at this and other state facilities for over 25 years. In the past year, however, he has taken the mark of A House in Chains...he has visualized our people's future and wishes to amend what he has saw."

"God, Almighty," Was all the warden could manage. After another second spent in disbelief he asked, "Are you going to share with me what you said to him?"

Xavier looked to each side to make sure the bucktoothed man who had brought the radio had returned to his post and that no other guard was coming. "I instructed Evans to gather up more help...more _Peacekeepers,_ and search every crack and crevice of the western wing of the promenade and the first floor. Carter's men still don't _know_ that I am not leaving per schedule. I would have had to exit through those sectors to complete my processing before my official release."

Yet, Warden Bright only could find the energy, the resolve to rest his bigger frame on the opposite wall from where Xavier had paused only minutes earlier. "How many are there," The Warden asked. "I want you to tell me how many of the state's men...how many of _my_ men share your vision of the future, Prince?"

"Enough," Xavier said and pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. _I need a cigarette._ "What is more important to you right now is that these prison guards know the layout of Calhoun better than Julian and his followers do. And I'm convinced that James Carter's hoods are where I say that they are. But we still have to find them. And whether it is because of an itchy trigger finger of one of Julian's Black Knights, or the imminent incursion by The Georgia National Guard and State Police, we are running out of time, Warden."

The warden shrugged. "Did you and Julian come to some type of agreement after I left to speak with the outsiders? Did you two already decide Carter's men's fates before they are even found?"

"We agreed that if I found them first that _I_ would decide their outcome. Those men's lives belong to me in Julian's eyes anyway." Xavier felt the other man glaring down at him "I never told him exactly what I do if I found them first, Bright. But it was the best solution that I could come up with at the time." He said and started to walk again—

The warden grabbed him by the forearm, but as soon as he gained his attention, he aptly let go. "I don't get this. I have to ask you the same question Julian did back in the library...whose side are you on, Prince?" Xavier only answered by swerving the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "I believe that horrible tale Julian narrated to the room back in the library. I believe that Carter's men had their sights on killing you later on today as you left the prison. What I _don't_ believe is that you will find these men and simply let them...walk away from all this and potentially anger the Black Knights and allow those hostages to be harmed."

Xavier jumped in the other man's face. Warden Bright must have seen a handful of guards reach for their sidearm and screamed at the men to put their guns away. "I'm not siding with you, Warden." Xavier chewed on the toothpick and willed himself to take a half a step backwards. "I am trying to protect the lives of those civilians who have been threatened, if only partially, in my name. I want to lessen the chances that they will be slaughtered if we don't find Carter's goons first. I'll worry about the ramifications, all the rest, once we've accomplished that much."

"I get it now," Warden Bright said three intersections and down a flight of stairs later. "In truth you don't really give a damn about those civilians. This is all about you. This is about politics and protecting the image of your precious little House in Chains."

Xavier snorted. "Of course, politics plays a role in every decision I make, Warden. You work in a governing position. You should know this." He ran a hand through his short mane of hair, forcing himself to remain calm. They had loss enough time as it was. "Militant behavior should never be the first option for A House in Chains. My father taught me that when he was the One. He taught his followers to exhaust any and all other avenues before we turn to violence."

"And your friend, Julian Moore, I don't think all of the skulls and crossbones tattooed to his body comfort me into believing he shares you or your father's views."

"Julian's been a gang banger for as long as he can remember." Xavier admitted to the other man. "The stories he told me...he fights, he kills, and he does these things because he hasn't learned how to do anything else. I will tell you that he has grown at least a little bit, because if he had not, then those hostages up there would already be dead." It was Xavier's turn to grab the warden's wrist, but only to check the time on his watch. "Warden, we need to move. We have unexpected allies, but time is not on our side."

"I know...but..." The warden placed a hand on each hip and shook his head in disbelief.

"What?"

"Like I told you in my office earlier, I've been in this game a long time and I thought that I've saw it all. I've seen men find truth and clarity locked inside these walls. I've seen men find sorrow for their victims and empathy for the families that have been left behind. I've seen hundreds of men find Jesus—if only because they had nothing else to do while they served out their sentence." Warden Bright said. "And yet, Julian Moore found _you."_

Just then, a stocky guard Xavier hadn't remembered seeing before during his incarceration at Calhoun ran up to them with a rifle in his hand. "Warden Bright, is that you, sir?"

"It is, Sargent." Warden Bright said to the man. "Report,"

"Lieutenant Evans and a group of four or five other officers are engaged in some type of standoff with some unidentified inmates on the promenade. Before I left to find you I saw a cluster of Black Knights closing on the section as well. Julian Moore was with them. If you'll follow me sir..."

When the three of them arrived on the promenade Xavier noted that Evans men, those who had accepted the mark of A House in Chains, had barricaded themselves between Carter's men and Julian's Black Knights who were arriving in force on the scene. One butter ball of man, with his head nearly between his knees gasping for oxygen, had proclaimed that Julian's people had found Carter's men first.

" _Liar,"_ Warden Bright shouted loud enough that every man on this floor knew that he and Xavier had arrived. "These prison officers are friends of A House in Chains. They share Xavier's vision for their people."

Julian walked, ever slowly towards where Warden Bright and Xavier Prince had made their stand. "I don't see it that way, Warden." He grinned for the first time that Xavier could remember since this crisis began. "I _do_ see that my men out number your men, what, four to one—five to one."

Xavier slid smoothly between the warden and Julian Moore. He said: "Stand down, Julian. This is over. You have been a thug. You have been a murderer who has killed without thought or conscious. Don't be a liar as well."

Julian stretched his amazingly large eyes to a full bulge, and Xavier inwardly braced himself to be struck by this gang banger that he had learned to call a friend and an ally in this hell hole.

Julian simply said, "Respect of self, Xavier...respect of family, and finally of community, yes I can recall your words to me as if you said them a minute ago."

"Then stand down, Julian," Xavier placed his right hand on a tattooed shoulder and rubbed at a particular area of skin that showcased the mark of A House in Chains amongst all the other body art. "You told me that if I found Carter's men first and Evans _is_ my man, then we had an agreement that their lives...or deaths as it may be, belong to me."

"I told you that I wasn't worthy of a seat in your house." Julian said in a remorseful tone. "I'm not as strong as you are, Xavier. I can't let go of what was done to you before. I can't push the thought out of my mind when we learned what they were planning to do to you on this day." Julian's voice cracked. "I'm no better than James Carter or these other fools locked up in here. I can't let go of my hate for _them_."

Xavier hugged the other man then and gave his wiry frame a brotherly squeeze. "I'm here for you, Julian. I'm here. There is no need for you to avenge me. You can't retaliate for a murder that has yet to occur."

Julian returned Xavier's embrace and cried for a long time.

And then he pushed the other man away and cocked his pistol once more.

"You are a great man, Xavier Prince. You are the man that I wish that I could be." He said "But you are wrong today. These men are too dangerous to not to kill here and now."

The Warden moved with the speed and precision that men half his age weren't blessed with. He was a blur. He was a thought. He was a ghost. He snatched a gun out of one of his own men's hands, so that he now possessed two, and drew it on the area where Carter's men had been forced to kneel. He shot and killed three of Carter's men before they had a chance to get to their feet. One of the Black Knights took the aggressive posture of The Warden as if he were acting against Julian and twisted his frame and placed it so he could get a clean shot off at Bright. In his mind's eye, Xavier could picture the lone uniform that had accompanied them down here targeting the gang banger and the remaining Peacekeepers aiming at _him._ So he used his small stature and strength to get underneath Julian's man just enough to make contact with his elbow, pushing the gun's barrel to the ceiling when the man fired off a round.

Meanwhile, the warden found his fourth target as one of Carter's men had lifted himself off his knees, charged past a Peacekeeper and lunged at Julian. _Time's run out,_ Xavier thought, _everyone within a hundred feet of the promenade had to hear those shots._ Soon, this corridor would be overrun with trigger happy Georgia State National Guardsmen and State Patrol Men. _God help us all._

Somehow the fifth and final hatemonger had stolen A Peacekeeper's weapon from him, shot the original owner, the man next to him and fired a third round that grazed Xavier's skull.

The bullet had struck the officer who had accompanied him instead, killing the man instantly.

Julian unloaded half a clip into the man, each bullet holding his frame up, so the one behind it could find its mark on the man's torso.

A second or two later, Warden Bright moved like a man on a mission needed to; he instructed Xavier's surviving Peacekeepers to place to place a gun that had been used in the exchange in a dead man's hand. Initially, no one moved so Warden Bright explained again louder but slower in case anyone was having trouble comprehending.

The deed was done as Rose Dixon led a group of nearly uniformed men and women onto the already crowded promenade. She was struggling to catch her breath, but her face brightened when she saw that Donald Bright was very much alive.

"Sir, are you alright, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Rose." Warden Bright squeezed the woman's arm. "All of you lower your weapons." He commanded to _everyone_ in the room, Julian's Black Knights in particular. "There are hostages up in the library who are waiting to be freed and a few people here who need medical attention, including myself."

Rose looked around the area at the carnage. Blood had been splattered on the walls and the floors. Xavier had lost his toothpick. "What happened here?" She asked.

Warden Bright pointed in the general direction of the five dead men who once belonged to James Carter and kept emotion of what sounded like a rehearsed answer to Xavier. "These men were operatives of James Carter and perhaps Pandora. They nearly ambushed me and Xavier Prince when we entered this section. Inmate Julian Moore in his Black Knights had already signaled to me that they were prepared to lay down their arms, release the captives and return control of the prison to my control. But they rushed to our aid when they first heard shots down here and Julian Moore killed the last assailant who would have shot me or Prince without his assistance."

Warden Donald Bright let his lies breathe and waited to see if anyone, including Xavier Prince, was stupid enough to deny his claims. Julian Moore swallowed a response he might have made and silently rolled his big eyes at Xavier.

Rose couldn't stop shaking her head. "I never should have left you, sir."

"There are plenty of questions that could use answers, Rose. I'm sure you don't envy the report that I'll have to write on this one." His smile was infectious as Rose and a few others let out a chuckle. Xavier folded his arms instead. _Circumstances dictate that I could never call you a friend, Warden Donald Bright._ He _could_ admire to collective way that the other man carried himself.

The warden and the gang banger stared at each other for a long time. This all wouldn't be truly over, until Julian relinquished his weapon and called on his Black Knights to do the same.

Julian broke eye contact first and headed his gun to the warden, butt end first.

It took less than two hours after that moment to release the hostages from the library where they had been caged like animals, to return the control of Calhoun State Prison to Warden Donald Bright, and have all of the convicts return peacefully to their cells.

All of the convicts save for one, Xavier Prince, the One, the leader of A House in Chains.

He was released into the custody of his two grade school aged boys who had to kneel on the concrete and brace himself as the leap into his arms for an extended embrace in the alley that separated the prison walls from the highway that led far away from here. Both of his children's mothers kept their selves at a polite distance away to allow him the moment with his children. He had never loved either of their mothers, but he had respected both of them more than ever before for their gesture.

As he walked down the alley with a son on each side of him he stopped his walking, to gander at a crowd that was massing at the end of the alley that seemed to be growing in number by the minute—by the second.

He must have seen a thousand People of Color standing there.

He handed his boys off to each of their mothers so they would not be separated in this throng of people. He blew a kiss at each of them and promised that he would be theirs...just theirs in the days to come.

He turned back to the crowd that began chanting his name. He inhaled a deep breath, wished for a cigarette or toothpick for which he had neither...and begun the long walk he'd always been destined to take.

Young kids hopped on the shoulders of adults for a better look at him. Women and even some teenaged girls giggled at him and hugged him and kissed him on his cheeks and jaws as he passed. He was lit up with the light from the flashes of cell phone cameras. Men his age and older waited patiently for their turn to shake his hand, pat him on the shoulder, or speak words of encouragement that the large crowd didn't really allow him to hear.

His walk didn't last as long as he might have imagined. Two very large Peacekeepers, who were dressed in the traditional garb of khaki suits, hoody's and sneakers, plucked his small frame up as if he were a child himself and placed him on their shoulders. He had protested but his cries fell upon deft ears, especially when the crowd saw what was happening and roared louder and louder with their approval.

At long last, the crying out, the singing, the chanting of his name ceased long enough for him to speak to the mass, while he sat high on these other men's shoulders. He asked, "Brothers and sisters, what do you see when you visualize our People's future?"

He heard the mass yell back to him in near unison. "We see days with misery and pain."

With the exception of the two Peacekeepers who continued to hold their leader up high, the crowd broke into the largest cheer so far...and then began to jump up and down in place.

Xavier Prince smiled for them and urged them on. _That is what a leader sometimes has to do for his troops, even if he doesn't feel like smiling._ He found the four figures of his two boys and their mothers some distance behind them and his smile grew wider and more genuine.

Warden Donald Bright had joined Rose Dixon and several other uniformed prison guards at the foot of the alley. And even at this great distance, Xavier Prince could read the question burrowed on their faces and answered them silently with a look of his own. _These People of Color before you are engaging in what we have come to know as the_ stomp.

It is the ultimate sign of pride, love of our people and cause...and the ultimate act of defiance against all of those who would dare try and hurt us.

Xavier Prince muttered a prayer on his lips that his people's defiance would be enough to save them from what may be coming.
Angel

She stumbled, ever so slightly, as she sat down in one of the chairs that encompassed Interrogation Room Number Eight of The Fulton County Courthouse.

Dr. Angel Hick-Dupree had only three shots of Tequila the night before. That wasn't enough to even start feeling _good._ She'd seen a shitload of patients running her practice down in Macon drinking heavier than that and with hours less sleep. She sipped at the mug of black coffee, _and it's just coffee only,_ she'd keep her word to Agent Sheridan about that part at least, and pulled her chair tight against the table.

She just needed an extra minute or two so she could stop feeling the world would stop spinning on its axis beneath her. _I'll be fine. I am fine_.

The room was a box shaped, cool, had a piss poor paint job, and had her friend Special Agent Christopher Prince, Sheridan and Agent Tabitha Blue hidden behind the mirror that served as the classic two way glass like they did in the movies. _I'm sure they're still getting set up back there._ She gathered together and then sorted the notes that the FBI wanted her to question Serena Tennyson about when she was brought in. _No one saw my stumble. I'm fine._

Two female agents followed by two uniformed female officers had escorted the leader of Pandora into the interrogation room. Angel could hear the prisoner's shackles with every final step she had taken before the door swung open and they began to methodically disconnect her from bondage.

Deputy Director couldn't in his wildest wet dream imagine that his troops would have bagged such a prize, but here Angel was now seated across from her in an orange jumpsuit that mandated that she was an inmate of The Atlanta Justice System. Angel smoothed out her eyebrows, pushed the collar of her silk blouse down into she felt it was perfect, took one last drink of her flavorless black coffee and focused on the moment, as she had always successfully done before. The FBI needed as much Intel as they could about Pandora's current and future operations. It was time for Angel to earn her keep.

"Hello, Angel," Serena initiated the conversation. "How long has it been now... a year...two? I've looked so forward to seeing you again."

_Oh no, Serena, we need to keep this conversation professional, impersonal...and focused on_ you, _at least for now._ "I'll remind you that you have waved your right to be represented by legal counsel at this time."

"I have."

"I will also remind you that anything you tell me, you are sharing that information willingly with representatives of Federal Bureau of Investigations," Angel made a slight inkling of her head to left where the mirror sat on the wall. "And they have representatives present on the other side of that glass."

"I'm fine, Angel." Serena said without looking at the mirror herself.

Angel scanned the other woman's face; she had the slightest discoloration building underneath her eye and some purple bruising on her forehead and a cut by her left ear. The mastermind behind the vicious and cowardly attacks that had killed scores of innocent Atlanta residents deserved to be tried, convicted and even potentially executed for her crimes. _I will gladly pay to reserve a seat at that party._

Still...no woman, not even this one, deserved to be whipped...and nearly raped, especially when she was supposed to be under the protection of the Atlanta legal system. _I know that everyone from Rice to Sheridan to the APD is taking a beating by the media and women's group for the two men's behavior._

And now she and Serena had another bond that tied them together.

Angel reached for her coffee out of habit, the cup lukewarm against her fingertips. Serena matched her movement and swallowed a third of a cup of water in a single gulp. Since the incident Serena has been assigned a shift of four female guards to stay with her at all times. Sheridan shared the report with Angel as she arrived at the courthouse this morning: Serena was eating very little, only the fruits and vegetables that came with her meals. She _was_ consuming water by the gallons. And she was seen muttering prayers from time to time in her cell.

Angel cleared her throat. "Both the FBI and the Atlanta Police Department extend a full-fledged apology for the trauma that you experienced at the hands of state employees." Angel said. "I assure you that either association condones such behavior, in fact it is unacceptable and intolerable in their eyes. A full investigation is taking place, even now as you and I speak."

"It's not your fault, Angel." Serena said quietly.

Angel stole a peek at her associates standing behind the glass. She could imagine Christopher pacing like a caged tiger. Sheridan probably was standing stoic, almost a statue in concentration. And she didn't know Tabitha Blue well enough to give a fair opinion on the younger woman. _Remember to focus, Angel,_ she thought to herself as she planted her two inch heel on the floor.

"I'll share this with you, Serena," Angel leaned close. "It took some prodding to convince the FBI to allow me to conduct this conversation with you, especially considering my short stay in Pandora." Actually, it was Sheridan's idea, but Angels' lying, especially to herself over the years about the booze and the men, flowed so naturally that sometimes she couldn't help herself. "If you have any statements you would like to make, if you have anything meaningful to say to me this would be one hell of a time to start."

"All in good time," Serena sat back in her chair far enough to cross one matchstick of a leg over the other. "How is Thomas Pepper? Are your _associates,_ as you call them, treating him well? And try telling the _truth_ this time."

Angel shifted her feet under the table. "I'm not at liberty to speak about him at this time."

"How deeply do they suspect that he is involved in this?" Serena acknowledged the people behind the mirror for the first time with a quick glance.

"How _deep,"_ Angel said in a quick burst of anger. "Eight APD officers and two federal agents died from the result of you having the roads to his townhouse mined during your little visit. He is _involved_ in this, Serena. In so many words you threatened to have black children kidnapped if Xavier Prince and the others in A House in Chains don't disband and turn themselves in." Angel felt a snarl curl on her surgically enhanced lips. "That means you will be _involving_ Louis Keaton, a known pedophile, which also involves... _me,_ because I treated his sickness when he was a patient of mine when I served under you." Angel got to her feet and made quick circle of the room. She combed her brunette hair with her fingers. "We're all in this thing together. The feds will have to make their decisions to who is truly involved and to what extent."

Serena sat back in her seat in silence. Angel sat back opposite her and examined her facial expression for any sign of ... _anything._ Serena had always been a glacier. Angel had rarely run into anyone that was difficult to gage their emotional state, if at least on an introductory level. That is why Angel had felt that she was reaching Louis Keaton, getting at the core of where his real issues were.

But Serena Tennyson was either asking about Thomas Pepper because she hoped to distract Angel from conducting her interview at her pace and with the subject matter she wanted or did the woman truly has a concern over the man's well-being? Did anyone truly know the extent of the two's relationship? Christopher had told Angel about the shrine Thomas had dedicated to the wall of his spare room. Angel glanced at her wristwatch. _Maybe, they'll get more out of him that I'm getting out of her._ Christopher and Agent Blue should have left from behind the glass by now so that they could conduct their own... _debriefing,_ she wouldn't call it an interrogation, with Thomas Peeper down the hall.

Now it was Serena's turn to lean over...and she locked her long fingers with Angel's.

"Emissary, when have you last had a vision?"

Angel snatched her hand back with such suddenness, with Serena's grip so tight, that the retraction caused the other woman to scratch her enough to draw blood.

Angel grabbed a nearby napkin, dabbed it in Serena's drinking water and put slight pressure on the wound which was clotting already. The truth of the matter was that the doctor wasn't sure what exactly disturbed her more: Was Angel upset that Serena had used her old Pandora call sign that she'd been issued during her brief stint with them, or did this woman somehow know about this dream that Angel had last night?

Angel had dreamed that she was in this same courthouse, sometime in the future she guessed, and she was walking around the building as naked as the day she was born.

What was worse it that she was all alone.

"I hadn't had one in a very long time." Angel lied and if the other woman saw through it then so be it. "I did have nightmares after I saw both People of Color and your Pandora operatives being pulled out of the Fox Theatre. I'll never forget watching the construction _crews_ finding a foot, arm or a severed head form a child at the remains of The Andrew Young Youth Center."

"Perhaps you aren't really sure when the timeline of your nightmare occurs. You think it might be about the present or hope that it was something in your past, when it is truly the _future_ you see." Serena told her. "Operation 411 is over and done with. We are dawning on a new hallmark, a new chapter...The Whirlwind. If The Circle doesn't turn away from their wicked ways then that carnage you saw last night was not a nightmare but a vision and it is not about what has happened but _will yet_ happen."

"You are truly insane, Serena."

"I believe in the power of The Dragon. And my visions never reveal themselves so simply, Angel. In truth, I've never seen you given to the flames. Although I know that we _all_ are given to them eventually." The other woman's voice quieted as if she were in reflection. "But you are headed towards a pain and suffering that will make those days your father left you alone in that camper feel like child's play in comparison."

Angel got in the other woman's face, tired of this game of words between them. "Let's talk about fathers, shall we." Angel pushed a single piece of Serena's red hair that had loosed itself from her bun out of her face. " _Your_ father was a believer in the flames as well. That's where you learned this foolishness from."

"Leave my father out of this." Serena said, her thin lip nearing a quiver.

"We shared stories about our fathers, remember." Angel remembered drinking too much scotch that night. Serena had nursed only on club soda. "A couple of weeks after you took the state title and set a record, if I can recall your tale correctly, in a marathon that your father had attended—"

"Leave my father out of this, Angel." Serena said in a low, dangerous voice that would have frightened most people. Doctor Angel Hicks Dupree _wasn't_ most people.

"Two weeks after you won that marathon, your father had most of his stock options go south on him. He'd lost everything."

"He made a mistake, Angel, but unlike most human beings, he owned up to it."

"He came home from the office," Angel continued as if Serena hadn't spoken at all. "He had decided that it was time to sacrifice his body to the flames."

"He was a brave man—"

"And how brave was your mother, Serena?"

"That... _bitch..._ she never believed in Daddy's visions, his callings. She ran like the weakling she was. But Daddy caught her, cornered her."

"Yea, he did, Serena. She'd made it as far to the tool shed out back before doused her with gallon after gallon of gasoline. And then he struck a match and tossed it at her."

"He did not want her to suffer over time for his mistakes." Serena's eyes had widened to full hilt, and Angel could imagine that the woman sitting across her was no longer the hard leader of Pandora, but the 17 year old girl who watched this entire scene unfold as she observed in horror from the kitchen door.

"He set her ablaze, Serena." Angel sat back in her chair, exhausted as if she had ran one of Serena's marathons for her.

"And then he glanced back at me," Serena said in a reflective voice. "I've often wondered why he didn't come for me as well. Perhaps, it was because the flames had danced their way over to his pants leg and licked at his thighs, his groin...he could have ran but he didn't. The flames had come for him at last and he stood there and let them. I recall it being a slow burn. He screamed in ecstasy. He sacrificed himself so I would be a better person. I will always remember them as flames of disclosure."

"You _are_ truly insane, Serena." Angel said.

"No, I'm being quite reasonable considering the opponents I'm up against." The Serena Tennyson, the hard one who was the leader of Pandora had returned in earnest. "I'm trying to save People of Color from themselves."

"Save it, Serena." Angel spat. "Take another look around you. A House in Chains is not our father's NAACP; they are not our grandfather's Civil Rights Movement. For the past 20 some odd years they have lifted the Black Community to heights never seen in this country's history. Isaac Prince's vision has transcended an entire race. You know better than I do, that their strength comes from their unrelenting resolve...and their _numbers._ A House of Chains got away from the old school mentality of basing their movement around Christianity, Islam, or any other religion. They don't care if you are a smoker or a casual drinker. They accept people into their bosom and value them whether they are rich or poor whether they are college educated or ride on the back of a garbage truck for a living."

Angel got to her feet again, and rounded on the other woman, ending up behind her left ear. "Respect of Person, Serena," Angel said. "For the first time in this country's history, the numbers show that there are more Men of Color enrolled in college than there are in prisons. Respect of family, Serena. Black women having children out of wedlock is at 35 or 40 year low. The divorce rate has been cut in half. Respect of Community, Serena, cases of rape, domestic violence, gun violence, poverty, and drug convictions are all at or near historic lows in what we still consider predominantly black neighborhoods."

"They can still be cruel, unreliable...and _uncivilized,_ " Angel imagined that the other woman pictured her two attackers with her doe eyes as the words parted her lips.

"The Great Recession set them back. It set all of us back."

"They are doomed to eventual failure, Angel. I'm trying to save them from themselves. This progress you speak of has come too hard to fast. Isaac Prince's vision was an honorable one. His son and those in The Circle who do his bidding have perverted his father's vision. Even their name, People of Color speaks to their arrogance."

Angel stooped and wrapped her left arm around Serena. She seemed not to unwelcome the doctor's touch, at least for now. "You're wrong, Serena, it truly speaks to how people of Latino and Asian, and Middle Eastern...and hell, _Caucasian_ people have joined their ranks, have taken the mark. Some government officials estimate that there are 10,000 Peacekeepers in America. This young men and women are drug tested, trained, and eventually set loose on the streets of urban America, taking back neighborhoods from prostitution, corrupt cops, thieves and drug pushers."

"That would be all good and well, Doctor, but remember the threat that is not so subtlety implied at the conclusion of that passage."

She did know it: _And when our homes and our Houses are secured at last we will turn our attention to the Rooster, for he must make reparations for all that he has done to us; this is the ultimate Vision of our Future._

"And I guess you mean to stop them by any means necessary." Angel asked her.

"No. I suppose not." And just as Angel's eyes flicked ever hopeful, if Serena Tennyson would turn from this destructive path, she knew Pandora would fall apart. "I'll be dead soon." She peeked over at the mirror on the wall. "They won't let me live much longer."

Twenty minutes after Serena abandoned Angel and the interrogation with for the return of her security detail...and her chains, the doctor watched as Christopher, Agent Sheridan and Agent Blue took her spot in the room that was warming as the afternoon sunshine moved in.

Christopher spoke up first, "I'm a little worried about your safety from reprisals from Pandora, Doc, I think we should have your hotel room monitored at all times moving forward."

"I agree." Blue said. "I think we got a lot of your interview with her, but she is trying to use you the same way she used that reporter down the hall."

Agent Sheridan nodded, but looked a little shaken. "That whole bit about her parent's murder suicide. It was just a footnote in our files...but to hear both of you recanting the story. I think her entire ideology is based on her relationship with him."

"Yea," Christopher agreed. "Her attachment with him and whoever this Caretaker character is partly why we are all in this mess right now."

Angel nodded in her head in agreement. She reached for her coffee cup out of habit; the coolness of the handle reminded her that it was undrinkable for more than just _one_ reason. Her childhood friend and Tabitha excused themselves, anxious for another round at Thomas Pepper, with Chris putting up a phone sign with his hand mutely saying that he would call her later.

Sheridan remained behind. The doctor consciously using the gathering of her paperwork as an excuse to remover herself from his shadow just in case the whiskey betrayed her by leaking through her pores with the perspiration that had built up with the tension of the interview.

Yet, in that same exact moment, Angel decided that she would go out and by bottle or two of gin or whatever else she chose after she left her. She would keep her a small irrelevant stash with her at all times in case the stress became overwhelming. _Fuck Sheridan and his expectations._ She could function with the booze. She had _always_ functioned with it before, that wouldn't change now. _Damn._ A part of her wished she had listened to her husband, Seth, and stayed home with him and her patients back in Macon.

"Doctor, did you hear me?" Sheridan asked. How long had she been tapped out of it? "I asked you for your professional opinion?"

"I'm sorry, Agent Sheridan, I was reading some of these notes in my file." She said smoothly "What did you say?"

"I asked do you think Serena Tennyson is suicidal."

Angel said, "Before the attempted sexual assault, I would consider the percentages very low to nil. But that kind of thing can break any woman, even a sociopath like the one escorted out here a few minutes ago."

"Even after witnessing what her father did in front of her?"

"In her father's eyes, he failed in his mission of raising and protecting his family when he lost all their money. She's been caught sticking her hand in the cookie jar, but there are still other sweets in the kitchen that she may have an opportunity to grab undetected."

Sheridan smiled at that one. Smiles looked good on the agent. "I can't disagree with your diagnosis, Doctor." He said and the smile still hadn't dissipated yet. "Despite your little tantrum you threw at the Chief Negotiator, I believe you have been helpful so far on this case. Thank you, Doctor."

She felt the first stab of guilt for cursing this man for trying to protect his people and his mission. "That's why I am here, sir." She said, maintaining her distance now more than ever.

"We have a lot going over the next half a day or so. I need that woman alive to answer for all the charges she's facing and the lives she has taken. Tomorrow my concerns shift to someone trying to assonate her out when we transport her out of this facility to Federal Jurisdiction in Virginia. I'm already assigning every available hand I can spare to help with this transition."

Angel halted all of her movement in one motion, as the delayed reaction of what coded message that Serena had said to her before she left. _I'll be dead soon._

What floored her even more is that the doctor believed Serena _wanted_ her to decrypt her message. _They won't leave me to live much longer._

"However many people you are going to assign to this mission, Agent Sheridan it isn't enough."

"Thank you again, Doctor, but I already know that the leader of Pandora is a tempting assignation target for an agent of A House in Chains or even a private citizen and I have planned accordingly."

"I'm not sure that Serena's assignation is your biggest concern."

"Then spit it out, Doctor what is my biggest concern?"

"She is anticipating an assignation attempt on her life. She is going to use the increased security _against_ your people. Pandora has a stupid codename for everything. I believe they call it Operation _Deliverance_. Serena is plotting her escape."
Thomas

Lindsey Harmon Attorney at Law:

She was a slender former beauty with dark circles loitering underneath her green eyes. She had laugh lines boarding the corners of her mouth she reeked of stale cigarette smoke from her red hair and beige suit.

Thomas Pepper hoped for his sake that she knew her way around the law better than she did the bedroom. _So far, so good,_ he thought, she seemed to be holding her own for round two against both of the FBI agents crowding him in this stuffy interrogation room.

Agent Tabitha Blue was about ten years to young...and by her naked ring finger, too _single_ for his liking, but he couldn't deny the woman a certain sex appeal. _She tried to bury it behind her tough talk and that badge clipped to her hip._

And the fact that she may be attempting to link him to Serna Tennyson and Pandora wasn't enduring him to her either.

"I was speaking to you about _time,_ Agent Blue, especially in light of how much of my client's that you and your partner are wasting with this so called interview with him." Lindsey was giving her hell. "You have Atlanta citizens who have been slaughtered. Our esteemed Mayor has been assassinated. And now, there is some type of unknown threat that has been lodged at the children of this city. My client's home was broken to, he did this interview with Serena Tennyson fearing for his life, and you two are busy trying to tie _him_ to these terrorist." She paused for effect, her wrinkled finger flicking a pencil back in forth. "Am I missing something here?"

"We're trying to cover all of our bases, Counselor." Agent Blue said. "I'm not sure why he even felt the need to call you at all. We are just having a quiet, civilized conversation."

"Civilized," Lindsey inhaled audibly and peeked over at Agent Prince who was sitting on the other side of the table, his legs dangling off of the floor. He was playing the role of The Good Cop in this game. "This conversation stopped being civilized, as you say, a long time ago." His attorney used the pencil to flip through her notes and added: "Furthermore, Agent Blue, I see no formal charges lying on this table in front of us. So my client is exercising his rights to exit these proceedings at the time of his choosing. Either we move along to a different line of questioning or we will walk. Have I made myself clear, lady? "

Blue smiled, highlighting her overbite, reached back, and handed Agent Prince a slim pile of documents. Thomas couldn't see what they were...and not for a lack of trying. Prince scanned them without taking them. If it didn't involve him directly, he would actually find this interplay quite fascinating in fact. Thomas knew hundreds of law enforcement across the country, this good cop/bad copy routine wasn't a new thing, but the _way_ it was playing out was something else entirely. Blue and Prince were more along the lines of impatient cop/ distracted cop. Since they'd reentered the room a few minutes ago, Prince had settled for sitting like a hermit on the other side of the table with a look of...preoccupation buried on his dark, hairless brow. He'd even gone as far to ignore two phone calls that had buzzed in his pocket.

"Okay Miss Harmon, you've made your point, let's move on then." Blue dropped those same documents within Lindsey's grasp. Thomas' mouth went dry and he felt a gnawing in his gut. "It has already been established that your client is at least of questionable character and these papers prove it."

"What are these?" His attorney asked.

"The first one is a DUI. The next two are separate disorderly conduct citations."

Thomas hopped out of his seat.

"What is this really about?" He asked. He snatched the papers from Lindsey who was pleading with him with her green eyes to sit back down and let her handle this. "The DUI was in college. I was a _kid._ These other charges were five and ten years ago."

Blue pushed another sheet of paper with a government letterhead at him. "This audit done by our sister agency, The IRS, was just two years ago."

"Again, that's old news." Lindsey chimed in from her seat. "My firm handled this case—

"And I've paid that money back, with interest." Thomas stuck his hands in his pocket.

"In legal terms this is all ancient history, Agent Blue." Lindsey scratched at the back of her left ear with her fingernail. Thomas knew from past experience that she was getting irritable and needed a cigarette. She gathered all her notes in a pile and rose to leave.

"I do in fact." Blue thumbed methodically through a separate file of papers, sensing his attorney's inpatients, for exactly what she wanted. "And in fact, knowing your client's reputation, this doesn't surprise me a bit. I have a sexual harassment claim against Mr. Pepper by a female columnist he worked with at _The_ _Washington Post_ back in January while they completed an expose."

Thomas found his seat without looking at it, his anger hovering dangerously prevalent near the surface. "We worked jointly on the piece that ran in the paper over four consecutive weeks." He said. "I wasn't in DC for very long."

Blue smiled, "That means you had to work really fast, Thomas. The harassment—"

"The _harassment_ consisted of us going out and having a few drinks...a few sessions. She thought it was the start of something more permanent. She was wrong."

"Thomas Pepper, she filed for divorce from her husband in the short time while you were in Washington."

"Their marriage was already on the rocks, Agent Blue." Thomas rubbed at the two day old beard on his face."

"You'll see two separate files for files of divorce, two more requests for legal separation, and half a dozen claims and counter of claims of domestic battery. That relationship was in shambles. Someone should thank Mr. Pepper for providing a public service by helping to finish sinking a ship that had been treading water." Although Thomas could have lived without her last comment, Lindsey was doing his person and his wallet justice. "We're done here." Lindsey began to rise again.

"One last thing, Counselor," Blue flashed her overbite again. Lindsey bobtailed into her seat, her smoke break denied again. Thomas fluttered in his seat, perspiration building along his thick neck and under his arms.

This time she slid some colored photos at Lindsey. She directed her conversation at Thomas. "After we apprehended Serena Tennyson and started our investigation, we took these pictures inside your townhouse."

The FBI had dozens of pictures of his wall that he had dedicated to Serena Tennyson's likeness. He had magazine clippings, artist renditions, internet postings, and the entire works there now apparently, for the entire world to see.

Lindsey was shaking her head. "What my client does in his place of residence—"

"It's not just these pictures that I want you to see, Counselor." Agent Blue supplied a packet apparently with more photos and dumped the stash on table, so many in fact that many fell to the floor. "This is the picture of the woman in Washington, DC, do you see the resemblance between her and Serena Tennyson. Look at the picture of this woman, Miss Harmon, who Thomas has been seen with socially on his frequent visits back to his hometown in Chicago. Again, the striking resemblance to the woman we have locked up in here."

In the next five minutes Agent Tabitha Blue flashed three more women who shared at least some of Serena's features or characteristics of pastel colored skin, a slim frame, long legs, or red hair...like even the style Lucy Burgess had worn for a time when they first began their affair.

"Even _you_ share some of these features, Miss Harmon?" Agent Blue said as a matter of fact. "You're a smart woman, Counselor. You weren't out of line when you reminded me of what has transpired over the past few days. It is my job to help prevent more atrocities like these from occurring. And part of my job is questioning if this man has deeper ties to the most ruthless woman in the entire world right now?"

"My client is _not_ the subject on your investigation _."_ Lindsey's tone hardened with each word. "Furthermore, his private life, who he see, who he sleeps with, their marital status, and what these women _look like_ are not your business—"

"It's alright," Thomas squeezed his lawyer's wrist and focused all his attention and energy on Agent Blue. "I'll take this one."

Lindsey was still shaking her head, her green eyes cutting at him, reminding him to tread carefully; there was blood in the water...blood and a hungry shark.

"I'm attracted to Serena Tennyson. The shrine I've dedicated to her in my home speaks to that." Thomas said. "And, in some cases, I have fraternized with women—especially involved women who share some of her features. I am a man who is energized by the prospect of bedding forbidden fruit." _The most immoral of_ _men are often the most honest. They have a clear understanding of who they are._ Mayor Ernestine Johnson had said in truth to him from her dying bed. _They know what they want, and they prepare to sacrifice whatever they feel is necessary, even if it's their very souls, to get what they want._ "Though Serena isn't married, her status in the world makes her the most forbidden fruit of all in my eyes." His own inner voice said wistfully, _you had me pegged correctly, Ernestine, I am indeed an immoral man._

"But, as you have pointed out, I am not hurting for female company and while I am attracted to Serena, that alone doesn't mean that I subscribe to her religion... " He locked eyes with Christopher Prince, who looked awakened from his stupor. " Or do I share Pandora's view on race relations in this country."

"That, mister, remains to be seen."

"I _object_ to your tone, Agent Blue."

"This isn't a _courtroom_ , Counselor."

"And you are no lawyer and this is _not_ a trial—"

"You're both right," Agent Prince hopped over the table and pushed his way just behind his partner. "Councilor, your client claimed that he wanted to help us save this city, perhaps this country, from any further escalation and bloodshed." He leaned over and caught Thomas eye specifically. "You're our man, Pepper. So help us out of this mess."

Thomas scratched at his beard again and took a deep breath. Blue sat with on the table with her arms folded, while Agent Prince remained standing, his gaze intense. This was the Agent Christopher that Thomas thought that he'd known of, not the unfocused mess he appeared to be earlier. "Serena Tennyson was one of my test subjects that I wrote about in my last book."

Chris nodded. "You did. You focused about 40 percent of your narrative focused on her."

_So you read it, Chris. What I would give to learn your opinions of what I wrote about your brother Xavier and where he has taken A House in Chains during his tenure as the One._ "My Excel program says that it was closer to 35 percent, but analytics 'are irrelevant to what my overall point is." Thomas said, feeling more comfortable in this type of physiological debate. He almost reached to take his jacket off, and not because he was hot. "The point is that when I writing it help to have visuals of that subject matter when you're explaining their background, or expressing an opinion from their point of view."

"That must have been damned convenient for you," Blue tried to hide her overbite by turning away and feign as if she found something more interesting out of the window to look at. "A practiced womanizer has his prized project _hoe_ show up in his living room. And she was naked when we got there. You both were, so you sure as hell hit the jack pot somewhere before The FBI arrived...to _save you._ " She made her last words bite, the shark swimming in shallow waters once more.

Lindsey through Thomas a life jacket, "You're toeing a line, Missy,"

"What's wrong, Counselor?" Blue got to her little feet and wailed her tiny arms about. "I'm sure you could extract any information out of any woman you please. I'm just glad that I'm asking you the questions and this isn't happening the other way around." Blue found Lindsey's green eyes. "It looks like we're dealing with a real pro here, a gigolo. Take my advice, honey, you better hold on to your pants."

His lawyer fumed. Blue leaned close enough to both of the seated people in the room that you could smell the peppermint of her breath. "Or is it too late for that already?"

"You're excused."

Agent Blue turned on Lindsey. "What did you say to me?"

Lindsey only had eyes for Christopher Prince as she slammed her folder shut. "Either Agent Blue is excused or my client and I are."

Agent Prince lowered his head and let his feet dangle on this side of the table. "Why don't you take a short break, Tabitha, and get yourself a Diet Coke or something."

Blue struggled to close her mouth. She looked from Christopher Prince to Lindsey, to Thomas Pepper, and finally at her partner again. Thomas doesn't need to know the woman on a personal level to see the hurt leaking from her eyes and the twitch of her top lip.

"Yea, something," She said to Agent Prince as she scooped up her files and stomped out of the door slamming it shut behind her.

"Forgive my partner." Agent Prince said in the wake of his partner's exit. "Tabitha Blue's passion is what drives her to excel in her duties as an FBI agent. A high profile case like this one can get the best of you.

"You're wrong, Prince, at least about that last part." He was shaking his head and wasn't sure why. That woman had just tried to bury him. Why should he care about her feelings? "This is personal for her. She's looking for people to blame for the defections that have occurred. She's bitter about your department's shortcomings."

"Shortcomings,"

Lindsey sensed the dangerous tone that Agent Prince's tone was taking. She pushed herself forward into his line of sight, as if to create an artificial wedge between the two men.

"The FBI agents who abandoned this agency—that abandoned _you_ are your responsibility and not mine. All of the reporting that I've done in my interviews and books and have uploaded on my blog is only the facts as they've been presented to me." Thomas said. "You people are not going to crucify me for this."

Prince tried to step through the artificial wedge that Lindsey had created. She stuck he palm into the other man's chest and it stuck there like glue.

She said, "Careful, Agent Blue. We wouldn't want Thomas to be involved in _another_ harassment suit, would we?"

"Your involvement, as to its extent is yet to be determined." Prince never looked at Thomas' lawyer but eased off her palm just the same. " _My people—_ or what is left of them is trying to understand every aspect of your relationship with Serena Tennyson." He sat in the chair and faced them for the first time. "You better hope to God that you are telling us everything you know."

_If you help me, you will gain enemies on both sides of this conflict. They both will harass you. They will threaten you._ Thomas squeezed the sides of his chair considering Mayor Jonson's words as if she had just spoken aloud.

Lindsey asked, "I assume that we are finished here?"

Agent Prince grunted and nodded his bald head in the general direction of the door without fully looking up. Lindsey thanked him, gathered her belongings, tossed them into her briefcase without bothering to sort them, and snapped it shut. She opened the door for him and he recognized the expression forming in the laugh lines of her mouth. _I told you that I would handle this. You owe me the remainder of the afternoon. I'm on top._

"Is there anything else you would like to add to your official statement, Thomas?" Agent Prince said, barely audible over the commotion in the hall. "Something, anything that could help us in our fight with Pandora."

"I've told you everything." He lied. He had been working two sources the day before Serena turned up in his living room. He was honoring his promise to Ernestine Johnson about answering the three questions that every Person of Color...including this man he was leaving behind in this interrogation room, wanted to know. _I'm not sure that my information is prudent to your present investigation or not, Chris. More importantly, at least to me, I won't allow you to use my information against me and try to keep me her any longer._ Even with Serena Tennyson out of the game, the clock was ticking. He was going to be needed elsewhere.

Just as Thomas Pepper stepped through the threshold another agent nearly collided with him walking in. He was frowned up as if someone had kicked him in the shin. He made his way over to Prince and whispered something in the other man's ear that caused Prince to wince and mutter a curse. He held his index finger up for Thomas and his lawyer to hold up for a sec. Just as quickly the special agent recovered his composure, nodded at the messenger who strutted off and then returned to the room a minute later.

"My apologies for all of the cloak and dagger, sir," The still frowning agent said to Thomas. "But there is someone here who has been waiting to see you, sir."

Thomas felt a pang in his chest and he and Lindsey exchange a look of anxiety.

Sophie, his Fox Terrier, struts in to the interrogation room.

Thomas kneels his large frame so that his dog and leap easily into his waiting arms. He called her name once and again as if to make himself believe she is here, that all of this is really happening. The Terrier licked unabatedly at the hair on his jaws and cheek, and then finds softer skin...and a tear underneath his right eye.

Lindsey smiled, folded her arms and relaxed her stance and allowed the _couple_ to have their reunion in silence and without interruption.

Special Agent Prince wasn't about to be so kind. "Unfortunately," He said in a grave voice. "You two are one of the few humanoids who survived that encounter with Serena Tennyson."

The hallway behind them had been a bustle of foot traffic, but Thomas Pepper noted that wasn't the only reason for the sudden silence hanging in the air.

"What has happened, Agent Prince?" Thomas Pepper finally asked.

"Your housekeeper was found dead in a wooded area about four miles from your residence. She was shot in the head by a high powered rifle." He added, "The Medical Examiner says that the time stamp on the body states that she was killed while you and Serena were conducting your interview."

_So you_ had _come a day early, after all, Eloise because of the trip you were taking with your husband._ Thomas bit back fresh tears. When Serena had spoken into her communication device on her collar when he mentioned it to her then, he had hoped that they would detain the woman as Serena had told them that Pandora did with Sophie.

Agent Prince was staring into Thomas' blank expression. "Thank you for your time, Miss Harmon. We have your card. Someone will be in contact with you if we feel the need to take any further statements from your client."

Outside Lindsey had walked a still stunned Thomas past the security checkpoint that led out of the courthouse and into an impressive courtyard of vegetation and color. It did stink of smoke and there was the all too familiar haze in the chilly afternoon air. Thomas pulled Sophie closer to his bosom and ducked his head inside of his jacket against a series of quick gust of wind.

Lindsey had her cigarette going and waved it at him in a goodbye. She had received a call on her cell on their walkout that delayed any erotic plans they may have tried to engage in, at least for now. He watched her drive off without before clicking her seat belt.

Thomas latched his own seat belt and was working out the details of an impossible task of securing an eight pound dog in the passenger side one when he noted again how the foot traffic picked up with agents storming out of the building.

He heard the sirens of first responders in the distance. If his ears didn't betray him he thought he could hear a helicopter...and when he glanced towards Fletcher Street, he could see the bird circling around in search of _something._

_What is all of this mischief?_ He asked himself while he gave Sophie's ear a gentle squeeze and felt his heart sink. _What have you done now, Serena?_

And then he saw Agent Tabitha Blue.

She was legging it for her vehicle in the parking lot as well. She wasn't wearing the near panic look of the other agent's; her expression was more of a subtle focus of singular intensity. He locked Sophie in the car and rushed to greet her before she sat in her Ford.

"Agent Blue," He asked, pissed that he could be this winded with only a quick sprint across the street. "What in the hell is going on? What's happened?"

Agent Blue measured her response for a moment. And then she must have decided that telling a civilian, even _this_ civilian wouldn't violate some type of protocol that she was under.

"While we were interviewing you, Serena Tennyson told our resident Clinical Phycologist, Dr. Hicks-Dupree that she wouldn't live long enough to be prosecuted for her crimes against the citizens of Atlanta for the 411 attacks." She said. "It looks as she was right after all."

Thomas felt a lump growing in his throat. Sophie barked at a steady hilt at both of them from across the street.

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked, though he didn't need to exercise his brilliant investigative skills to deduct the possibilities...or the _possibility_ of what happened.

"The brass was concerned that someone may make an attempt on her life when we moved her from here to the DC area in the morning, so Sheridan came up with the idea to decrease those odds by transporting her out _today_ to lessen that risk."

"Go on, Agent Blue,"

"Shots rang out during the second leg of her transportation route." Agent Blue said her overbite clear enough that Thomas Pepper could see her entire upper gum. "It looks as if your little girlfriend is dead."
Chris

"Serena's gone." Angel said after she exited her Land Rover. One other vehicle worked its breaks pulling in a space behind her. Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard was a bustle of activity with a matrix of blue and red lights traveling in all directions.

"Damn." Special Agent Christopher Prince said. She limped towards him after rounding the SUV from the front side. He felt a tingle of nerves in his neck when she fully entered his line of sight. "Are you alright—"

The doctor peered down at the red blotches on her blouse's tail and her trousers and waved him off, the blood belonging to someone else. A rat faced agent who Chris knew but couldn't put a name to face limped towards the curve as well. Chris noted that fact was news in itself, because the man usually moved about with the careful precision of a Siamese cat—and the blood caked on his bicep and thigh _was_ his own. Chris slammed the passenger side door of the car he'd bummed a ride in and they dodged afternoon traffic to an area of seclusion so the other two could fill him in. He was breathing heavily by the time they'd reached a spot clear of congestion and where they could hear one another without shouting. _After this is all over,_ Chris swore, _I'm going to drop these extra pounds._

"Do we have an official time of death?" He asked the agent that he now remembered as Everett, Jimmy Everett.

But it was Angel who shook her head with some emphasis, grabbed both of his wrists and shook them. "You're not hearing me, Christopher." She cocked a brow and her big brown eyes looked hazel in the bright sunlight. "Serena's _gone._ She'd disappeared. She's vanished without a trace."

" _What?"_

Angel glanced over her shoulder at Everett and gave him the floor.

"A half a dozen shots rang out in rapid progression." Agent Everett winced in pain and put pressure on his wounded leg. "At least one of the shots appeared to strike the subject, Serena Tennyson, on her temple. One shot each killed all four of her female escorts to either side of her. Either a group of snipers had their timing down to a tee or there is one hell of a single shooter out there."

Chris concentrated on the first part of the other man's sentence. "You said that the shot _appeared_ to hit her?"

"Yea, I was getting to that, sir."

Everett and Angel shared a look until she finally planted a hand on each hip and cocked her brow at him. "Tell him, Jimmy."

"Yea, Agent Everett," Chris said. "Tell me."

"In the chaotic mess that ensued we got a call out to the paramedics. Man, I got to tell you, I ain't ever seen so many people scrambling in 50 different directions—at least since President Sweet got killed in Houston. Anyway, as soon as we put Tennyson inside the ambulance I felt a stinger in my arm here and one in my upper leg. "Everett pulled a rag out of trousers and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He grimaced in pain, this spasm worse than the first one. Chris reached a hand out to help him, but the older man waves him off with one of his rat hands.

"I'll live." He said. "Anyway, I look up and my own piece is in my ear and I hear the voice of a man, Agent Feller, a guy I've worked with years telling me that I don't have to die here like the others. He told me to get down, then _stay_ down and I would live long enough to tell my grandchildren about this day, about _Deliverance._ I woke up...I don't know, maybe 10 or 15 minutes later with some pretty ass blonde treating my wounds. My gun was lying next to me; I guess he left it there after he bashed me over the head with it."

Pandora had struck at the heart of the FBI _again_.

Angel took her hands off of her hips and told the two men what she knew. A court reporter had been shot minutes after Serena walked out of her arraignment to get the ball rolling. _Yea, Pandora used that distraction to throw us off our guards._ She then said that an APD Deputy who was assigned for secondary support was shot in the back of the head and killed. _Pandora went out of their way to strike_ behind _where_ _Serena was leaving a trail._

Agent Everett added that he guessed that Serena had her people lined up in strategic points all along her escape routes. It was going to be difficult to concentrate on retrieving her if you were ducking and dodging gunfire or _potential_ gunfire.

Chris had heard on one of the deputy's radios that a car that had appeared to have been stolen had driven _up_ three floors at top speeds, dodging other parked cars and some civilian foot traffic. Chris hadn't known what to make of that news at that time and still was trying to put the puzzle piece in place even now. Everett didn't make that process any easier when he picked up where he left off, saying that Serena fled _down_ the seven floors to ground level where two more deputies were found dead.

_Why would she flee by driving_ up _in the garage only to take longer to reach an intended spot by running back down?_

Agent Christopher Prince let the puzzle hang there unsolved and peered as far as his vision would allow him down Martin Luther King Jr, thankful that the usual smoky haze had cleared, at least for now. _I'll take that as a good sign of things to come._ King fed into the busy side street of Piedmont, which crossed Peachtree and led to both I 75 and I 85. If she made it to either interstate it was no telling how far she could have driven by now.

Chris' cell phone, the one he reserved for bureau business only buzzed in his pocket.

Sheridan:

" _Agent Prince, I don't know how she got this far, this fast, but Tennyson's been spotted heading northwest along Centennial Olympic Park Drive in a Carolina blue van. You would have thought she would be smart enough to pick a more anonymous color for her getaway vehicle. I am in a copter. We are in hot pursuit."_

Chris asked, "Is she driving?"

" _It looks as if she has a male escort, but that is unconfirmed."_ Sheridan said with some apprehension. Chris knew how much it pained the man to speculate. " _Tell Dr. Hicks-Dupree that she was right. I should have listened to her."_

Chris disconnected from the call without questioning Angel about whatever conversation she had with Sheridan, but it must have been a doozy. Sheridan gave compliments nearly as often as he speculated on events transpiring in cases.

"You did listen to me, Sheridan," Angel was hugging her shoulders and speaking in a low voice. "We were convinced that Pandora had committed their selves to a rescue operation for Serena's scheduled move tomorrow morning. So we upped it up to today to minimize the risk."

"Damn," Was all Chris could add to that.

Angel went on and quickly summarized the _first_ part of her conversation with Sheridan. The doctor told Chris about the several oddities in Serena's behavior after her interview with her this morning. Chris had attended part of that meeting before he and Blue left to meet with Thomas Pepper.

"I understand all that, Angel." Chris said after he let his old friend have her say, and for the first time he got a whiff of her. _You can't leave that stuff alone can you, Doc. "_ Maybe I'm just missing you or Sheridan's point about something. None of this tells me _how_ you knew she would try to escape?"

"I didn't, Christopher, not really." Angel said. "She kept going on about the coming escalation of tensions between Pandora and A House in Chains, about _where are our children._ I just guessed that it was all too big for her to just sit it out.

Two paramedics arrived and sat Agent Everett down and begin to treat the man's wounds. Chris and Angel wave their goodbyes to him and hop into Angel's rental, Chris planting his big ass in the Land Cruisers driver side seat, thankful for the space. Before Angel can slam her heavy door shut, his cell phone buzzes in his pocket again.

" _What?"_ Chris yelled into the receiver. "That can't be right."

After they lock their seatbelts in place, he begins high tailing it in a northern to northwesterly direction. Angel pokes her lips out at him wondering what was said. He shakes his head and hits up Sheridan on the speed dial.

" _Negative, Prince."_ Sheridan said. " _You're information is in error. I'm still riding shotgun in the helicopter as we speak. I have a confirmed visual of the fugitive. There are half a dozen APD and three or four of our own people who are in a high speed pursuit of Serena and her companion as we speak. In fact, all mentioned have just crossed the Andrew Young Parkway."_

"That's impossible, sir. I've just received verification that she's on Magnum Street near Chapel Road, being slowed considerably by traffic." Chris smiled over at Angel. "Thank God for the general snarl of metro traffic and specifically for The Atlanta Marathon that's underway today. I should be in visual range of her in 15 minutes."

Sheridan wasn't convinced. " _You're Intel is wrong, Prince. I'm looking through my binoculars right now. The fugitive has the same red hair, the same orange jumpsuit."_ He paused and Chris could only guess that he found something in that vehicle that got even more of his attention. " _She's picked up some sunglasses along the way, probably lifted them off a deputy that her people killed during her escape."_

"Why don't we catch _both_ of these people to be sure?"

" _You're on, Prince,"_ In his mind's eye, Chris could feel the other man's smile, albeit a brief one, through the line. " _Looser buys a steak."_

In the minute after he disconnects Special Agent Christopher gets two calls:

He scanned the face of his personal cell. It is Doctor Phelps, his personal physician calling him again. _Damn, this man has lousy timing._ So far he had called him when he was still a captive inside of the Fox Theatre during the siege, called him again an hour earlier when he and Blue were playing tag interviewing Thomas Pepper, and now he was ringing him up at this inopportune time.

Chris lets the phone ring itself out without answering.

Almost immediately after his personal phone stopped its chiming, his business line buzzed in his pocket again. Angel reached over and quickly helped him hook up his Bluetooth and the speaker.

It was Tabitha Blue:

"I'm a little busy, Tabitha." He darted around a Volkswagen that stopped in the middle of the street. "What's up?"

" _Put what you're doing down and get your ass over to Baker Street near the Hyatt Regency."_ Blue said. _"I've got Parson's with me, Witten in a car in front of me and Whitehead tailgating to freaking close behind. We're closing in on Tennyson. She's driving a stolen Mercedes Benz."_ And she rattled off the license plate number, Blue being Blue.

Angel looked at Chris. "How could that be?"

Chris answered his old friend only by hitting the gas, maneuvering around several cars, the pressure mounting in his head and his gut. He only had the slightest error in driving to make and an innocent civilian could be killed with this light tank he was driving at 80 and 90 miles per hour.

The car that had been described to him, an older model Buick Impala, was now in his line of site. The pressures in both his head and gut ceased to exist as his adrenaline kicked in, the feeling that only people who did this type of work would understand. He swung in, making the slightest adjustment on his route, and fit the Big Land Cruiser right in behind Serena.

"That can't be, Tabitha," Chris finally told his partner. She'd been quiet herself, their own pursuit of...whoever, tightening her focus. "I'm on her tail right now."

" _Shit,"_

"What is it, what's wrong," Chris said to his dash board. "Talk to me, Agent Blue."

Chris stole a look at Angel then focused on the rear headlights of the Buick in front his trying to escape his pursuit. He guessed he was wrong about only people in his line of work getting that adrenaline rush. _I see that Clinical Psychologist get it as well._ In fact his old friend appeared to be having the time of her life.

" _Sorry Chris, Tennyson struck another vehicle and blew a tire."_ Blue said at last. _"She's one lucky,_ bitch _though. The way that car banked, she should have flipped it over. Damn, she's out. Tennyson is out of the Mercedes and is on foot. I've got to go, Prince. I've got to—"_

"Tabitha, wait," Chris was greeted a click and then the long tone of a dead line. He found solace in Angel's company. "Damn, Angel, what is going on? It's like we're chasing ghost, like we're after a fleet full of fugitives."

Another call comes in on his business line.

Agent Sheridan:

" _Prince, Agent Prince, can you hear me?"_

The line went dead. Angel find's Sheridan's number for him and hit's the speed dial again...and then a third time. They were getting nothing but a garbled signal for their efforts, _damned cell phones._

" _Prince, are you there?"_

" _Sheridan,"_ Chris had thought the last connection had been severed. "We got a bad cell. _Sheridan—"_

The other man said, " _Stop yelling, Prince. I can hear you. Listen, my suspect went head on with a civilian in a F150. I think both drivers are dead, but Tennyson is one tough hombre, though. She's out of her car...wobbling, but on her feet. Several APD squad cars are dodging a pile up the wreck caused and are closing in. Wait...now she's running again—"_

Prince made another sharp turn of Northside Avenue staying on his suspect's heels. "Somebody's playing games, Sheridan. I've talked with Agent Blue. She's miles away from either of our pursuits and claims that _she_ has Serena in her sights as well."

If his superior heard Chris last transmission he'd acknowledged it in silence. Chris gave both of then the necessary time and space to fully focus on what transpiring in both of their theatre of operations in real time.

" _Those half a dozen squad cars I was telling you about have quit fighting to drive through the log jam_." Sheridan announced as if he were doing play by play. " _They are out of their cars and are continuing the pursuit on foot. She's injured. She won't escape us now."_

Chris watched as _their_ Serena caused one civilian and one taxi driver to hit one another while evading the collision with her Buick. He didn't think that the wreck caused an immediate fatality, but he couldn't be certain. Angel nearly stood up to get a better view of it as they left the accident behind them.

"Hold on," He warned her.

He banked again, to the left this time, shadowing her car's movements and heard both vehicles' tires screech in loud protest.

" _Watch out, Chris,"_ Angel said and grabbed onto his arm for dear life.

Chris used all of his training, his timing, his strength in his right arm...and a bit of luck to avoid a clan of pedestrians who had just peeled off a sidewalk. He straightened the rental back out and pounded the gas as he had lost ground on Serena, but had her Buick still well in his sight.

" _Watch out for what, Dr. Hicks-Dupree,"_ Blue said through the speaker. In all of the commotion and near fatal crash, Angel must have dialed Tabitha. He sat straight up in his seat, checked on Angel who had lost some of her coloring, and adjusted the mirrors more to his liking. In one of those mirrors he could see the pedestrians who almost lost their lives throwing their fists in the area, their mouths moving in what Chris thought were swears and curses.

"Blue," He said. "What's your status?"

"Tennyson bolted for an old, abandoned beauty shop. She's surrounded. I should have something positive to report—"

This time Chris heard the cell beep. He told his partner to hold that thought.

Sheridan: " _Goddamn_ ," He said. " _Agent Prince, are you there?"_

"I'm here, sir, tell me you got her."

" _Yea_ ," He said, but his lack of enthusiasm spelled trouble. Chris just knew it. " _I'm on the ground now. Yea, we got something, alright, we got a goddamned body double."_

"What?" Angel asked.

"Please say that again, sir." Chris slowed the Land Cruiser enough to bend the SUV around a sharp curve as Serena had. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Sheridan snorted. " _It's an imposter. It's a woman who has the same exact build as our fugitive. She tried to kill herself when we approached her_."

Angel cocked a brow at Chris but her question was intended for Sheridan.

"She tried to kill herself? What does that mean exactly?"

" _Her gunned jammed as she fired a round."_ Sheridan snorted again _. "She meant business too, had half the barrel in her mouth. We do have her in custody. I hope to God you are in pursuit of the_ real _Serena Tennyson, Agent Prince. I've got plenty of room on my credit card for those steaks we talked about_."

"Maybe...the next time I call you, I will make sure to have something to report one way or the other."

After Angel disconnected for him Agent Christopher Prince threw all of his concentration on the Buick still ducking and dodging their pursuit. The Bluetooth lit up again; Angel threw the call on to the speaker.

Blue said: _"Someone piss on me."_

"Agent Blue, calm down and report."

" _Yes, sir,"_ Chris can hear her muttering _1...2...3... "We have a dead man dressed in a wig. And I ain't kidding when I say that he could really go for being a female, you know the slight build, and nearly no body hair save the wig, skin smoother than mine, he really looks the part at a distance."_ She struggled to keep admiration out of her tone. " _We didn't get to question her, ah mean him, though. He killed—"_

"He killed himself." Angel said. Chris pounded the steering wheel in frustration. "We know, Agent Blue."

Blue added: "Yea, he did just that, Doctor. He pulled out his gun just after we had him surrounded, we all got defensive, but before anyone could get their own piece out he suck that thing halfway in his mouth and ate one. His brains are still oozing down the nearby wall right now."

Chris instructed Angel to disconnect the line with a finality that said that he wasn't taking any more calls.

"What are you planning to do, Christopher?"

"It's time for this pursuit to end. If both these vehicles continue at this velocity we're going to get some poor civilian killed."

Angel nodded in agreement.

Then she saw him almost bracing himself and giving her the slightest look that she had better do the same. She flashed him a very wicked smile. "Go ahead; be my guest, Christopher, I signed up for the rental car's insurance."

Chris pressed the gas pedal to the floor and rams Serena's Buick just as she was readying the car for a turn. _Oh, no,_ he wasn't expecting her to bank as such a drastic angle and at such a great speed when he struck her car.

Chris hit the brakes, but either he or Angel can take their eyes off of Serena's two ton spinning wheel of a car that turned over...and over...and... _over_ one final time before it settled on its crushed top.

They hopped out of the Land Cruiser as quickly as seatbelt and door would allow them to. They had to side wind around a handful of metallic pieces of what was left of the Impala. Yet, considering all of today's actions, neither Special Agent nor Clinical Phycologist were taking any chances as they both slow their pace as they reach the car. Chris is comforted, at least some, by knowing that Angel is professionally licensed to carry a concealed weapon. What does concern him is in the matter that she has taken two lives already and may be itching at the bit to add a third to her list.

He could hear sirens arriving in the backdrop.

They both saw a detached red wig that had begun blowing down the street. A woman who could have been Serena Tennyson in another life had part of that slim body inside the car...while the rest was outside buried beneath the Buick.

"It's not her, Christopher." Angel's announcement, however obvious, had finalized the little episode with a loss for the good guys. She put her weapon away and let her hair blow in the breeze for a second. "It's just another goddamned double. This was just another part of the ruse and we fell for it, hook, line, and sinker."

"It's more than that, Doc," Chris said quietly. "This whole thing is far worse right now than anyone would imagine."

A host of FBI agents, APD uniforms and first responder units came on the scene in a rainbow of red and blue color. A helicopter soon joined the mass and Chris assumed it was Sheridan sitting on the co-pilot's side. Out in the distance he could see the first round of news trucks form many local affiliates entering the area as well.

On the other side of the road, two dozen or so marathoners slowed to a jog, passing through the scene losing focus from their race. The sight of the joggers, and the potential of injury or death they avoided, might have been the only positive that he could have found in the past 10 or 15 minutes of his life.

Angel seemed to eyeing the media trucks exclusively as she brushed her brunette hair out of her eyes. "To them, and more importantly to the public, this whole thing is going to make the bureau look incompetent at best, negligent at worst in Serena's entire handling." Angel had a thing for stating the obvious. "And the repercussions of this aren't likely to blow over anytime soon."

Chris leaned up against the wrecked Buick. "It's far worse that just that, Doc," He thought he might trade one obvious statement for another. "We already know from Agent Everett that several FBI Agents were involved. They betrayed their agency, their country by helping a known terrorist escape."

Chris stooped to the ground where the upper part of the body of this double was lying very dead. He peered into her bloodshot eyes that hadn't shut.

"Her death was an accident, Christopher." Angel placed a hand on each of his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "I saw the look on your face when she made that sudden turn just as you attempted to ram her. You were trying to _save_ lives." She said and both looked up long enough to catch the final glimpses of the marathon runners as they jogged out of sight into the building haze of a late afternoon. "It was a clean maneuver. Everything you did was by the book."

_I know you should be released by now, baby brother. On a personal and family level, I couldn't feel better, especially you being reunited with my nephews again. They've missed you._ He took a deep breath and realized instantly how bad that decision was considering how fast this smoky haze was blowing in from the West. _Yet, as a professional law enforcement officer, your presence on the streets makes my job all the harder._ Chris had already seen first-hand what a member of the Circle could do. And he put it in his report to Sheridan after he'd let the cobwebs dissipate a day or so later. _A House in Chains and Pandora are like giants in the playground._ He took one final look at the dead Serena Tennyson and got to his feet. _And everyone else isn't anything but ants getting stepped on your march towards war with one another._

He knew there was only way for this to end before that evadible clash.

He would have to take a giant down.

He walked back towards the Land Cruiser without looking back at his childhood friend. He had a renewed purpose—and a _new_ mission.

He decided right then that if he had the chance to kill Serena Tennyson—shield or no shield that was what he was going to do.
Louis

He heard someone coming up from behind him.

He dared peer over his right shoulder, the passenger side of his pickup truck in full view.

A voice:

"Turn your head back around. Do not look at me. Do not say anything. I want you to put the key in the ignition, start this old heap up, put the transmission in gear and drive."

Louis wanted to obey. He _really_ wanted to. But he could hear the helicopters flying in the distance to take him away...far away. And anyway, his hands were trembling and he was so very cold, yet he was beginning to sweat along his forehead and underneath his armpits.

He managed to get the old girl's engine going after the second try and he and... _she_ were underway. He gazed one final time into his driver side mirror and found the strength to put his boot to the gas pedal and pull the pickup truck onto the highway. At least Elvis Pressley was swooning an oldie but goodie on the classic rock station, the familiarity of the king's lyrics sooth him almost to the point of relaxation.

Serena Tennyson reached out and switched the radio to one of those 24 hour news channels.

"Watch your speed." She said

_Fuck you, lady._ The voice inside him said.

She grabbed one of the bottled waters from the packs on the passenger side floorboard and downed half of it in a single gulp. She was wearing a gray sweat suit on top of the orange prison garb they issued you at the courthouse. He could only imagine what fate befell the woman who had owned the sweat suit when this day had started.

"Serena," Louis took the off ramp at Hudson. He remembered that this point right here, right now passed an important threshold for their escape, Serena's _deliverance._ "How did you make it here? All of the reports coming on the radio said that you'd been shot. How did you escape?"

She wiped the spilled portion from her mouth with the back of her hand...and _were those tears_ seeping out the corner of her eyes. She still didn't answer at first, but when she did, told Louis a grand tale that is full of treachery, deceit, betrayal and finally, murder. The final leg of it found her falling in with the marathon participants and running right past Special Agent Christopher Prince and the traitor Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree after they had rear-ended and killed one of her body doubles. She had said to him that she was sure that all eight of the brave men and women who had sacrificed their selves for her cause were either dead or in custody by now.

Inside of him, Hugh Keaton giggled. _You have to admire her attention to detail, and the tenacious way she goes about goes about her business._

Twenty minutes and no disruptions later they arrived at a wooded area in the western suburbs of Cobb County. Louis can hear his boots crunching the leaves beneath his boot as he steps down out of the pickup truck. He hurried as fast as his little legs can take him and opens the heavy door for his leader, ever the gentleman. _We are far from being a gentleman. And this wench is_ your _leader, not hours. The sooner we learn that the better we all will be._

When Serena opened the door to the cabin, a dozen or so Pandora agents greeted her as she stepped inside.

Serena took a step or two forward, Louis shadowing her footsteps like a grim reaper. The applause for their leader is long and thunderous enough to shake the foundation. They continue the cheering, the whistling, and the clapping of hands until they realize their efforts are wasted on her. Serena has yet to look up from the wooden floor, not to speak of not meeting or acknowledged that anyone had come here to greet her at all.

Unsmiling, Serena finally looked up and took in her surroundings even before she acknowledged the people who occupy the space in this cabin which is too small a space for all of these folks in the first place.

She hadn't smiled once. In fact, her thin pale jaws looked as if they might swell up and burst in anger at any given minute. The leader of Pandora continued to peer around in silence. Louis noticed the buckets of Champaign chilling on ice, finger sandwiches resting on a tray waiting to be consumed, and brownies are lined up smartly on a coffee table.

Serena hugged herself, and for a second Louis thought the woman would fall where she once stood if she hadn't had a wall to lean against.

"Whose idea was this," Serena said in a dangerous voice and scanned the room pointing out potential suspects along the way. "I want to see a hand. I want a name. I want it right now or there will be hell to pay for _all_ of you."

No one volunteered to breathe, yet alone take the leap of faith by stepping forward and perhaps incurring the wrath of the Oracle.

No one dared take the leap except a pale, petite woman who wore her hair in a single braid that ran the length of her spine. She was dressed in black; she was _always_ dressed in black.

Danielle Rohm dared to smile and pointed a skinny finger over her own head. "It was me, Serena. I take full responsibility for this."

Serena left Louis' petite shadow for Rohm's. Some of the other agents looked at each other with anxiety budding on their faces, while others seem to stop breathing at all. Louis turned away but Hugh twisted his head back from which it came. _We want to see this._ Serena had been known to be _hard,_ but could she be cruel as well—

"Then it is you that I should thank, Rohm." Serena said to the younger woman, and then raised her head and voice at last for all of the Pandora operatives to hear her. "Thank you _all..._ it feels...wonderful to be amongst all of you again."

Pandora celebrated well into the night. Louis even saw Serena set one of her water bottles aside and accept a glass of Champaign that she nursed for thirty minutes before her glass was empty at last. Rohm drank enough for the both of them and it gave her enough courage to lift her small frame on her toes and hug Serena around her neck. Serena only hesitated a second...her discomfort with another human being's touch lessening. She finally ran a hand along the small of Rohm's back in small token of affection. Both women thought that Louis was out of hearing range when Rohm said, "He survived another of your test, when you had him meet you at the congregation point."

Serena nodded in agreement.

The other operatives laughed and ate and drank mostly among themselves. They chatted about how the day had went, the battle won. Rohm had bragged about her half a dozen kills that had originally sprung Serena from her captives. A second voice patted her on her shoulder commenting that he'd never seen shooting like that. A last voice laughed about how incompetent the APD were and how inept the FBI was as they followed the doubles in all directions through the city.

And then Serena hushed them long enough for one and all to raise a glass in tribute to the fallen. She called each by name and thanked them for their service and for honoring the cause...and honoring her.

Louis did not raise a glass with them.

Two hours later, when the late night full moon watched him from overhead, Serena came to him as he knew she would. He was seated on the back step of the cabin watching the taillights of the last of the operatives leaving for wherever their lives took them next. There were three rooms in the cabin and Louis knew that Danielle Rohm had stayed behind to sleep off the alcohol and to stay close to their leader if her services were needed in the remote chances that either the bureau or Xavier Prince's people found her here. _And you stayed behind, little girl to keep an eye on us._

Louis felt the step give a little as Pandora's leader sat next to him. He could feel her thigh and hip graze his own leg. He had a woman _once._ Even now, well over 40 years later, he still hadn't understood what all of the fuss was all about. _We're sure this type of intimacy would excite an operative or...three that have already left the party_

But he had a hunger for a different type of flesh.

And our need to feed grows with every passing minute, Serena. Feed us...feed us again as you promised that you would.

Still, there was a glow on her skin that hadn't existed before, a perhaps it was just the moonlight. She'd washed her hair and the red came through bright and clear as she combed it out. Something was different about her. Something had changed. _What happened to you while you were away from us, Serena?_ Louis knew about the attempted rape...he knew _all_ about rape...yes, he did.

Still again, she was still Serena Tennyson. She was the Oracle. She was still _hard,_ but something or someone had softened her around her edges at least. Louis didn't know exactly what any of this meant for Pandora...or for him.

He realized that he'd been staring at her this entire time without blinking.

"I don't have to explain to you how important your role is in the coming days." She said. "So many have sacrificed so much for us to be where we are right now, here in our rightful place, leading others."

He tried to nod, but could not find the strength.

She saw his weakness. She pulled out a cell phone out of her housecoat's pocket. "There is something that I want you to see." The cell phone came to life. She pressed a button and a video began playing...and although Louis Keaton had never met this man on the cell phone's screen, he certainly knew his face.

" _I'm Thomas Pepper,"_ He hesitated for a very long time while the camera panned out from his face to the familiar surroundings of his townhouse's basement where he recorded these videos for his blog. Serena must have recognized the studio immediately. " _And my demise has been greatly exaggerated."_ Louis thought that he heard a giggle...and yes, there were children, four of them to be exact, sitting on either side of the journalist. There was a little black boy, another boy of Latino descent...Louis couldn't be sure, and two girls, one white and another of Chinese or Japanese ancestry. None of the children were older than ten years old.

They looked _delectable..._ especially the boys. Louis twisted in his seat so Serena wouldn't see the stiffening in his groin.

Thomas Pepper was saying: _"I vow and affirm not to speak in any public form again until I deliver the truths that I promised our Mayor, Ernestine Johnson before her untimely death several days ago._

" _I invited these little ones here today as a reminder to us all that when we speak of the future, these are the ones that we are leaving it to. And when I look into their faces, I know that there is a God. I may not serve him as I should...but I know that He is there. And His spirit reminds me that their hearts are so naturally pure and so innocent that it is we and_ only _we adults who teach them to hate one another."_ Pepper's tone turned dark. " _How dare we teach them guidelines and rules that we adults ourselves are either too arrogant or too stupid to adhere to."_

Thomas Pepper took a breath. The little Asian boy became unruly for a minute. Thomas let the moment and the boy settle down again. " _Those before us had Pearl Harbor and the JFK shooting. We have the 911 attacks. And now this generation has the Andrew Young Center and the Fox Theatre and...Deliverance._

" _All of us have been raised in madness."_

The camera followed him as he stood. " _I wonder how much longer before A House in Chains sees this future of sadness and pain that they've visualized for so long. I question how many more days will pass before Pandora unleashes its Whirlwind on us all._

" _I hope that Xavier Prince walks away from this impending disaster. I pray that Serena Tennyson will turn away from prophecy."_ Serena seemed to squirm in her seat as the man's last words passed through his lips.

" _And I hope_ never _to ask the question: Where are our Children?"_ It was now time for Louis Keaton to shift uneasily in his seat.

He concluded by saying: _"My name is Thomas Pepper, where I go—"_

Serena silenced the cell phone. "You've trained for this moment, Louis." She said to him. "You're _ready_ for this moment, Louis."

"No...I'm not." The tears fell without preamble. He shook his head violently and put his head between his knees, his manhood stiffer than he could ever remember. And he was unable to hide it.

He turned to expose them both to her. "But I won't fail you, Serena. _Thomas Pepper dares speak of God. We are the truth and the light._ _And while no man knew the day or the hour of our return, we at long last, have come back for the children._

And now the dust was settling on Deliverance and the _Rapture_ would rise with the dawn.

End of Episode 2

Thank you for reading

Get caught up in the 'Rapture'

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Dedication:

### As I've said before, this one is for...well, me. This tale has been in my pipeline for a long time.
Nest Egg Publishing Note:

### This was a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are use factiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Nest Egg Publishing Presents Gary Sapp

### (Other Works)

### Waiting: A Twelve Worlds Novelette

### Fumblerooski: How the NCAA Dropped the Ball on the Coming Playoff.

### The Gospel According to John: How Elway Saved us From Tebow, his Media Cronies, and an Insufferable Fan Base.

### (Coming in 2014)

### Where are our Children (Serial Novel)

### Episode 1: 411 (Available Now!!!)

### Episode 3: Rapture

### Episode 4: Past Prologue

### Episode 5: Zero Hour

### Episode 6: Betrayals

### Episode 7: Scar

### Episode 8: Tempest Rising

### Episode 9: Whirlwind

### Available in Paperback through Create Space

### Waiting: A Twelve Worlds Novelette

### Fumblerooski: How the NCAA Dropped the Ball on the Coming Playoff

### The Gospel According to John: How Elway Saved us From Tebow, his Media Cronies, And an Insufferable Fan Base.

### Available as an Audiobook through Amazon, Audible.com, and I Tunes

### Waiting: A Twelve Worlds Novelette

### Fumblerooski: How the NCAA Dropped the Ball on the Coming Playoff

### The Gospel According to John: How Elway Saved us From Tebow, his Media Cronies, and an Insufferable Fan Base. (Coming Soon)

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