 
Whirlwind: Where are our Children

(A Serial Novel) Episode 9 of 9

By Gary Sapp

Copyright 2015 Gary Sapp

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Table of Contents:

Our Story so Far

Angel

Chris

Thomas

Angel

Roxanne

Angel

Chris

Angel

Seth

Epilogue: Another Dying Man

Dedication

Nest Egg Publishing Note

Nest Egg Publishing Presents: Where are our Children?

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 problems as a siege 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 Sanchez, formerly of the FBI's training program, is now a private detective and has been hired by Chris' ex-wife Denise to find her daughter Erica. Roxanne can tell from her conversations with both parents that they are hiding a deep dark secret from their time together as a family. Serena Tennyson show up at Thomas Pepper's townhouse looking to confess on his blog for her role in the deadly 411 attacks as well as present a new warning to a House in Chains and all People of Color: Xavier Prince and his organization is to stand down or face a new round of attacks centered at Atlanta's children. The FBI, led by Agent Prince, capture her, but not before paying a high price in casualties. Xavier learns of a plot to kill him upon his exit from Calhoun Prison as a volatile siege and riot takes place. Serena sees a series of frightening visions including the much prophesized Whirlwind coming to fruition. Yet, it is in real life where she is traumatized after being nearly raped by an APD police officer. After she and Thomas Pepper give separate but hotly contested interviews with the bureau, she escapes in a series of daring synchronized stages that leaves Christopher Prince and the FBI befuddled. After celebrating her freedom with her closest Pandora agents Serena instructs an increasingly fragile Louis Keaton to begin rapturing Atlanta's children.

Chris and his ex-wife, Denise Prince, meet for lunch to discuss Roxanne's search for Erica. The FBI Agent is promptly refreshed to the fact of how volatile his complicated relationship still is with her. Both parties are also reminded of the hostility that existed in their household that aided in their dissolution...and the catastrophic secret that has yet to be revealed to the general public about an event that occurred many years ago while they were still together. In the meantime, Roxanne Sanchez is far closer to finding their missing daughter than they both realize. The private detective's tenacious search leads her to the Carver Housing Projects...just in time to witness the Peacekeepers launch a major offensive to liberate its citizens from underneath the rule of the Choir Boys. Xavier Prince and his Circle had decided that this community would no longer wilt under the oppression of thugs, drug dealers and gang bangers. Roxanne makes two starling discoveries while barely surviving the incursion at all: She meets a self-proclaimed Pandora mole named Joseph Champion and finds Erica Lovings dead body in a dumpster. At the same time, Chris and Angel began investigating staged crime scenes that they question whether they unlock secrets of the past, or disclose clues to future abductions. Chris learns of his step daughter's death and travels to Denise's apartment to tell her the horrible news in person not knowing that Seth is secretly on the premises as well. Louis names Moses Jackson, the first of his new child captives, his general, and instructs the boy to watch over the other children he plans to rapture from Atlanta's streets. And then, under increased pressure from Serena, Louis reveals a startling revelation of his past that so enrages Pandora's leader, that she takes the time to journey to his hometown of Memphis, Tennessee, to avenge a terrible wrong.

Thomas continues to fend off threats from retribution from both elements of a House in Chains and Pandora as he continues his final preparations for announcing his findings in front of a national TV audience. One of the most frightening aspects of his investigations is the discovery that America's first Black president was not assassinated by a sniper's bullet, but killed by the same unidentified poison as Atlanta's Mayor, Ernestine Johnson. Even more unsettling to the blogger is that Serena herself is feeding him such vital information. Their relationship grows ever odder, ever more intimate. Upon Serena's request, he meets with her and she discloses the physical remains to Thomas of Templeton Healy, the uncle of Louis Keaton who she took a brutal vengeance against for his past indiscretions against Keaton as a boy and other Memphis residents over a number of years. After a testy interview with Muhammad Clark, the other perpetrator during Atlanta's first round of child abductions, an emotional Chris tells Angel the entire truth about the time he spent with Keaton while kidnapped. He was never sexually abused unlike the other captives who were taken. He was given the responsibility of watching over the other youngsters by Keaton. Yet, the emotional trauma that Chris suffered knowing the other boys were killed specifically because of his escape has continued to trouble him even to this point of his life. Seth and Denise show up at the agent's hotel room with Chris' ex-wife believing beyond a reasonable doubt that the two old friends have resumed a sexual relationship. Desperate and heartbroken, Denise commits suicide by throwing herself out of her apartment's window while Seth is helpless to do anything but watch. After her funeral the two Prince Brothers have an impromptu reunion with both men concerned about the other's decision making and general welfare moving forward. Roxanne had been following Seth and confronts him with her findings and rationale behind her decision that his estranged wife must die for her role in this crisis—and that she is the one that must kill her.

At Thomas Pepper's long awaited press conference, he reveals all of his findings on his investigations into Pandora to a national TV audience that raises the tension between Serena Tennyson's people and a House in Chains. But it is Lucy Burgess, Thomas' former colleague and lover that steals the spotlight and the headlines from underneath him with her own revelations. A controversial episode in Special Agent Christopher Prince's life is at the center of her report. Now, his already chaotic existence is thrown entirely on its ear. But for Chris his troubles are only beginning as he learns from a highly unlikely source that his father Isaac was indeed the infamous Caretaker and he did not perish in a car accident as he and the rest of the world was led to believe. And then Chris learns that he himself is suffering from the same stomach ailment that killed his mother.

Dr. Seth Dupree and Thomas Pepper get up close and personal samples of the strife that has broken out in the streets of Atlanta. The question is will either them survive a night in hell itself to divulge to anyone what they have seen. Chris Prince is reinstated to his posting with the FBI while Angel loses consultant status at the same time. Chris gains an unexpected ally from within the Circle in a desperate search to find and save his brother Xavier from certain betrayal from Quincy Morgan and the Peacekeepers loyal to the Sargent at Arms of a House in Chains. There is a change in leadership on tap for Pandora as well, as Serena Tennyson decides to forcibly remove Raymond Rice from his posting.

The betrayals don't end with removals of Xavier Prince and Raymond Rice from their respective positions in the warring parties. Dr. Seth Dupree is shocked to see a large band of Pandora allies surround the Peacekeeper cell he'd been tethered with overnight—only to see them turn their backs of their leader James Carter as Quincy Morgan and his crew beat him to death and finally behead him. Seth soon learns that the treachery was sanctioned by Serena herself to rid her organization of hatemongers who don't have a place in her view of a new world order. Thomas fights against his instincts to stay in his hotel, in relative safety, and ventures out into downtown in a desperate search for Lucy Burgess who he gave up to a House in Chains in exchange for an extension of the Zero Hour hours earlier. He finds death along every step of his journey including Lucy who has been tortured and stripped of her dignity and her clothing before she dies finally succumbs to her injuries in his arms. Roxanne and Angel finally square off with both women airing their grievances before an earthquake hits the city and tosses the Marta they were riding on its side. And yet, it is Seth who witnesses that manmade destruction can be as or even more devastating as he witnesses the middling stage of Scar—young suicide bombers detonating themselves in highly populated areas of the city.

Hugh Keaton nearly succumbs to his natural instincts, but with the aid of Angel, puts Atlanta's kidnapped children in a great position to be rescued by the authorities. Chris arrives on the scene as he promises but there is danger all around from independent citizens who have taken to the streets with one ambition in mind: They want to be the one to kill Hugh Keaton, whether the children have been brought back safely or not. Local television helicopters take to the air and Keaton can fight his impulses embedded in his brain from the past no longer. He runs away from the safety net that Chris, Angel, Moses and the other children were providing him—and he is gunned down by several snipers' bullets. He would not be the lone Pandora agent to die this night, however. An injured Serena Tennyson has worked her way back to the Bank America building to oversee her Whirlwind from a panoramic view from high above. She is suffering even more internally than the bruises and scars are showing to the outside world. Thomas Pepper is the first on the scene and he has called the FBI to try to end this without further bloodshed. Serena has many confessions before the emotional reunion is ended. One of which is that she tells Christopher Prince that she has fabricated the death sentence that was revealed to him by his personal doctor days earlier. Angel is reminded of her suffering that is still to come. And just before the van carrying an imprisoned Serena explodes on a previously undetonated pipe bomb, she does reveal to Thomas that he is the one that has only months left to live.
Angel

Justice Price called Special Agent Nicholas Sheridan to the podium for the last time.

The Congressional Hearing Room here at the Department of Justice here in Washington D.C. had been slow to warm, mirroring the mid-morning October day outside in the nation's capital. Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree blew her hot breath into her hands for the third time in as minutes for warmth. It didn't seem to be helping. She watched Sheridan rise from his seat in the first row of the galley and take his short, but yet, long trek to the witness stand. He was wearing his best black suit with matching tie and shoes. He looked to be even more business minded than usual. He still had a nice ass. Angel noted that his hair looked even more gray than when he'd first come to recruit her inside that coffee house all of those months ago in Macon. And this promotion will likely bald it within five years. Sheridan's wife looked so proud. The woman's smile lit up what was an otherwise clean but bland chamber of coffee colored desks and chairs and portraits presidents long dead or voted out of office.

Christopher Prince was seated three rows behind her, just near enough to observe the proceedings without straining to see the specifics. She couldn't quite read what her childhood friend was thinking and that fact troubled her some. She'd always had been able to gauge his moods before, but he'd been a tough read since that night that Serena Tennyson had died in a fireball of one of her own pipe bombs as her vision of a Whirlwind had come to a fiery close. Something in him had died as well apparently and that had been a good thing. Christopher looked like a man who had emerged from a shell as man reborn. He'd dropped all of the extra baggage around his midsection, but had gained width in his arms and legs while his chest looked chiseled. She wouldn't have believed the transformation if she had not witnessed the process of diet, exercise and—force of will for herself.

Agent Tabitha Blue's overbite was in full bloom this morning as she looked as happy as if she were Sheridan's kid sister accompanying him to a sports banquet as he received an award for player of the year. Angel found herself smiling at her, just a bit. On the surface at least, Blue looked as if she'd recovered from her injuries that she'd suffered during one of those nights of horror than no one involved in this room would ever forget. But I wonder where you are underneath that smile...that jovial mask that you wear so well, Agent Blue.

The entire Justice Department had attended the ceremony. Angel decided that they probably had little say so in that regard. Considering that the last appointed Director of the FBI, Raymond Rice, had succumb to the temptations of Pandora and the fantasies of a new world order...this appointment, this transition of power within the bureau was now the most important nomination in the history of its existence since its founding.

"Nicholas Andrew Sheridan you should raise your right hand," Justice Price said aloud for the entire room to hear.

Sheridan did so and for the first time this morning, he couldn't fight off the smile that was creeping on his face weathered but handsome face. Justice Price struggled to bite back a similar grin that had fallen on her wrinkled mouth as well.

"Now you've got to behave, Nicholas, if we're going to get through this proceeding before lunch." She said and the entire galley broke into a hardy laugh and then light applause. She gave everyone a chance to settle back down and read her lines to him without looking once at the prompter.

The new Deputy Director of the FBI accepted his new title and all the responsibilities that accompanied it when she had finished her spill at last.

"Congratulations," They shook hands and Angel heard the firm but polite applause begins yet again.

"Thank you, Justice Price," Sheridan said to her just loud enough to be heard over the dwindling applause. "It is my honor to serve both this department and the people of this country for which I love with all of my heart and soul."

The clapping amplified itself in volume and intensity with his words as the sound echoed off of the chamber's walls.

Deputy Director Sheridan addressed the media that was waiting like starving vultures in a nearby press room. He gave a prepared opening declaration and made himself available for a short Q&A and issued a closing statement and walked off without looking back. 45 minutes had passed when Sheridan joined Justice Price and a hand full of her colleagues who had stayed behind in an adjacent conference room awaiting his arrival. Agents Christopher Prince and Tabitha Blue had been invited to the short meeting—as was Dr. Angel Hicks-Dupree.

Justice Price:

She was nearing 60 years old. If she were an automobile then she would have had the body of an older body Buick, but would have been carrying a Camaro's new engine underneath the hood. She sat her butt on the edge of one of the tables, smoothed out her skirt, and let everyone else settle in where they may. She ran her hand through her short but stylish haircut once before she issued her own opening statement to those left behind to hear it.

"Now that the media show is over and done with my friends and I wanted to meet with you, Sheridan, on a more intimate level. We had a couple of specific questions for you and those who had served directly under your command during all that madness that went down in Atlanta in the spring."

"Of course, Justice," Sheridan couldn't help but arch a bushy gray brow of curiosity. She could feel her own curved brow rising in anticipation as well. Now this should be entertaining. "How could I be of service?"

Justice Price exhaled audibly and then put her thoughts to words.

"You should know this already, Sheridan, but I will remind you that your first few months—likely your first year on this gig won't be very pleasant."

"I'm sure they won't be, Justice," Sheridan nodded at her. "There are far too many questions that have gone unanswered post 411. Even in the months that I've served in this position in an unofficial capacity, we haven't learned enough about the variables from many sides in the days and months that preceded the attacks. I want to assure you that I won't rest until this agency provides detailed specifications—and more importantly names of those who were and still are involved with Pandora. I'm going to follow that trail to whatever end it leads me. You have my word on that."

"My colleagues and I have every confidence that you will." Justice Price looked back at the empty expressions of her colleagues that said otherwise.

One of the two men, a second Justice that Angel knew as Frank Berry stepped in front of Price with his glasses hanging over his nose.

"Forgive me, Mr. Sheridan for being blunt," He said without preamble. "I'm not as forgiving as Justice Price apparently is in this matter. Don't get me wrong on this, Sheridan; your service record proves that you are as qualified as they come to be the Deputy Director of the FBI. But I want to remind you that you only garnered just enough votes to barely attain this position over a few other candidates who are likely as qualified—at least in somebody's estimation. Doubters and skeptics exist because of some of the decisions that you made during the critical final hours of that disorder down in that Godforsaken city in northern Georgia. "I'm one of those people, Sheridan."

"With all due respect, Justice Berry, is there a specific question that you have here for me this morning?" Sheridan asked the man.

"Questions... I have too many of them and not enough time to air them all, Sheridan." He replied and pushed his glasses up on his face. "All I want now is an overview of where would you begin to provide the answers to the difficult questions that your countrymen are asking about those dark hours?"

Sheridan turned to where Angel was standing.

"Dr. Hicks Dupree's earlier testimony brought the severity of our agency's dysfunction—all of the country's agency's dysfunction that Pandora preyed upon into a new light that, believe me, was far from flattering."

"I've read those transcripts twice, Sheridan. I'm sure our friends here are interested in your interpretations of what those records said," Price asked.

Sheridan used the seconds that he pulled his suit jacket to its proper length to organize his thoughts for a proper answer.

"We're all aware that in some capacity or form that an isolated number of former FBI Agents and those from sister agencies aided in the planning and execution of the 411 attacks and the subsequent actions in and around Atlanta in the days and weeks after. In so many words, Justice Price, we are a government institution, so that means that the American taxpayer himself aided in these engagements. I want these individuals brought to justice—if you'll pardon the pun, madam. These men and women are the epithet of the worst type of traitor. And I want each and every one of them arrested and tried for treasonous crimes against this country."

Justice Berry flashed his two colleagues that had marched in with him a look and then he turned his attention back to the new deputy director.

"We want that as well, Sheridan. I hear the pain and the sense of urgency in your voice. I believe that both are sincere. Yet, I haven't heard any specifics on how you are to accomplish this monumental task that we have laid at your feet. I'm sure that everyone in this room knows that a House in Chains has a major rally planned in Atlanta for later this evening. Despite that mass suicide involving many of the vital components of the head of the snake, the body indeed slithers on. I have no doubt that in some deep dark corner that the remnants of Pandora are or have already done something similar."

"I wasn't quite finished, sir." Sheridan cleared his throat. "Today I'm going to appoint a reclaiming czar whose sole purpose— outside of eating and breathing— is to find each and every man and woman who was involved and yank them by their privates from under whatever rock they may have be hiding under. We start this process by debriefing each and every current member of this bureau. The metaphor we use goes as follows: We sweep the barber shops and hair salons with one giant comb—meaning we get into the professional and private lives of our own people's activities over the past few years— and we examine each and every strand we have down to its DNA coding."

Justice Price stepped past Berry and shook Sheridan's hand again.

"I don't envy you this task, Sheridan. This sounds like a monumental undertaking you have ahead of you. It also sounds as if this so called czar of yours has much work ahead of him."

"And much to answer for if he fails to produce results in a timely manner," Berry added his last piece before this jigsaw puzzle of conversation was finished at last.

"She won't fail," Sheridan stepped away from the Justices as they passed and planted a firm hand on Agent Tabitha Blue's narrow shoulder. "I don't see any reason why we shouldn't do this right now. Justices, allow me to introduce you to my choice for this important position that I spoke of minutes earlier. Agent Tabitha Blue is the most qualified person in this agency available for this assignment." He then looked down at the woman who was fighting off the effects of near shock on her face. "All this is contingent on you accepting this posting of course."

The younger woman had semi recovered from being totally blindsided by her bosses' offer. Angel thought, to the agent's credit, that she handled the unexpected attention—and potential promotion with as much professionalism as it deserved.

Angel couldn't say the same thing for herself however.

What the fuck...She thought dumfounded. She glared first at Sheridan and then at Agent Blue and finally at Christopher Prince in rapid succession. How could Sheridan bypass you as a candidate for this posting, Christopher? He must have felt her fury and ducked her constant glaring by finding something worthwhile to look at on the hardwood floors.

"I can't say that I was expecting this type of honor being bestowed on me this morning, sir," Blue was showing her overbite again. "Yes, yes, I would be proud to accept this responsibility. I want to do this."

Justice Price nodded at the younger woman a satisfied smile played a tune on her lips.

"Special Agent Blue, our committee has already been briefed on your service record early on in the process when the deputy director was mentioned as a probable candidate to serve in his new capacity. I stand here before you very pleased with Sheridan's choice for this posting."

Berry folded his arms, apparently not as easily pleased or silenced.

"Do not misunderstand me or my words, young lady. Your qualifications are extemporary as it has already been said here before but—"

"What is it, sir," Blue asked Berry. "What is it that troubles you about my role in this?"

"Agent Blue, you took a gunshot to the head only six months ago." He asked her quickly. "Are you completely healed from your injuries?"

"I have," Blue nodded as if she had anticipated this line of questioning. "Thank you for your concern, sir. But the truth is that I've never felt physically better than I do right now...at least since that night. The surgeon that treated me did a miraculous job." Blue stared in Angel's direction for a long minute. Seth was at the top of his game despite all that he'd been through himself in the hours before he pulled that bullet out of Blue's skull. "And the psychological therapy that I've been through in the months since has brought my focus and concentration to a higher plain. I won't bore any of you with all of those details of my recovery, sir. What I can tell you is this, Justice Berry: I won't fail you. I give you my word."

Justice Berry stared at Blue for a long time after she'd last spoken...and then he nodded in her general direction and disappeared out of the door without saying adding a word of his own. The other Justices silently followed him out.

After the door shut behind the last of them Angel said aloud:

"What in the hell just happened here?"

Tabitha Blue looked as if she could stand no longer. She settled herself in one of the nearby uncomfortable chairs as if standing for one minute longer would zap all of her remaining energy. Christopher now found something interesting to peer out of the window into the landscape of Washington, D.C.

"While I don't share the doctor's persistent distaste of your choice for job openings, Mr. Deputy Director," Blue let her words bite wherever and whoever they may. "I must admit to be truthfully surprised at your offer as well."

Sheridan grinned.

"You weren't a difficult sale for them or for me, Agent Blue." Sheridan sat on the desk where the young woman was seated. "You're work in this agency throughout your career is stellar. You are loyal, trustworthy and...vigilant. You're going to need all of those qualities, especially the latter, if you are to carry this assignment out successfully."

"Maybe," She leaned forward and looked up at Sheridan, but her expression had changed. "I heard you say that I was the best available candidate." She turned around to where her ex-partner was still looking out of the window. He must have felt all of the eyes in the room glaring in his direction. "Why did you turn Sheridan down, Chris?"

Christopher spun around and could only manage a sheepish look on his dark, beautifully unblemished face. He didn't speak at first and then when he did open his mouth the words couldn't find their way clear of his lips.

"Well," Angel had run out of patience. "Are you going to say anything, Christopher?"

He tugged at the crease on his slacks and then seated himself on the table where Angel was sitting, which was adjacent to both Sheridan and Blue.

"Alright, okay," He threw his hands up at her. "The truth is that I lacked one critical area of qualification for accepting any advanced position within the bureau or any other governmental agency."

Angel sat up.

"And what would that qualification or lack thereof be?" she asked, but just as suddenly one of the likely answers popped into her head before her friend manufactured an answer.

"I am no longer employed by the Federal Bureau of Investigations." Christopher Prince announced.

Blue's chair whined as she pushed away from the table and made her way to her ex-partner's side in two heartbeats. Angel tried to control her breathing and relax but was finding that job a struggle. She did see Nicholas Sheridan though—and now it was his turn to glare at imaginary objects on the floor.

"What in the hell happened?" Blue asked him. "Internal affairs reviewed your actions during their inquiry. They reviewed all of our actions. You were cleared of any wrong doings, and concluded that your gun discharged at the moment the quake popped its top. They can't do this to you. They can't derail your career like that. Don't let them, Chris. We have the Deputy Director of the FBI on our side. We'll fight to get you reinstated...again."

Neither Sheridan nor Christopher made a sound or moved a muscle.

Blue pushed her hair out of her eye.

"Am I missing something here? I am missing something here aren't I?"

Sheridan said without looking up, "Tell them, Chris."

"I wasn't fired, Blue." Christopher stood up again and buttoned his jacket. "I resigned just before we arrived up here in D.C this morning."

"What." Angel and Blue said at the same time.

Sheridan's bushy eyebrows shot up. Angel surmised that his cell phone must have buzzed in his jacket's pocket or he was doing a fine acting job.

"Excuse me," He said and angled toward the door where the Justices had exited the room earlier. "I have to take this call."

After Sheridan closed the door behind him Blue slumped in her chair.

"I don't believe this, Chris. I won't believe this. Why are you leaving the bureau?"

Christopher found his way back over to where Agent Blue was sitting. Angel sat back in her chair and used the back of it to support all of her weight against it.

"Blue, I want you to listen to me." He said. "Somewhere, sometime in those final few days and hours during all that hell that we all went through I realized—I recognized that my heart and soul wasn't in this anymore. I realized that I needed to find my place somewhere else far away from here with the time that has been given me."

Blue shook her head barely containing her fury.

"So you just pick up and leave, Chris. We've been through this before—this same conversation took place on that street corner before the Bishop and his Choir Boys showed. You've taught me everything that I know about law enforcement."

"If that is half true then you were an excellent student. And now you have graduated from all of those lessons with top honors. You've grown well past the need to be on anyone's leash, Tabitha, especially mine. You are ready to leave the nest. Sheridan's appointment proves that."

Blue's gaze hardened further.

"No," She said simply. "This isn't about me, Chris, it's about you. I refuse to believe that you are turning your back on this agency especially now at its greatest time of need. We need people, Chris, good people if we are going to bring this agency back from the brink. Sheridan wanted to appoint you to be his czar. I can see that truth in both your faces but you turned his offer down to run away. It should be you leading the fight to take those who brought such pain and misery to your people, Chris...to people of color in Atlanta and across our country. And it should be you should be leading the fight to bring back those individuals who betrayed this agency and bolted for Pandora."

"Betrayal, you say," Chris looked away again to control his temper. "Have you forgotten that I put a gun in your face, Tabitha?"

Blue stepped around him until they were face to face once again.

"I forgave you for that. And if I remember correctly I had one pointed in yours as well. We were both under a lot of stress. We were fighting for the causes that we both strongly believed it. We were both right and we were both wrong. Anyway, the gunshot wound I suffered was a freak act of nature...an accident."

"I'm sorry, Tabitha, but I'm done here. My decision to leave the FBI is no accident."

"Chris, I didn't consider your actions that night as a betrayal to my trust."

"I'm sorry," Christopher could manage to utter nothing else.

"But this...if you walk away from me now, if you walk away from the bureau now..."

"I am sorry, Tabitha," Chris said and Angel recognized the strength of finality in her friend's voice. "But you are right about one thing: This isn't about you. I've walked away from the bureau because I've answered a higher calling. I'm needed elsewhere. I'm going to serve a greater cause than this bureau."

All of the air seemed to leak out of Tabitha Blue's lungs and her argument died a whispering death. She raised her shoulders as high as her frame would allow her. She took a deep breath and then walked towards the same door that Sheridan and the others had taken turns walking out of minutes ago. She opened it at last and looked back at the two of them that she would be leaving behind over her shoulder.

"The gun episode is the past and the past to me is prologue." Blue said evenly. "But what you do today is present and it is no less than a betrayal of the worst kind, Chris. And I won't ever forget it."

If Special Agent Tabitha Blue's words troubled Christopher in the minutes afterwards he didn't show it in either expression or words to Angel. He turned the chair that he'd been sitting in earlier around and sat in it backwards.

And then he pulled a single penny from his left pocket and began to toss it in the air again...and again...and again...

Angel took her turn at sitting her ass on the table next to where he sat and crossed her legs as they dangled over the edge.

"So when were you going to let me in on this little secret about your next career move."

"Don't start with me," Christopher said in a serious tone, but a tight smile hinted at a lighter reaction to her words, the whiteness of his straight teeth against the darkness of his skin was a marvel to behold. "And if you truly know me as well as you claim you do, Doctor, then you would already have known that I couldn't go back to them—not after they accepted Lucy Burgess' account of my past troubles with my stepdaughter without my consideration or intake. Where was their loyalty to me, Angel? I can't do this anymore. I can't afford to be naïve to what is going on in the real world any longer. This blanket of presumed innocence I've been lying under needs to be removed."

"Alright," She said moving past point's bygone and wanting to get into her friend's immediate present and possible future. "I'll play your little game, mister. I'll take a guess that you made your mind up about this decision some time ago. Making life changing pronouncements on a whim is not your M O. You may have even decided this during all of that hellfire we were going through in April. You didn't want to resign until you were absolutely sure that you had your next job lined up."

"I told Blue that it was a 'higher calling',"

"Whatever,"

They both laughed. Laughing felt good. She couldn't recall the last time she had a good laugh. But I can remember the last time that I had a drink. I can remember the day that all the laughter in my life died a harrowing death because I can't celebrate it with a toast. As for Christopher, and the matters at hand, Angel could feel the tension easing between them—even if that wasn't likely to last moving forward.

The therapy that she was enrolled in to aid her kick her bad habits wasn't easy on her mentally or physically to say the least. She understood now more than ever before why people hated shrinks. They forced you to confront the worst aspects of your own personality. And the worse aspect of her personality is that couldn't go through a single day without wanting a drink, needing one. Yet, without her husband Seth's support she wouldn't have made it this far.

But is this the day—this day and no further; is this the day that I fold?

And yet, she still had matters to settle with Chris moving forward about her role in Pandora—her dealings with Louis/Hugh Keaton that may sever their lifelong friendship after he found out those truths that were yet to come. Get it over with, Doc, tell him now. Was that her voice shining through in herself conscious or Roxanne Sanchez's? Even with the countless interviews by Internal Affairs or her testimonies still to come in front of a Grand Jury about the disaster of Atlanta would expose the truths of who was probably behind his stepdaughter's death—and why.

Today should be that day after all.

But she knows that it won't be.

"If you want to talk about your new job, Christopher," She said instead. "If you ready to reveal some details about your starting date or salary—"

Instead of talking Christopher hopped up from his chair, checked his watch, tossed the penny up one last time, caught it and put it away all in one motion while whistling softly.

"Wow, time really flies when you are having fun, Doc," He kissed her on her cheek. "But you should keep your eyes and ears open. You never know where I'll land on my feet."

"Come here,"

Angel straightened out his tie for him. He looked good...the lone exception was the dullness and lack of focus in his eyes that she'd never seen before. She told herself that it was only the obvious stress they'd all been under, or fatigue, or something or the other to do with his new job—

But then she smelled alcohol coming out of his pores of his face.

I'm imagining this, she thought; I know that I'm imagining this. Don't go where I've gone, Christopher. Don't become who I've become.

"Thank you, Doctor," Christopher said when she finished at last. He checked his watch one last time. "I've got to go now. I'm running late for my flight back to Atlanta." He flipped the penny in the air once again. If there was an explanation in this repeated action it had escaped her so far. "I have business—and then I have business. I'll call you after I land."

Five minutes after he had left her in the conference room alone—she worked out a matrix of possibilities in her mind and the probable truth of Christopher Prince's new occupation caused her to cock a brow and hit her like a punch in her gut.

"Son of a bitch, Christopher," She said aloud. "Tell me you didn't do what I think you have."
Chris

It was raining.

Can you believe that, after months and months of drought, that it would rain today here in Atlanta, today of all days.

Christopher Prince rubbed at his jaw and wondered how many more lives could have been spared from Serena's Whirlwind if this city had any sufficient amounts of precipitation in the weeks before that deranged woman unleashed her inferno upon them all.

What is past is prologue, his former partner's voice of several hours ago echoed from the depths of his subconscious.

Christopher Prince looked out past Atlanta's latest tempest—and he could bite back his stubbornness and his smile playing on his lips no longer. An estimated crowd of 5000 people of color were squeezed together here in the courtyard outside Georgia's State Capitol to hear him speak on the future.

He took one final breath before walking from underneath the shed out into the rain himself to podium that awaited him the way a groom awaits his bride. A local minister was leading all of those who had come—and the several millions that watched from the broadcast method of their choice—in a prayer.

The people came this evening holding up pictures of loved ones lost during the various flashpoints of Atlanta's hideous events. Many came wielding banners showing the names of the fallen, some conveying biblical passages, and a few...just a few wielded signs that ushered his father's words from long ago that still resonated today:

Brothers and sisters, what do you see when you visualize our people's future? And the next line always issued the same response. We see days filled with misery and pain.

And by all that was holy, Isaac Prince's one surviving son could see all of that misery in the eyes of those that 411 had left behind. He could see the pain as they stood here together shoulder to shoulder out in this downpour.

And yet if one looked hard enough...you could see something else entirely.

Serena Tennyson's Whirlwind had not taken the fight out of these people...it had not snuffed out the flame of their resolve completely.

A House in Chains wasn't quite dead yet.

It was time for him to speak.

It was time for Christopher Prince to clock in with his new employer.

It was time for the One to continue the legacy that his father founded and that his brother had steered from a high level of honor and respect to an even elevated level of existence.

He took the short/long walk to the platform into the posting that had always by rights by his and his alone.

"Thank you for coming. It is good to see you all here in this most historic of grounds. This is a place where your ancestors and mine once walked to and then stood here in protest of our denial of the most basic of human and civil rights. Now, I know that most of you standing here in this rain this evening weren't even born yet, but the facts in hand make the truth of what happened then no less relevant.

"I will apologize to all of you in advance before I go any further. I regret that I have failed to write a speech that will stir up emotions or perhaps that will leave its mark on history when people listen to it decades from now. My brother, a man that you all knew as Xavier Prince, once told me that I had a gift for words that he would never had. I loved my brother more than any of you will ever know. And yet, he was wrong in that assessment of his older sibling. Today I will leave speech and prophecy and innuendo to brighter and better men than the one who stands before you. The truth is all that I brought with me today."

A woman shouted yes from his far left while he heard pockets of faint to polite applause every time he would pause for breath. And the rain had seemed to subdue with each passing minute making it easier for everyone to play closer attention to his words and not the elements.

"This is the saddest of all occasions we share here this evening. I don't think that I need to tell you that. I look around this state capital and I see the pictures of our loved ones that we have lost forever. I see your pain. I feel your pain. We wear it together. The minister who prayed with you before I stepped over here is a wonderful pastor and an even better man. I know him personally. And as any good Christian would—he would remind all of us that if you except Jesus Christ as your Lord and savior that you will be with your loved ones again...you will see them again—"

Chris heard a dozen hallelujahs and the polite applause had increased in number and volume.

"I can only pray that I may become a better man—a better Christian so that I will see my brother Xavier again. I hope that I may lay my eyes on my father Isaac prince and the woman who birth me as well. I hope to see all of those who have gone on to eternity and left me behind to carry on.

"And yet, I know that this is likely unlikely because ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls I know that I am not a good Christian man."

Laughter prevailed even after a thunderous applause dies down.

"I am prideful. I am sinful. I am resentful. But I have one redeeming value: I stand before you this evening carrying the truth with me. And that truth shall set me free."

Christopher Prince heard a new roar of approval from those who had braved the storm—all of the storms that had befallen them to see him speak live this evening. He could see the bright lights of the television cameras in his face. And the rain had slowed even further, enough that when he wasn't speaking, the grounds around the capital were virtually silent.

"A pessimist would say that a House in Chains had accomplished everything that it set out to do. He would tell us that there is nothing left for us to achieve. 411 knocked us down. The last minutes of Scar kept us down. He would tell us that it would be highly unwise for our House to ever exhibit such power and influence over the lives of so many ever again. I can tell you that I am an optimist. I can tell you that I don't believe in such pessimistic lies. I can tell you not to believe in these lies either. Change comes slowly—but I don't have to tell any of you this do I? Change comes slowly in the hearts and minds of men. It comes at a snail's pace to nations and civilizations. My pastor would tell you that the fundamental inability to change is the reason we fail as human beings in the sight of our God."

The roar of the 5000 or so that had come to hear him was deafening. Chris backed away from the podium to let his people have their vocal moment before he tried to speak again.

"Never forget that those who perpetrated 411 did so not because of hate, but because of fear. If you hear nothing else that I say to you today please remember this: It is their fear that fans the flames of hate and discord in their hearts. It is their fear that brought destruction to the Andrew Young Youth Center. It was their fear that brought a massacre to the Fox Theatre. It was fear that caused them to take away President Adolphus Sweet and Mayor Ernestine Johnson. And it was fear that allowed them to set a monster on our streets by the name of Keaton to terrorize our children...

"And make no mistake—they still fear us. And as long as that fear remains we must be prepared to do what we must to protect ourselves from their aggression. There are a few of you here today who have lived long enough to have followed my father. We honor you. We honor the patience and the resilience that you've shown. A great many more of you served my brother Xavier. I honor you. I honor your loyalty. Both of those great men of color died for what they believed in. They both shared the single minded purpose of making life better for every one of you who have come here today. I want you to know that their single minded purpose is my purpose as well. I have answered a higher calling. I am here for you. I am at last here in this place where I belong."

The rain had stopped but Chris could feel the sweat pouring down his collar towards his chiseled chest as the crowd cheered and began to chant his name over the next several minutes.

He finally was forced to silence them the masses by raising his hands high into the dark of the Atlanta night.

"Our House has accomplished a many great deeds under my family's leadership. In particular I feel that the liberation of the Carver Housing Projects from the thugs and drug dealers was the right thing to do. We saved our missing children by using any and all means necessary was the right thing to do. Striking back at any uncompromising, unrelenting and unholy enemy like Pandora who would oppose us is the right thing to do. Let no man tell you any different. Do not allow the media to tell you anything different. Do not elect officials that would tell you anything different."

The crowd's decibel level raised two fold and it took Chris a full five minutes to quite those who he himself had stirred to a fever pitch.

"Past is Prologue. The present watches us from the shadows. The future—the Vision of our Future is far from secure...still, I challenge each and every one to remember your feelings of pain, feelings of loss and feelings of suffering that you have gone through up until today. I am here for you if you will have me. I will continue to fight with my last ounce of strength for our people's rights. I stand before you ready to complete what others in my beloved family have started. I am a Prince. I know that there are hundreds of Carver's nationwide that need liberating. There are thousands of children of color that need our protection. Make no mistake though—friends and neighbors, boys and girls—those who believe in and would support the twisted ideologies of a Serena Tennyson and Pandora are out there ready to pick up the pieces of the broken pathetic banner of hate and violence. There is more madness to come. Just know that I have your back. A new Board and Circle who will govern wiser than before will have your back. A new detail of Peacekeepers who will be stronger than before will have your back. A House in Chains will rise from the ashes of what came before will have your back.

He held both of his arms up and spoke quickly one final time into another loud ovation.

"I was once asked a question: I was asked what I see when I visualize our people's future—and someone answered for me that he saw days filled with misery and pain.

"That was a lifetime ago.

"The next time that your brother or your sister ask you the same—the very next time someone ask you what do you see when you visualize our people's future."

Christopher Prince...the One...the most dangerous man in the entire world paused only briefly.

"Tell them that I see days and nights full of joy and a thousand year reign."

All who had gathered before him cheered his name and wept until their tears had long dried and sang songs of remembrance and danced as one giant body.

And then the leader of a House in Chains began to hop in place—stomp in open defiance against any and all who would seek absolution or forgiveness if they dared oppose his House.

5000 people stomped with him.
Thomas

The good book stated over and over that the wages of sin resulted in death.

Juice spilled as Thomas Pepper carved meat away from breast bone of his turkey, tossed it on his plate next to his canned peas and instant mashed potatoes and pressed the PLAY button on his DVR again. He was watching the replay of Chris Prince's speech from a month ago at the Georgia State Capital for the third time today.

This time however, he forwarded to the final five minutes that he had book marked. And then he took a page full of notes while he watched this portion over and over again to his satisfaction while he ate. He took particular notice to Chris' facial actions and tried to match his words to those subtle but important things that had gone unsaid that rain soaked evening in Atlanta. When did you make this critical decision in your heart, Chris?

Thomas jotted down in his notes that he believed that it must have happened when he found his brother nearly dead in that compound. Guilt could be a powerful instrument for change. The wages of sin often result in death, he thought again.

And yet, was Thomas Pepper thinking of the man on his television screen or himself—

A terrible pain struck him in the midsection that forced his silverware from his hands.

Stubborn and determined Thomas sat himself back up. He sat the food aside and penciled in a few last notes. Chris' speech would prove invaluable for him to finish the last chapters of his book. He rubbed at his bearded face which was quite the contrast of when he ran his fingers over the hundreds of sheets of paper of his manuscript. What he had written—what he'd personally experienced in far too many of these pages astounded him.

Thomas peeked at one of the many chapters that he had dedicated to Serena Tennyson. He rubbed his beard again. He wondered if the critics...and the public in general would look unfavorably at the shadow of sympathy that he cast on her—especially as her personal story drew to a close. Sympathy was not what he wanted. It damned sure wasn't that would have been the voice she would have asked him to speak in for her. And yet, he was the speaker for the dead. The chapters on Louis Keaton and Xavier Prince...and Lucy Burgess were all told with his voice.

And then there was the problem of the living.

To this day, Thomas Pepper still wondered who this other wing—this other person was that Serena swore was her other half was. Thomas would have sworn on a thousand bibles that it would have to be Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree of course. That made the most sense. And yet, Thomas realized that very little of what came six months or so before made any sense, especially from the eyes of those who were not directly involved.

Serena Tennyson was a changed woman, especially after she and Danielle Rohm returned from their short trip to Memphis. And it was far more to this transition than Louis Keaton's blood and flesh under her fingernails.

He ran his thick fingers across the finished pages once again. This was a book that his editor and publisher were impatiently waiting for. They had actually requested that he finish it a month or so ago so their people could handle the final edits, set the typeset and have the hardcover design put in place by tomorrow. Thomas Pepper couldn't be angry with them for wanting to capitalize on Black Friday and the beginning of the holiday rush in the retail market.

And his publicist reminded him that although he had unequaled access to some of the game's most high profile players he was facing stiff competition from others in both public and private life this go round. There were rumors of books coming from federal agents, CNN personalities and even a handful of Pandora sympathizers who had been ousted since a Whirlwind devastated Atlanta.

A Whirlwind, he thought while he sat back in his easy chair, not the Whirlwind. Thomas was unsure of what exactly that devastation might have been but it looked as if the country had avoided it thus far.

And he had continue to joke with his publishing brethren that it wasn't as if he wouldn't live long enough to finish writing this—

And then a pain with some depth and volume spilled his large frame over onto the floor.

20 minutes later Thomas Pepper wiped the tears away from his eyes and lifted himself up off of the floor.

They would have to wait a while longer for his manuscript and that was damned fine by him.

Although his store cooked bird had cooled he still savored the taste as he finished his meal. Even an unholy man needed to celebrate Thanksgiving in his own way. It was early afternoon for sure, but he would brave the chill in the air and the pain in his abdomen and keep at least one promise today.

He scanned his notes again. Watching the DVR reminded him to check on a couple of specific passages on Chris Prince. Thomas was convinced more than ever that the murder of the former FBI Agent's step daughter was more than a footnote to all of this. He was also convinced that Keaton had little if anything to do with the young woman's brutal killing as well. I do think that you know something, Doctor. Angel had refused to return his calls in the last month, especially with her official testimony to a Federal Grand Jury fast approaching. You are hiding something, Doctor, and that something falling into the hands of the Feds is the least of your concerns. She was fighting for her career and even perhaps fighting for her freedom as well—but Thomas would bet his life that wasn't what had silenced her so far.

He finally worked himself over to his desk. He worked the combination of his safe until it popped open and stuck his work inside and slammed the door shut behind it. He'd interviewed more than a hundred people for their individual accounts of the events that had shaken a country at its core.

But he wasn't suddenly trembling because of that acknowledgment.

Walking down his own personal memory lane of what happened to him, what could have happened to him and what happened because of him had been an exercise he didn't want to repeat today.

He checked his watch and decided that it was time to change his clothes for his guest that would be soon arriving. He took four of his prescriptions after he had showered and used the bathroom. In his bedroom he picked out one of the two pair of jeans that he owned and grabbed the lone pair of old sneakers from off the shelf. He grabbed a jacket big enough to warm him but light enough to allow his arms and hands some freedom of movement.

Thomas had a job to do.

And then a new round of pains floored him.

He was forced to try to raise himself again from off all fours. I'm not going to be able to get up this time. He knew that there was a service button located near the bed's headboard. If he could reach it...and that was a big if...he could ring one of the desk nurses who could start earning that time and half by helping him get back to his feet. And yet, Thomas did not crawl towards the button that would bring him aid.

Thomas Pepper prayed instead.

He knew that both of his doctors disapproved of his plans to truck out of this facility today—especially considering the chill in the air and the deficiencies in his immune system. He didn't want to hand anymore ammunition to either one of those women that would endanger his chance to keep his promise.

He heard a knock on his room door.

He bit his bottom with determination as he struggled to stand again. He was feeling weaker and more disoriented than before. And his Thanksgiving dinner wasn't sitting on his stomach right either.

And yet, Thomas Pepper smile was genuine enough to fool the three older women of color he saw when he opened his door. They said their hellos and seemed to notice nothing out of the ordinary immediate than anything that he'd chosen to show them before. Nothing was going to keep the four of them from their appointed rounds today.

Wearing two latex gloves on each hand, Thomas served his first bowl of soup to an older white woman three hours later. The line for the free meal was wrapped around the grounds that had been roped off that the new church would be built on in the spring. Most of downtown Atlanta was in ruins even six months after being declared a federal disaster area. Thomas knew that this large southern city wasn't alone as many other high profile cities with highly urban populations had suffered similar fates.

Yet, Thomas Pepper knew the smell in those cities couldn't be what it was here.

The rain totals had returned to normal levels. Thomas thought that perhaps it was God's tears cleansing metro Atlanta from the hellfire it experienced. He knew for sure that it would be another 100 years before another earthquake with that scope and power tore through the southeast.

Yet, the charred remains of structures and landscapes throughout the city had proven to be its most jarring and unnerving reminder of what happened here. He fought back tears as he greeted each person who had come in search of meal and the fellowship that came as a side item. Both server and those who were being served were grateful for the experience.

The benches they used as tables were gifts from strangers in the city who had a kind a heart and the dime to spend.

The gift of a new church being built for Pastor Joe Washington and those who accepted him in its bosom at his greatest hour of need was from his.

The minister greeted him after he had finished his duties. The two men—one big and the other huge—hugged each other with all the force that their admiration for the other would allow. Pastor Washington whispered in Thomas' ear that God loved him and that he loved him as well. Thomas said his thanks and slyly whispered back that they would find out soon enough about whether his first statement was true. Washington thanked him again for coming—and thanked him for the thousandth time for financing his church's rebuild. Thomas shook the sentiments off for a thousandth time. He only harkened back to how afraid he was that night...how very afraid that neither he nor the country he loved would survive the tribulations until he saw the morning light.

He stood arm and arm with Pastor Washington. The smiles on both their faces were worth the new round of discomfort that was thumping him from the inside out. He looked out the area that the church would rise from the ashes and felt a burst of energy and a new resolve to live long enough to see its completion.

Perhaps he would live just long enough to walk the aisles towards the altar himself. Perhaps he would do just that. Perhaps his God could find room through his salvation for an unholy man like Thomas Pepper after all.

He found that despite the cold Atlanta air that he had worked up a good sweat as he had volunteered to sweep around the benches while the others washed the giant pots and pans. He could feel them watching him. Pastor Washington and the others knew his condition and prognosis. They wanted him to be smart and not overextend himself...

Thomas found that he had to stop for the second time in as minutes as he was struggling to catch his breath. He coughed...and then he coughed again into his hands. And when he coughed a third time he found blood on dripping from his fingers.

And then his stomach felt as the walls lining his stomach exploded and all the feeling in his lower extremities failed him all at once.

And Thomas Pepper lay helpless and dying in the exact spot where Pastor Joe Washington promised the church's new altar would stand.
Angel

After the Dupree's had made love Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree watched the expression on her husband's face change.

He had exhausted himself on her and had nothing left so she quickly and skillfully spun their bodies over until Seth was now lying on his back and she was off to his side. She ran her long manicured fingernails through the thick hairs on his chest. His breathing was finally slowing to normal levels. They smiled at each other. He sat up enough to peck at her thick lips with his thin ones. She ran her fingers through his hair then.

Seth told her over and over again that he loved her until his words sounded like lyrics to a lullaby. Angel made jokes about his throaty rendition and then she tickled him in a very tender spot. Finally, she squeezed that very special part of him—until they were at it again.

When both reached their climax again it was Angel's chest that rose and fell with considerable effort. Ten minutes later she found herself lying back on her pillow when she heard Seth snoring ever lightly next to her.

You are a smart man, my husband. Yet, Angel had continued to fool him over the past six months the same way that she'd fooled him during their entire marriage. She certainly respected him as a man. She felt safe when she was in his arms. She watched him sleep for a minute. A part of her had always adored him. But she had to accept the facts as they were. She owed both of them at least that much.

In her heart Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree had never felt love, not in a romantic way, for her husband Dr. Seth Dupree.

And in all of the hell that the man had gone through during the worst of Scar trying to reach her—in an attempt to save her from Roxanne Sanchez's ire...hadn't changed that fact.

The truth is that Angel still didn't love him in that way. I think I keep you around is to relieve myself of the loneliness that I would feel otherwise. I have my work and I have you, Seth, and nothing else.

And this holiday weekend excursion of sex and slumber in these vacation cabins here in Blairsville, Georgia hadn't changed that fact one damned bit.

And that made her a little sad—

Angel felt a little paranoid...as if she could feel someone watching them.

It was him.

It was him at long last.

And she wasn't going to lose him again.

"Just relax in here until I call return for you," She touched his face with just enough force to wake him without startling her husband. She slid on her panties and wrapped a silk housecoat around her waist. She left it open at the top so that the constant threat of her breast spilling out would distract even the most focused perpetrator's invasion that she was expecting any moment. "I'm going to fix us some breakfast,"

Angel knew that the FBI was watching of course. And knowing that they were constantly close by provided her an elevated sense of eroticism that she valued so much. Seth wasn't nearly as comfortable with it. Still, as evidenced by their last session together, he was becoming more accustomed to their intervention in their lives.

Something felt different here tonight.

The mole had finally found her.

Joseph Champion was here in this mountain retreat.

"Breakfast," Seth glanced up just long enough to look at the alarm clock on his side of the nightstand. "Angel, its 12:15 in the morning, who eats breakfast this time of night?"

She planted on hand on her hip and cocked a brow in mocked effort to show defeat.

"Alright, Seth...well allow me to whip you a midnight snack of eggs and bacon that you will never forget."

Seth scrubbed at the gray in his hair and shrugged.

"Sure," And when she turned around to walk towards the kitchen he added: "Angel, make absolutely certain that you turn on all the tracking devices that the FBI provided us. Now is not the time to start taking chances, especially with us being so isolated out here in these woods."

"Alright,"

"Angel,"

"Yea,"

"I love you."

And it hurt like hell to hear him say it then after the finalization of her feelings for him manifested itself so openly a few minutes ago. So she blew him a kiss instead. Seth deserved the truth. Likely he would have to settle for getting in line on that front. A part of her—the decent woman deep inside of her—told her that she would grant him the divorce that he so richly deserved after Champion was caught. But the real Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree, the woman who stood half naked in this doorway, would likely continue with this charade of lies that kept her husband close enough...

...close enough that she wouldn't be alone.

So she only flashed Seth one of her a wicked smiles, her left breast, the .22 strapped to her thigh and hit the alarm button on wall.

Angel never could cook worth a damn.

She whipped up some eggs but any the bacon seemed to be in short supply. She settled for some frozen pizza she found in the freezer and stuck it in the microwave that this cabin provided. She looked out of the kitchen window at a grand view of mountainside while she waited on the pizza to warm.

There was enough landscape between each cabin here to give each renter a true sense of camping out, but still providing enough restaurants and other conveniences of home to give the appearance of civilization nearby. Angel truly liked this place and the certain level of isolation, to use her husband's word for it, which its location provided. If she were truly trying to save her marriage and make it work this was exactly the prescription and therapy she would have recommended to her and her husband long ago. The world is so quiet—

Angel heard a single heavy thump rise out of the silence of the bedroom where Seth likely was sleeping.

She started for the bedroom but stopped her progress almost after her first step. The microwave beeped in its completion but her eggs were burning so she shut the stove off.

And when she turned back around Joseph Champion was holding a Colt .45 in her face.

"Hello, Angel," Champion shushed her and waved his own gun at her so that she would back away from him slowly.

"It's been a long time, Joseph," She tied her housecoat in a loose knot better to conceal her .22 from him. "How have you been getting along?"

Champion closed the bedroom door behind him where Seth could be dead or worse and leaned his narrow ass on the nearby counter. "I have been a little busy, you know me, Angel... I've always got something going on." He did a little waving motion with his index finger. "Before we start with why I came all this way to see you I need you unfasten your robe, Angel,"

Angel rolled her tongue across her full top lip.

"You haven't changed a bit have you, naughty boy."

"It isn't like that at all, Angel." Champion was sweating like a pig. Angel knew that the FBI Agents would have been scrambling to activate the bypasses to the complex decoding systems to the alarms on the cabin and the area nearby. The rules stated that her friends with the wire taps were not to immediately fear the worse, but they were to work fast while they ascertained why she was suddenly out of contact from them.

She had to work fast as well...without betraying the fact that she was working on the timer ticking in her brain.

She sighed.

She took off her robe and tossed it away from where he was standing. She saw his face lighten up and his eyes widen when he saw her .22. The question of how she fit even that small a caliber of a gun into the string of her drawers was etched across her face. He gripped his handle tighter.

"I'll need to take that from you, Angel."

"Sure,"

She limped over to where he was and let him snatch it from her panties. No tricks, she told herself. Champion's roughness had popped the string—and now she stood completely nude in front of this man. And this weapon you've uncovered may provide me more protection than any gun may have.

Champion wasn't an idiot however. He saw through her plan. He walked over to and scooped her robe off of the floor and tossed it back at her and instructed Angel to put it back on. Angel could feel the silk hugging her shoulders as she as had asked her to. She tied a new knot that was only faintly tighter than the one before it.

"Is my husband alive in that bedroom?"

"Maybe," Seth nodded his head twice and showed her a mean looking blade that was in his possession before he laid it on the counter behind him. "The fact of whether or not he remains in any salvageable condition is entirely up to you. I've made three surgical cuts in strategic areas that I'm sure a man of his professional experience would appreciate. The short of it is this, Angel: Your husband will die if this conversation between us goes on to long."

Once again, Angel was reminded that Joseph Champion was no fool. But he may be insane. Either he knew that this room was wired and the FBI was nearby and planned for all three of them to die all along—or he'd truly felt that they were isolated enough to seek her out and reveal what he knew.

"So if looks as if you have the floor, Joseph," She said. "What would you like to talk about?"

"I know that the FBI has been monitoring you and your husband's movements. I would have never been able to get this close to the both of you if you hadn't taken this weekend sabbatical up here." He did a semi-circle in a small space. "I'm surprised at you, Doc. You should have known that I wouldn't give up on finding you. I couldn't give up on you, not this soon. It's only been six months."

"You're right, Joseph," Angel relaxed her stance and put her forearms on the counter behind her. "I should have known better as well. I should have especially known not to trust you."

Champion waved his gun at her.

"Save all of those guilt trips for someone who gives a damn. You are far from innocent yourself, Angel. Word on the street is that you are facing a Grand Jury and potential jail time for your involvement with Pandora and with that butt fucker known as Hugh Keaton. You trained him...you trained that monster how to conduct himself while he kidnapped those children."

"I can't deny that I spent months with him." She responded quickly. The FBI should have been done with her checks by now and first point of the operation should be online by now. "And you are also right that I know, at least at a conscious level, that Serena Tennyson would one day unleash this monster as a weapon against people of color. I can tell you that Keaton's growth into his role went far beyond either of our expectations. By the time he had taken his first child he could have been labeled a machine. He could have been far more deadly. He could have been far more lethal in every aspect." She dared step towards him. "But he was not any of those things, Joseph. He died as he had lived: A troubled soul with too many time bombs ticking in his brain. He liked to fuck young boys. He wasn't organized or conniving enough to do anything else beyond what his brain was programmed to do. And that is why I know that he didn't kill Erica Lovings, Joseph." Angel's voice softened and spoke volumes at the same time. "I know that you did kill her."

"What are you talking about?" Champion laughed like a madman. "You're crazier than shit, Angel."

"You could certainly argue that, Joseph. But that point doesn't change the fact of what you've done."

"Why would I kill her, Angel?" Champion's bushy brows rose to the top of his forehead. "I had no particular beef with Chris Prince or his estranged ex-wife."

Angel nodded.

"And that's why I couldn't put it all together—at least at first." She admitted to him. "I know the story of your wife. I know how she was beaten and murdered by those drug dealers in Texas. And I know that Serena helped sooth your pain somewhat when you were able to match an eye for an eye when you killed Erica in what served as your idea for retaliation for wrongs done to you."

"This isn't about Chris Prince,"

"I know that now as well," Angel said and meant. And then she raised her voice. "You believe in paying your debts in full, sometimes two fold, Joseph. Pandora gave you the opportunity you'd sought since your wife's murder to set things right, at least in your own mind. Erica Loving's murder was your gift to Serena in aiding in an attempt to throw Christopher off his metal game both of you found necessary if you were going to beat him."

"And I paid her graciousness with weakness and treachery and betrayal."

Angel shook her head.

"Save it, Joseph. You've played this game—you've played this game like a Champion but it's over now. I know the truth about you, Joseph."

"What—"

"It has all been a game since we slept together in Macon. You've been setting yourself up as a mole, this martyr to the cause of Pandora. Sure, you were running alright. Serena wanted you dead for being disloyal but even she didn't know the extent of what you had truly done outside of her sphere of influence."

"I don't know what you are talking about." Champion said but his foundation was showing its first sign of cracking. "Yes, I killed Erica Lovings for the reasons that you stated. And all of the personal beefs she had with the Bishop and his people in Carver provided an easy cover for me and my motives when Roxanne Sanchez came looking for her."

"But Erica wasn't the only one that you killed was it, Joseph."

Champions face frowned in confusion at first—and then hardened with a new resolve.

"I didn't shoot President Adolphus Sweet,"

"I believe you, Joseph," Angel said. "But you were and still are a member of the renegade band of Pandora working outside out of Oracle's knowledge or consent that forced her to have him shot to cover the poising that you are responsible for. You killed the President of the United States with this poison of yours. You killed the Mayor of Atlanta as well—"

"By God, I should have killed them all."

"What?"

"Tell me that you aren't so naïve, Angel. Damn, girl, I've got to give you full props. You are a world class doctor, yet I still think you chose the wrong field to make your living. You're a born investigator, Angel. You've figured this whole thing out from its origins. So I don't want you to go all stupid on me now."

Seth, sweet Seth, you may be dying just a few feet away from me, but we need to learn the entire truth about this right now. "What in the hell are you talking about, Joseph?"

"The president and the mayor were mere test subjects of a far greater experiment in scope. An associate of mine, a former high level operative of the Atlanta Office for Disease Office, created a toxin that specifically kills people of color while leaving the rest of us alone?"

"What," She sounded doubtful but the world had witnessed two examples of its lethalness thus far. "How does something like that work?"

"I'm so glad you asked, Angel. You don't know how long I wanted to share this with someone outside our little group of patriots. Soon after 911 Pandora suspended its initial plans of an assault on A House in Chains indefinitely. We—the renegades as you called my people—marched on and dumped ton after ton of our toxin into the water and food supplies across North America. There it sat dormant until our people felt necessary to call it into action."

"Cut do the chase, Joseph, you aren't a scientist. Where does your piece fit into this jigsaw puzzle?"

"I had people in the Houston Field Office of the FBI who share my hatred for them. They are a talented group of scientist. They designed the delivery system necessary to make our weapon operational at a moment's notice."

Angel considered the possibilities.

"You used an airborne triggering mechanism." She said after some time and thought. "You had gained access to the heating ducts inside Ernestine Johnson's home and the hotel where President Sweet was supposedly shot."

Champion's brows rose to the cabin's ceiling, impressed that she'd put it together so quickly—and apparently correctly as well. Yet, Angel felt her own eyebrows rising with her next thought:

"If what you said is true that we all have been affected by your poisoning of the food and water supplies. Why haven't more people—"

"The toxin is engineered to aggressively attack the higher percentage of melon compositions that exist within a certain population group in North America. In English, Doctor, the darker a person's skin tone the more likely they are to fall victim to our toxin's bite."

"You're insane, Joseph," Angel said to man who she thought she once knew. "And what you were doing was contemplating the eradication of an entire race of human beings from this planet. The sane of us would name that genocide, Joseph."

"You are wrong on both accounts." He replied in a quiet voice. "The insane don't feel, Angel. Even after all that I've done I still have enough of the rage brewing inside of me to know that I am far from crazy. And what you call genocide, Angel, I would call liberation from an inferior race of savages...the Whirlwind as I've chosen to call it. I am saving us from them."

"Did Raymond Rice know?"

Champion nodded once.

"He suspected. That was the reason that he wanted me off the streets at all cost. He planted the notion that I was a mole so that agents of both the FBI and Pandora wouldn't go digging for anything else that could be motivating my real intentions. Rice was only concerned with neutralizing Xavier Prince and a House in Chains. He was a fool. The witch, better known to all of us as Serena Tennyson, was wrapped up in her own distorted world of dirt piles, hallucinations and dragons. Don't get me wrong, she was a powerful force in her own right, but Oracle would be standing by myside right now if she had blessed with a broader vision and scope—if she had seen the bigger picture for what it is and not what she wanted to believe it was. Eventually, I had disappeared off of the grid. Rice got desperate. He even tried to talk Serena into standing down as a last act of desperation to protect the truth from getting out to the masses, but Danielle Rohm killed him protecting her Oracle."

"So your wife's murder to the lowest dominator of a man—one black man is worth the lives of millions of people of color. And you call Serena's beliefs of her Dragon distorted?"

Angel dared to walk close enough to hear Joseph Champion's breathing.

"There is something I don't get about all of this, Joseph. You've had this weapon of mass destruction at your disposal for months now. If you've have the means of ending your pain and destroying countless lives at your whim why haven't you done so already?"

He pushed Angel back a foot with the barrel of his bun. Yet, she saw a new point of fury in his eyes that replaced the one that had dwelled there only minutes before.

"Raymond Rice and Serena Tennyson aren't the only ones in this world who are shortsighted." And when Angel failed to comment on that he continued. "The scientist who developed the contaminant got cold feet and dipped on us shortly after the Peacekeepers began their murderous crusade against former and underground agents of Pandora during Scar."

"Or perhaps he had a change of heart, Joseph," She said, her voice nearly a whisper. He's purposely not giving up this man's name. He knows the FBI is listening. "Or perhaps he couldn't wrap his mind around being a major player in the unconditional eradication of a people from this planet."

"It makes no matter. People loyal to me—loyal to my belief of peace in our time have been searching for him since the night of his disappearance. We're close—"

"Any diabolical mind that could conjure up something as destructive as a weapon that attacks it's victim's melon composition won't be found, Joseph. If you were off the grid then a man like this one was never on it. He's gone." She said and couldn't help but smile a little.

"Perhaps," He picked up the dagger from behind it and examined it as if he'd seen it for the first time. "That's why I came I risked everything I had left to find you, Angel."

"What does that supposed to mean?"

"It means that once again you are right and I'm unlikely to fulfil my wildest aspirations of the Whirlwind in its full glory— but I will have to settle for a race war instead." Champion ran two fingers the length of the blade. "I've often been told that information is power, Angel. And right now everything that I've told you," He looked at the ceiling here and there. "Everything that I've told them—your friends in the FBI, will be repeated in a court of law...and soon,"

"Joseph, I—"

"Save it, Angel," He screamed at her. And this his lip quivered as he said, "I know that they are coming to kill me. But it doesn't matter anymore. I have grown tired of running from them. I am tired of running after him. What matters now is that you and everyone listening know the truth. And you aren't the only ones—I've taken the time and effort to send this classified data to two other parties who would be interested in answering the third question that every American has asked: What is the Whirlwind? Thomas Pepper and the new leader of a House in Chains Christopher Prince will possess the answer to that question just as you will. There will be no earthly way to keep the truth from our adoring public. Thousands died in the streets in this country during the final nights of Scar and Serena's Whirlwind, Angel. How many tens of thousands will parish when this truth is revealed in the weeks to come?"

Angel could hear something rattling just outside the front door and the sliding window behind her.

"So your people have a choice, Angel," He said "They either tell the truth about the knowledge they possess or they become a part of a larger conspiracy. And remember, Angel, the larger the conspiracy bubbles, the more vicious the pop is when the truth finally burst from the cover-up."

Joseph Champion looked like a king ever relaxed in his kingdom even with the knowledge that the FBI would be coming within seconds to prematurely end his reign.

Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree decided that she couldn't even that long.

She squeezed his hand causing his own index finger to engage the firing mechanism of his gun firing a non-lethal but painful round into his left foot.

She got steadily more lethal from there however.

With Champion still screaming and trying to recover from his wound, Angel wrestled the knife from her would be assailant, grabbed it herself and stabbed her former lover through his neck with it like a deadly kiss—

The FBI, led by Agent Tabitha Blue, broke through the front entrance of the cabin with their weapons hot and finished the job she'd started by firing countless rounds into Joseph Champion until he was filled with bloody hole after hole...until his dead carcass struck the floor at Angel's feet.

Two more agents dashed past them into the bedroom where hopefully her husband Seth hadn't joined Champion in eternity. Angel heard first responder units climbing the mountain from all sides. The FBI had dispatched a helicopter to patrol the skies against any countermeasures against their people.

Angel lost all of her cohesion...and fell to the floor on her ass. Agent Blue ran over to her secured the knot on her housecoat while she barked out instructions to the remaining agents in the room.

After handing her a glass of water Blue asked: "How did you know, Doctor? How did you tie all of the bits of information Champion was feeding you, about the President, about everything so quickly?"

"It's been a theory of mine," Angel said between baited breaths. She rested her head on her knees. She watched the paramedics wheel her bloody husband out of the cabin without even a glance in their direction. Seth didn't look good."

Blue wasn't blind to her husband's condition.

"Dr. Hicks Dupree, about what Champion said before. He had a sick, deranged mind but we won't let him win."

"But your people—"

"My people will keep silent—at least long enough for us to find this doctor from the Houston branch of the Center for Disease Control. This is exactly the kind of thing that Sheridan tasked me with when he assigned me this title. Give me a chance to do my job. I'll have whoever this scientist is either in custody or in a casket soon enough. You have my word on that."

Angel nodded her head, appreciating the younger woman's fierce determination and drive. Although that won't likely be enough to save us, Angel was more than willing to sacrifice herself—willing to risk her freedom for not stating everything that she knew in front of a Grand Jury. Yet, she was far more concerned about how Christopher or Thomas Pepper would react with knowledge of just how far Pandora had gone to end this game of race and relations once and for all.

"Doctor, can you hear me?" Agent Tabitha Blue's yelling in her ear brought Angel back from future difficulties back to the troubles of the here and now. "You've been so corporative and helpful in our investigation. We owe you. Is there anything that I can do for you right now? Are you alright?"

Angel heard the ambulance drive away. And when Agent Blue and her team had bagged up Joseph Champion's remains and closed the door behind them she would be alone again. He had not been the only person who had been entrapped tonight.

She would be so very alone.

When Angel smiled at the younger woman she was sure that it couldn't hide the sadness and the wanting for the company that only a bottle had ever provided her.

"Actually, no, Agent Blue, I'm not alright." She said after the longest time. "But then I probably never have been."
Roxanne

Four men dressed in black hoodies, khakis and sneakers met Roxanne Sanchez on the curb, verified her ID but still asked her wait outside Chris' new gated residence on the city's far Westside. The new Peacekeepers seem much like the ones of old. The last time Roxanne had been this close to a House in Chains military arm she had sprayed rounds of bullets into him fighting for right to live trying to escape Carver nearly a year ago. And if any of you gentlemen dare touch me...

A bald headed man, skeleton thin, who may have been ten years her elder, greeted Roxanne with a toothy smile, a firm handshake and an apology for her delay. The One—as Chris' people referred to him as—had left instructions for her to be admitted as soon as she showed up on the property. The extra precautions had been his and his alone. A House in Chains had lost a significant number of their governing body in the suicide at the mansion in the fall, but the organization had not been crippled as much as the world had been led to believe. Hundreds of Board and Committee members had been either promoted or reassigned. The man who greeted her finally said that the nature of her relationship with the One wasn't his business, but if she would indulge their over protectiveness of a House in Chains leader for a small while longer—

He walked her in. Where Chris had chosen to become the new regional headquarters of his organization was quite impressive. The architecture matched the bricked layouts of the nearby buildings including a church on the corner. What caught Roxanne's eye specifically were the nuances that had Chris' imprint completely. Next to the American flag were posts of the new banner of a House in Chains that whipped about on this spring day in March. There were busts of great black leaders: Martin Luther King Jr., Malcom X, Isaac Prince and Xavier Prince sat there together side by side. Just above those bust was a larger one of the former President of the United States Adolphus Sweet.

She found his father's mandates lining the sidewalk passage to the front door. All of his sayings and recollections as well as some of those from Xavier were embedded in the concrete as well. Just above the door was a plaque that showcased highlights from Chris' speech from the courtyard of Georgia's State Capital back around November, almost six months ago now.

She finally met Chris inside. He looked up and saw her. He dismissed an underling by patting the smaller man on the shoulder.

"Roxanne," He said by way of greeting. And for the second time within a year his surprise at seeing her in his presence warmed her heart.

"Hi, Chris," He hugged her fiercely. "Wow. You look good."

And he did. He looked as if he had lost an additional ten pounds or so in addition to the 20 that he had already disposed of in the fall. This morning Chris looked as if he'd stepped out of the shower minutes ago after another long intense workout.

Chris showed her to a nearby couch which she found both soft and firm enough for her liking. He had begun drawing again. Roxanne noted that most of the portraits were those of his immediate family. The one woman that she didn't immediately recognize was probably his mother. Roxanne's investigative instincts noted to herself that every picture of Isaac Prince had a drawing of this woman next to it. Although Roxanne had never met either one she could knew for a fact that Xavier's rendition was spot on. And the woman's portrait next to his brother had to be none other than a House in Chains intelligence officer Grace Edwards.

Chris had done two new drawings of the first love of his life Hoshi Givens as well—and bless his heart he had honored the memories of his dead ex-wife and step daughter Denise Prince and Erica Lovings. Every detail, especially the women's facial features were so dead on that it gave Roxanne Sanchez pause. She nearly teared up when she glanced at the portraits a second time.

"Where have you been, Roxanne?" He finally asked her as she could feel him sitting next to her. "I respected you're your request for some time away. You told me that you would contact me when you were ready and for me to wait until you did. I can understand that you needed to tie up some loose ends in your personal life." She heard the sadness in his voice. "I expected you to be gone maybe a couple of weeks, or maybe a month or so at most, but not six months."

Does that mean that you've moved on, my love? And to be perfectly honest, that had not been a contingency she had considered. And yes, she did not say aloud, she had indeed tie up some loose ends in both her personal life with her mother about the death of her sister Maria ...and an unexpected professional matter—a debt that could not go unpaid—and the cost associated with it that she would not soon forget.

But none of that is what kept her away for this long.

"I wasn't going to rest until Joseph Champion was either in custody or dead." She said.

Chris nodded in understanding.

"You've been working underneath Special Agent Tabitha Blue on Sheridan's team."

"I've served more in a consultant capacity. Your former boss wants to keep me in a more unofficial capacity. He said that he had his reasons."

"So Joseph Champion was responsible for the shooting of the president."

I don't think that's the case, My Love. Yet, no one, involved would answer that question, at least to her satisfaction.

And now comes the most difficult part. Roxanne was unsure how much Chris and his people knew about Joseph Champion and his renegade band of Pandora. Once again Roxanne's investigative instincts warned her that there was even more to what Blue's people had discovered than they were telling even her.

"Yes, Champion was responsible for Sweet's death in some shape manner or form and paid for the crime with his own life. Your girl, Angel, gutted him up in the mountains Thanksgiving Weekend, but I'm sure you know that already."

"I do."

Roxanne had lived with and around the Dupree's almost night and day for six months. And yet, she was taking care of that other professional matter when that thing went down at the mountain retreat, even though the whole idea of luring Champion with the sudden vacation was her idea in the first place.

"I just want you to know that I'm back, Chris."

"I missed you as well, Roxanne." Chris held her hand in his.

"And I missed you, Chris."

He put his forehead on hers but they did not kiss and for that she was thankful. There was something unpleasant about his breath—about the scent reeking from his pores that wasn't there before she left.

"I needed the time to clear my head as well, Chris. I wasn't sure where I belonged or where I was going next." She stared into his eyes. "I wanted to be sure that we could go further or not."

"Well, you're here, now, Roxanne. You've obviously come to some type of decision."

"I have."

After Roxanne narrated her conclusions about her mother and her sister Chris said, "I understand the pressures of family, Roxanne. If anyone knows about the legacy and all that comes with the responsibility of it then it's me."

She nodded.

"What you don't know is that you've saved me, Chris."

"Look, Roxanne," He shook to his head and got to his feet. "We talked about what happened to you down in Mexico before—"

"Then you understand that I would have killed those girls...that I would have done anything to make sure that they didn't return to that cartel family and the hell that would have faced if they had lived afterwards."

"Yea," Chris said ever cautiously. "Yea, I guess that I do."

"No, Chris," She corrected him in a soft tone. "The answer is actually no. Only a monster would understand what I did that day down in Mexico. But then this here is a monster's ball."

"Maybe,"

"Only a monster would have bitched about the way that the FBI conducted its business concerning a perceived entrapment of my sister and then aided and abetted them in rounding up and killing Joseph Champion in the same manner."

"Maybe,"

"And maybe, just maybe, it takes a monster to kill another monster." She said and then paused long enough to make sure she had his attention before she spoke again. "One monster tosses a coin up, catches it and tosses it again in the hope that somewhere—someday the opportunity presents itself that he can truly apprehend the thing that the coin represents."

"Maybe," Chris rubbed at his dark jaw, but said nothing else so she continued.

"One night a few weeks ago there is meeting of these monsters at long last—a clash of titans. Someone finally found him after all of this time. Someone finally caught him in the act of a mercy killing. And then it was on. The creature known as Pennywise's reign of terror against the poor and the disfranchised came to an abrupt end in a glorious battle that the few who witnessed it will never forget. Or so I've been told. You happen to know anything about this, Chris?"

"Maybe,"

"I'm in love with you, Christopher Prince."

Chris spun back around with a suddenness that startled her.

"And I love you, Roxanne." He helped her to her feet and into his arms for a long passionate kiss. She fought back against the alcohol smell and let her affection for this man guides her. "I believe that I fell in love with you when I first saw you after so many years, that night in the park right after I escaped the siege at the Fox Theatre." He said and leaned in to kiss her once again.

Afterwards he walked her over to where the largest of his portraits sat with a sheet wrapped over the top of it.

"I needed you to be here before I allowed anyone else to see it."

The drawing is of her.

Roxanne stared at the mirrored image of herself, biting back tears of gratitude the entire time. And speaking of time—

"I need you to come with me. We still have time to make it."

"We have time to make what, Roxanne," He smiled at her but was confused at the same time. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Do you trust me, Chris?"

"Do I trust you?"

"Yes, do you trust me?"

"Of course I do, Roxanne."

"Then I need you to make the necessary arrangements with your people." She kissed him one cheek and then the other. "I need a couple of hours with you alone without Peacekeeper interference. You've saved me Chris and now I want to return the favor."

One hour later the two of them walked through the main gate that led them into Turner Field, home of the hometown Atlanta Braves, the local professional baseball team. Roxanne watched his level of anxiety rise as they drove ever closer to the stadium. She could smell the hotdogs grilling and the peanuts roasting. She could hear the buzz of an early morning season crowd even on a cold night as this one was.

"Look, Roxanne, I understand what you're trying to do here and I appreciate it," Chris was struggling to steady his voice. "But I don't think that I can do this. I don't want to do this."

"While I was gone, Chris, I had to go face to face with some difficult memories of things that I could and could not control during different periods of my life. This is how we survive. I understand how you felt that night when you learned the truth about what your father had done to you. I know that coming back here—that coming back here across the street from where it all started brings it all back to you. You don't want this, Chris. You need this. I'm no doctor like your friend, Angel, but I know your pain. I won't let you go, Chris. I won't let go."

"My father sacrificed me to better his cause, Roxanne." Chris said after a long time. "No matter what the greater good might have been, how could a man who loved his son do something so hideous? How am I supposed to get over such a thing?"

"You don't," Roxanne answered him. "You never do, not really. You do go on. You rely on the people and the resources that you have in your defense. You trust the ones that you have by your side. You believe in the one's that love you. You believe in the one that loves you."

"I will," Chris fought back tears. "I can try."

"But you will have to do something even more difficult than that, Chris. You will ultimately have to do something that you don't want to do."

"I already know what you are going to say."

"Well then you should know that I mean it," She said. "I'm changing Chris. The one thing that remains in me from the old Roxanne that you knew is my desire to fight you on your vices. I'll help you every step of the way. I love you, Chris, but either the drinking goes or I do."

Chris nodded his answer and let his head collapse on Roxanne's shoulder where she held him there with all of her might.

By the bottom of the ninth the Braves found themselves down by a three runs. They had the bases loaded with two outs and a full count on their cleanup hitter who had failed to produce in his first three at bats.

In the moments after he delivered a grand slam homerun to win the game for the home team Chris Prince and Roxanne Sanchez engaged in a long, glorious kiss.

Afterwards, she looked into the eyes of the only man that she had ever loved. She thought that the Braves weren't the only ones in this town who could stage a rally—who could come back from the dead.

She saw her dark eyes in the reflection as well.

How could either one of us continue to love a monster, she wondered as they filed out of the ballpark with tens of thousands of other patrons into the darkness of the Atlanta night.
Angel

"My dear, you look as if you could use a drink?"

Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree cocked a brow and smiled sadly. Am I that obvious? Am I that pitiful looking? "I'd might, Mrs. Healy, but I'll take a glass of water with a side of lemon instead if you would please."

Lisa Healy, Hugh Keaton's mother, hurried off to retrieve her drink from the bar. Agent Blue's report said that this woman had worked at the Mississippi River Park here in Memphis, Tennessee for a couple days a week to supplement her social security for nearly three years now. She had put in enough time do that she could ask her boss to give her a full hour's break to speak with an FBI consultant who'd flown over from Atlanta to speak with her.

This establishment planted here on the banks of the Mississippi was filled with noisy regulars and tourist this evening enjoying unseasonably warm day for this point of the spring. Still, it was still enough of a chill for Angel to button the top button of her jacket. The bartender was stirring up miracles, the chef sweetened the air with the smell of beef and pork and fish and the waitresses were marching to beat of their own drum. Angel smoothed out her skirt and crossed one booted leg over the other.

She damn sure could have used that drink—especially after what she'd experienced at the airport flying in. She'd run into a blonde bombshell, a biker at that. He told her that he owned a pawn shop just across the river from Memphis in Arkansas but had been flying back from business in LA. He was short on brains, but long on hair and his ass fit snuggly in his tight jeans the way she liked it. He was definitely her type. Somehow, Angel had politely declined his invitation for a drink or two...but had accepted his address and phone number anyway—

"Young lady, do you hear me?"

"Sorry," Angel bounced herself back into the present. "I'm a little distracted. Thank you for agreeing to see me, especially on short notice."

Lisa Healy waved Angel off with one wrinkled hand off as she made herself as comfortable as one could consider the lack of cushion in these chairs.

"Forgive me, young lady, but sometimes I forget things. I must ask you again, Agent Hicks Dupree, what agency do you work with?"

"I'm a doctor actually," Angel took her first sip of her drink. Gin would have worked so much better—especially against this backdrop. "I'm a Clinical Psychologist by trade. The short story is that for a brief time I was a member...of an organization that treated your son on more than occasion." She stopped long enough to allow the older woman to absorb what she said and to allow a cool breeze to comb her hair. "I was with Hugh when he died near Stone Mountain last year."

Lisa Healy sat back in her chair and looked down the river. Angel switched her leg position and let the information she'd fed the old woman breathe. Agent Tabitha Blue had provided Angel with all of this Intel and location of Hugh's mother in return for the danger that she and her husband Seth had faced down in order to catch Joseph Champion back in the fall. Angel knew that she probably had one hour to make this work. She wouldn't blow it by talking too much, especially here at the onset.

"Oh my," Lisa Healy finally said. "Oh, yes, I guess I understand. What can I help you with?"

And in speaking of talking too much, "If you don't mind me saying so, Mrs. Healy, you don't act like you are overly surprised to see someone like me come all of this way to see you here in Memphis." Lisa Healy didn't answer her right away. Angel reached over the half table and locked her fingers into the older woman's wrinkled ones. "You've had other visitors haven't you?"

Lisa found interest in a casino boat chugging its way up the Mississippi with the evening crowd aboard more than happy to gamble today's earnings away. When Hugh Keaton's mother finally looked back at Angel she looked as if she'd aged 20 more years.

"My Hugh was a troubled boy who had grown into a troubled man." She swallowed, audible, even over the chattering of the dinner crowd. "And to answer your question, Doctor, yes, I've had visitors from you people more than once or twice asking about him. When those poor children started going missing in Atlanta, I always envisioned that someone would go digging into my boy's past."

"May I ask who came to see you, Mrs. Healy?"

The older woman folded her arms against her tiny frame, but not against the cooling Memphis day. She is an old woman. Maybe her memory isn't what—

"Are you asking me if a member or members of Pandora came to see me? Why don't you ask me how many times they came to disrupt what little life I've made for myself here?" She smiled as she nodded but there was nothing but sadness scribbled on her wrinkled face otherwise. "Yet, when Serena Tennyson came here about this time a year ago I could only wish that disruption was all that Pandora had brought to my life."

"Serena," Angel struggled to keep her voice down. "She was here in Memphis?"

"Yes,"

Angel squeezed both of the other woman's hands with her own. Lisa Healy looked as if she needed Angel's strength to get through this.

And Angel felt as if she needed Lisa's strength as well.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Angel cocked a brow. "Will you tell me what happened?"

"It wasn't as serious as you think, dear, at least not at first. We did a lot of girl talk like you and I are right now." Lisa's eyes got glassy. Angel felt a nerve twitching in her shoulder. "You would be surprised at what total strangers have in common sometimes."

"I'm sure but I have the feeling that this casual conversation ended with her threating you somehow." Angel put what she said in statement form.

The old woman nodded her head once and a single tear ran down her cheek.

"One of Serena's people handed her a knapsack. She pulled my brother's severed head out of it for starters." Lisa's smile was back and the lack of warmth was ever present as well. "She put it right on the dining room table next to my uneaten peas and potatoes that I had cooked earlier in the day. The two of us sat at the table with my brother's severed head and conversed for a while longer; mostly we talked about Hugh's childhood."

"What happened then?"

"Serena pushed her chair over to where I was seated, pulled out a very large handgun and planted it on my forehead." Lisa's new tears had joined the single one in a race down her slight wrinkled cheeks. One of the nearby patrons noticed. Angel jumped out of her seat and hoped that Lisa Healy would follow her lead. Two minutes later they were standing in a semi secluded area of the boardwalk although they were both freezing their ass off as the sun began setting in the west. The old woman, to her credit, had gained a small measure of her control back. "When I finished telling her all that I had to say about our past she told me that I deserved to die for what I had allowed to happen to Hugh. She told me that no woman would have disgraced motherhood like I had."

Lisa told Angel the same story that Serena Tennyson had taken to her fiery grave with her. And then she folded her arms over her breast both in exasperation...and curiosity to why Oracle had allowed the old woman to live.

"Why didn't you report this—"

"Report this to whom, young lady?"

"Listen, Mrs. Healy, I know that you were afraid," Angel heard herself say. And she stayed silent a second while she exercised the use of a different tactic. "You survived, Mrs. Healy. You are a survivor. You must have said or done something or the other that she allowed you to get up from that table alive. Serena Tennyson is dead, Mrs. Healy. She's no threat to hurt you any longer. Yet, I' m damned curious to what you said to her that she allowed you to live on?"

Lisa shrugged her bony shoulders.

"She just let me live is all, Doctor. I really wish that I could give you something more professionally more interesting than that. I wish that I could explain it better than that."

Angel kicked at a rock that was littering on the boardwalk and folded her arms again.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Healy," Angel found the composure that she'd momentarily lost. "But it almost sound disappointed that she didn't do you any harm?"

The old woman turned away to watch yet another casino boat cruising down the Mississippi nearly out of their site.

"Angel said, "Mrs. Healy—"

"Let me tell you something, Missy," Lisa frowned and her voice sounded as if the words were being mouthed by another woman. "When you've stunk it up like I've stunk it up over the years, when you've done so much wrong, when you've made mistake after mistake as I have—you expect judgement to cometh...even before His judgement comes."

"But she let you go, Mrs. Healy."

Lisa only nodded at that.

"Serena was in total control. I wouldn't have had time to scream. She was younger than me, of course. She was fit and strong and even if I had escaped her she still had a couple of her other operatives waiting in my living room." Lisa Healy told her. "At the precise moment in time, I was living the last minutes of my life the way that I guess inmates on death row whose stay of execution was over."

Angel found herself turning away this time.

"Why didn't she finish this...?" Angel mumbled louder than she had intended.

"I haven't gone one day, not one single precious day since that evening without asking the same question that you are now, Doctor." Angel heard the old woman speak behind her. "Every day I see my brother's head sitting on that table. And by everything I've read in the papers, everything I've seen in the news in the year since, tells me that Serena wasn't known for being merciful to her victims."

Angel shrugged at that and turned to face the old woman again.

"Perhaps Serena felt that you seeing firsthand the gruesome murder of your brother were enough punishment for you both."

"Maybe she did," Lisa's silent frown afterwards spoke volumes to Angel that the doctor could have phrased that last statement better. "But sometimes I think that she allowed me to live long enough to see my boy dying the way she figured he would might be a far sterner punishment." She bit into a clenched fist. "And now my precious boy is gone. I saw it on national TV when it happened. I saw you there as well."

"I'm sorry,"

Lisa patted Angel's hand...and then held it tight in her own. If there had been tension between the two of them over the past few minutes it had passed with the last gust of cool wind.

"It's alright, Doctor. My faith tells me that I've already been forgiven for my mistakes." She glanced at her tiny watch.

Can I ever be forgiven for what I've done? Will God forgive me? What about Seth? What about Christopher?

"I know that you have to get back to work soon." After a moment of silence Angel said: "I'm sorry to disturb your life once again, Mrs. Healy. I shouldn't have come here to Memphis at all."

"But you did come, dear. We all learn to live with our decisions, Doctor. Whether I am forgiven or not I'll spend however days I have left coping with the decisions I've made. My precious boy is dead. Look at me though, I'm clean and sober for one of the few times in my life. I'm doing...okay financially. I'm just an old working girl. I'm trying to have some of the things that I couldn't provide us when Hugh was a small boy."

"I tried to save him," Angel found herself suddenly saying. "I tried to reach out to him...all of him. I tried to get inside of him. I want you to believe that about your son."

"I do believe you, Doctor," Lisa Healy pulled Angel in for a fierce a hug as an old, scrawny woman could provide. "In the end—at the end the four of us failed him equally. You, I and Serena all failed Hugh at crucial points of his life, Doctor but she failed him in the end. "

Angel pulled herself away from the older woman's embrace with considerable effort. What she saw next in Lisa Healy's brown eyes was something she would not soon forget. It looked as if someone had placed a dark mask over the other woman's face. It was if a dark cumulous cloud was blanketing an otherwise docile woman that stood here on this boardwalk only a minute ago.

"What do you mean by that," Angel worded her question more carefully this time. "Who is this fourth person that you are referring to?"

"Serena left my kitchen that night promising to watch over my Hugh for as long as she could. She said that she would be his guardian unlike one that he'd ever had before. She promised to keep him from harm. But then she can't keep her promises if your friends in the FBI killed her too."

Angel kept her tone and her answer neutral.

"She died a few hours after your son did."

Lisa Healy shook her head back and forth until Angel was sure the woman's brains were rattling inside.

"Don't be silly, Doctor," Lisa smiled but the darkness cast over her had remained. "Serena Tennyson is very much alive and she's with her now."

And as shocking as Lisa's proclamation was it would be her final words that both shocked Angel into disbelief—and answered the question to why Serena Tennyson had allowed Hugh Keaton's mother to live that night nearly a year earlier.

Two very long hours later Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree found herself lying nude in Brad's—the Blonde from the airport—bed sipping on her sixth or seventh shot of gin. In fact, after she drained the last glass she sat the glass on the nearby nightstand and angled for the bottle from which the shots had come.

She saw Brad watching her out of the corner of his blue eyes.

The sun had set. If she hurried she would still have time to make her flight back to Atlanta for the connector flight home to Macon and her devoted husband Seth. She would still have time to save the last of her dignity. It is still time to stop this before it starts. Sure, they'd played around a little and drank a lot. They'd touched a few body parts that belonged to the other, yet they had not crossed the barrier to intercourse. She hadn't had sex with any man other than her husband since her trip to Atlanta the night 411 was unleashed on that city and the world.

Seth, her husband, who was both physically and mentally recovering from his ordeal at the dagger, filled hand of Joseph Champion in that mountain cabin in Tennessee. The attending physician told her much later that another 30 minutes or so of bleeding and he would not have survived.

Anyway, Seth had suffered some temporary memory loss as a result of lack of oxygen flowing back and forward to his brain. In fact, the therapy he was enrolled in right now didn't seem to be aiding his bouts of long term memory lapses. You still have time to stop this, she thought again. And yet, she looked over her bare shoulder at him anyway. She had a ton of problems back in her life. This man would be a welcome distraction—especially considering the Grand Jury testimony still to come about her involvement with Serena Tennyson, Pandora, and her role in what history would remember as the newest round of Atlanta Child Murders.

And then there was always the X factor known as Christopher Prince and how he would react to her testimony and revelations about what she knew about Erica Lovings murder and when she knew them. And even worse, she would have to speak aloud about her interactions with Hugh Keaton earlier could have...might have nudged Keaton ever closer to the edge that placed Atlanta's children directly in harm's way.

"Thank you, Brad. Thank you for everything that you've done for me this evening." She leaned over and planted a close mouthed kiss on the man's lips. "You have been a very tempting distraction. The truth is that I've overstayed my welcome as it is."

"Really," This, the most beautiful of men kidded her back but thankfully kept his hands to himself. One glance between his legs told her that he was horny—but he wasn't desperate or stupid enough to take this any further than she wanted to go. "Let me push this idea your way. Why don't you reschedule your flight? I'll pay for the difference for your airfare." He pulled his credit card from out of his wallet and laid it in the tiny space between them on the bed. "Spend the night with me. I guarantee you that this night won't be one either one of us will forget it."

Angel stood up naked and unashamed.

"I shouldn't," She smiled as she said it. "I can't." She let her smile float away. "I have to go."

"You have to go, but you are staying anyway?"

After a minute of thought and nude pacing Angel said, "I'm not going to make you any promises, Brad."

"I wouldn't think of asking you to."

She awoke in the middle of the night as naked as she was before. Brad had left her a note that there had been a break in at his shop in Arkansas and he had to attend to it and didn't want to wake her. Perhaps they could truly finish what they'd started here another time. He left the hotel rooms' key on his pillow and asked her to lock up and turn the key in when she left. He left his cell phone number and thanked her for a wonderful time.

She sat up against the bedpost and ran her fingers through her unkempt hair. She drowned what was left in the gin bottle, felt suddenly disgusted with the drink's taste and the predicament she'd allowed to fester, got up, and poured the last drops of it down the drain.

She fell to the porcelain floor in the shower crying.

And while the steamed water pounded her back, all Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree could think about was the final few words that Hugh Keaton's mother had ushered to her while they stood together along the banks of the Mississippi River.

"'Don't be silly, Doctor," Lisa had smiled but the darkness that cast over her had remained. "Serena Tennyson is very much alive and with her right now."

"What?" Angel had remembered saying then. "That's quite impossible, Mrs. Healy."

"Well of course it's possible, dear." The old woman said as if to question the sanity of Angel or anyone else who didn't believe this to be true. "Serena told me that she'd only gone through a Baptism by Fire when that truck exploded with her in the back of it after her arrest during a Whirlwind. She told me that she'd seen me in the flames. She told me that I was her other wing that she'd searched high and low for all of her life."

Oh my, God was all that Angel could mentally put into in coherence of speech then and now.

"My dear, you thought that I was referring to you letting my boy down—now that's just plain silly," Angel heard the old woman say that then. "I let my boy down; Serena in turn did the same when she failed to protect him as she said she would. And the Dragon, our blessed Dragon that sits high and looks down low let him down in the end. I saw it in the flames."

"Mrs. Healy please stop it—"

"Now don't you fret about this one second longer, Doctor," The old woman had continued as if Angel hadn't spoken at all. And her grip on the Doctor's hand had become vice like. "But I do pity you, oh yes I do, Doctor. Serena saw in her flames what you are soon to face. And I have seen it to. This body of mine is likely to meet its end soon—and I will join Serena and we will fly off into eternity with the Dragon. Our Baptism into the fire will at last be complete."

Angel had wanted to escape the woman's grip then.

She could not.

She did hear her words.

"But we can look down and pity the loneliness that you are certain before the flames take you at last."

Dr. Angle Hicks Dupree could still hear Lisa Healy's words over the shower's waterfall.

And the words were growing louder by the minute.
Chris

Angel nudged him by grabbing his coat sleeve and whispered hot breath in his ear that she wanted—no she needed to speak with him in private.

He glanced back, asked her if it could wait until after the ceremony ended...he could see her working it over in her mind.

And then Angel shook her head no she couldn't wait that long.

And then, just as suddenly, she changed her mind again.

The One could see that his childhood friend was troubled. He probably stared a little too long because he thought that there were tears falling underneath her thick shades—or were those wet streaks the aftermath of the downpour that had been going on all morning.

The three of them drove to the cemetery in separate cars. Chris rode in the family car with four of his Peacekeepers in tow. Roxanne drove her own car as close to the big Lincoln as she could. Angel settled for bringing up the rear riding shotgun with her husband Seth.

This impromptu ceremony was Roxanne's idea.

The love of his life seemed to be full of ideas lately. He had to agree though, that this one was long past due.

He heard each car door slam as the ones who were still closest to him met him by the new gravesite. He'd had his father's remains removed from that middle school where Serena Tennyson had housed them for so long moved here. He now had his old man's bones, both his biological mother and step mother lined up in the same section as his brother Xavier. One aisle over were the gravesites of Denise Prince and his step daughter Erica Lovings.

He'd done this all at a considerable expense his new Circle of a House In Chains had more than willing to pay as a gift for his inauguration as the new One. He thankfully denied their offering and paid for this out of his severance packet that he'd received after over two decades working for the federal government.

Chris' best friend in the world stood to one side of him holding hands with her husband. Chris had always thought of the Gray Man as slightly aloof but he looked even more distracted than he'd ever seen him before. Angel leaned over to him and whispered in his ear that he should meet her in the park after the ceremony ended. He silently nodded in agreement.

And yet, Chris couldn't help but steal glances at Seth. Angel had told him that her husband had been rapidly improving in a physical sense the past few weeks after his near death experience in that cabin in Northern Georgia when they nabbed Joseph Champion...but Angel also said that he was struggling more and more each day with retaining events from his long term memory.

Four Peacekeepers guarded his immediate surroundings while at least a dozen more heavily armed men set up a perimeter. He knew that he would have been fine even without their help but he didn't argue when the Circle asked for him to carry this heavy a detail around with him today. Many of these folks served a House in Chains—had served his brother Xavier in one capacity or the other—

They felt Xavier's loss as much as he did, especially after the insurrection led by Quincy Morgan led to his murder. And many of them believe what I believe...that if Xavier had lived through the night that the mass suicide that the others planned during Scar's waning hours would not have come to be.

And in speaking of that tragedy... Chris had wanted to add Grace Edwards's body to those who were here in this burial ground but her family politely but sternly refused his offer. He understood.

The new Deputy Director of the FBI, Nicholas Sheridan, had sent flowers and a carefully crafted but genuine statement that showed the man's kindness. He apologized for his absence...and mentioned that he had an urgent matter to personally speak to him about at Chris' earliest convenience.

Special Agent Tabitha Blue sent nothing.

Yet, the biggest surprise of the morning was still to come.

Thomas Pepper exited as quickly and his bulk allowed him and was quickly seated in a wheel chair by an old woman who began pushing him up and over to the gravesite. Chris laid a single hand on the largest of the Peacekeeper's shoulders and the big man greeted the old woman half way. She thanked him kindly as the Peacekeeper wheeled Thomas over to where the remainder of the mourners stood.

If Dr. Seth Dupree didn't look well then Thomas Pepper was a dead man riding. He didn't look anything like the man he last saw trying to aid the FBI nab Serena Tennyson in that hotel without further incident six months ago. He'd dropped 50 pounds easily. He had dark circle camped out underneath his eyes. He gave Chris and the others only a faint nod in acknowledgement of his arrival. Chris decided after a few awkward minutes that Thomas either didn't speak to him because he didn't know what to say, or because he lacked the strength to say it.

So Christopher Prince stooped as low as his own frame allowed and wrapped a single arm around the frail looking man and hugged him instead.

Thomas Pepper's face was a casserole of emotions.

Roxanne Sanchez looked as emotional as she released him after all of the tributes had been paid, after all of the tears had been shed, and after some goodbyes had been said.

Chris needed Roxanne.

Chris needed a drink nearly as much.

Chris needed the smallest measure of peace that he knew he was never going to find.

He hid his discomfort by twisting back around and peering at the gravesite of his loved ones one last time.

No man should ever bury his family.

No man should, but Christopher Prince was going to bury his.

He had the love of his life standing next to him, but the path that he'd chosen to walk as the One of a House in Chains had altered his path forever.

He searched the gray sky, he searched the headstones of his father and brother and then he searched the eyes of the woman that he loved so very dearly for a sign—any sign that he would receive absolution for all of his past sins.

He was now more certain than ever that that day would never come.
Angel

Christopher said, "I know this place."

Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree took off her hat and unbuttoned her coat, with what seemed like a daily rainstorm finally ending after a 30 minute downpour. She cautiously limped down the hill towards the playground and angled towards the swings. The weather was warming at its own pace after the rain had passed. The birds were singing and rejoicing. The four Peacekeepers assigned to Christopher's security detail weren't so jovial. She knew that they were probably still muttering their complaints and curses after he'd ordered them to allow this conversation between himself and his childhood friend without their interruption.

Seth, to her surprise, had accepted her explanation as well when asked him to stay in the car and wait for her to return. She saw Roxanne raise her eyebrows, hopeful that she would go through with it.

"Of course you recognize it, silly,"

Chris looked as if he were taking it all in again—and for the first time as well.

"This was our place."

"Yea," Angel's smile rivaled her best friend's. "Yea, a very long time ago this was our place, Christopher."

"Damn," He walked around and touched the swings as if he were assuring himself that they were real. "I'm out in this area quite a bit in my work...well at least I used to pass through this neighborhood after a day's work in the field office. It's amazing how you look at something every day yet you never actually see it. Damn," He repeated himself. "How could I almost forget this place was here?"

Christopher took off his coat jacket, rolled up the sleeves and tossed it over a nearby branch. He was looking so fit. He'd kept the weight off since the drastic weight loss he'd started after Serena's last night on this—

Don't think about Serena. Don't think about Lisa Healy...

Unfortunately, she recognized the redness—the dullness that shadowed over his eyes that wasn't from crying at the ceremony earlier or from lack of sleep.

Angel knew a budding drunk when she saw one.

"Yes, this old girls is still standing, Christopher," Angel patted the metal in the middle of the slide with some affection. She ended up having to rub the rust off of her fingers. "She's survived being underfunded, the chaos of the 1996 Olympic Games, two earthquakes and Serena's Whirlwind that rampaged right down there on Clemons Street."

Christopher let loose with a low whistle.

Angel knew that it was past time to get on with this. And yet, it was Christopher who beat her to it.

"I'd remembered when you'd walk up to my bedroom window every day during our summer vacation."

"It wasn't every day, Christopher."

"Every day," He said with some finality. You would lean on my window sill with your hands in motion like this," He made a pushing motion that Angel recognized almost immediately. She used to use the hand action as a signal to him to come outside and push her on the swings. Of all of the playground equipment, Angel had always loved the swings best.

"I would," She nodded and her lips boasted a full smile. She sat down on the driest swing she could find. "I especially would do that after getting on your nerves about whatever a preteen gets on the nerve of a teenager about. I'd see you in the bedroom and hit you with the most pathetic gaze I could muster."

Christopher laughed. It was the most wonderful sound in the world.

"They were pathetic, Doc,"

"I know." The memory of one specific smile and result brought another smile to her face. "But I would wait for you to motion with your hands like you were doing pushups like I just did and I knew that you would be outside to push me on the swings again. It was always your personal way of letting me know that no matter how much I had aggravated or angered you that you have forgiven me. It was your private way of telling me that everything was alright."

Chris nodded through her last spill.

"I know, Doc. Believe it or not, I've always been hip to your schemes—always sharper than you gave me credit for."

Angel hugged the iron chains tightly and lifted her weight off the ground.

"Well, Christopher, if you were as smart as you claim to have been, how come you always fell for my act?"

"I didn't," Chris smile lid up his dark face and an otherwise murky day. "Okay, it didn't work every time."

"Yes, Christopher, it worked every time."

"Come on, Doc," He said. "Sometimes I actually wanted to do other things...you know like play basketball with the fellas or go and chase some girls my age or perhaps a little older."

"Whatever, Christopher," She replied. "I really think you got some perverse pleasure from purposely keeping my in suspense long after you knew that you would give in once again."

"Maybe, maybe I did, Angel." Christopher's tone had grown more serious. "I've always given in to you, even when you did the most screwed up things. That's how we ended up sleeping together that one time. Yea, you were there for me when I was growing through it after Hoshi passed but—but that shit could have ruined a wonderful friendship." He shook off something rattling off in his bald head. "I'm always forgiving you for something." Christopher's stance had grown almost defensive. "I've got this feeling over the past few months that something has been bugging you. Why did you bring me back to place, Angel? What in the hell do you need forgiveness for this time?"

"Would you push me one more time?"

Christopher frowned in confusion, but finally took his familiar place behind her and began to push her higher and higher until her stomach was tying up in tiny knots. It was wonderful. It was terrifying.

It was like it had always been before.

"You need to hear this from me before I take the stand up in Washington DC in front of the Grand Jury tomorrow morning."

"Are you talking about the final testimony about your role during that small stint you spent with Serena Tennyson and Pandora?"

"Yes,"

"Alright, Doc," He continued to push her on a rotating basis. "Shoot,"

"I'm responsible for much of Keaton's acceptance of his Hugh persona. The strength that he'd gained from our psychological sessions probably gave him the push he needed to go with on with his plans to kidnap Moses Jackson and Atlanta's other's missing children."

"We've discussed all of this before, Doc," He said, but his voice rattled in discomfort. "I'd read all of your reports. I know all of this—"

"Then you know nothing, Christopher," Angel exhaled in exasperation. Chris hands were warm on her back with every push. "When Serena Tennyson recruited me, I was already having therapy sessions with Hugh Keaton. He had been a patient of mine off and on for years. I thought I had been getting to the heart of his ailments. I thought that I needed to engage the Hugh persona if I was going to gain any knowledge or reach any acceptable level for treatment for him. I thought I had rehabbed him.

"And you were at least partly successful, Angel, congratulations." Yet, Christopher's tone mocked the words that were coming out of his mouth. "And we all know how this story turned out. While this man was embedded in his Hugh persona, as you call it, he killed Erica in order to help Serena get under my skin. Can we let this go already?"

"There is more, Christopher," Every word she said was softer than the one that came before it as she stopped her swinging motion and glanced over her shoulder at him. "You need to hear this."

"No I don't, Angel, save it. I don't need to hear another word about him. I love you with all my heart, Angel. You are the sister that I never had. I love Roxanne Sanchez with all of my heart as well. Yet, either one of you will let the past go." He kicked around some dirt and then he said, "Damn, I need a drink."

Christopher stormed off towards where he would summon the senior lieutenants of his Peacekeepers to drive him back to his new residence on the city's far Westside. She knew she was running out of time and opportunity to do this. She had to find the will and courage to resolve this once and for all—"

"Keaton didn't kill Erica, Christopher." She had sprinted past him as fast as her gimpy leg would allow her and was facing him down. "Joseph Champion killed your step daughter. And at least part of me knew what both men were capable of before Nicholas Sheridan recruited me to come here to Atlanta to aid in the 411 investigations. My therapy sessions may have been the thing that tipped Keaton's scales over. My lessons may have directly provoked this man into committing the second round of kidnapping that the world had come to know as the Atlanta Child Abductions and subsequent Murders."

Christopher took one giant step forward. His neck was bulging and his throat was throbbing.

"What?" The man's voice went deep and dark with anger. "What in the hell did you just say?"

"I...I knew...or at least I suspected that both were involved in what they both ended up doing. I was torn up about it. I had a lot going on in my life even before your former boss asked me to come here. I had my drinking. I had been a bad wife. Anyway, the night that Joseph Champion had come to see me we had decided to commit to a suicide pact. He claimed to want to end it all. I meant to see it through—at least this time. Yet, as the night went on and the drinking and the sex between us went on..."

"And what about the makeshift scenes that we examined with the dolls that we took for avatars of the missing children,"

"It was Champion again," She chose the tenor of next sentence carefully. "If you'll remember back to those days, I strongly suggested to you and the rest of the FBI that Keaton didn't have the mental make up to create those models that we were left behind for us to find. But there was more: We thought Serena was using Champion but it turns out that it was the other way around. Serena was misguided maybe even a delusional. Champion was something else entirely. He had aligned himself with men like James Carter—with men who had nothing but hatred in their minds and hearts for people of color and always will." Angel wouldn't tell Christopher about the true nature of the poison that had taken President Sweet and Mayor Johnson from the face of the earth before their time. She wouldn't reveal to him what she knew about his plans for a mass extermination of her friend's race from the planet. If it was written that she would lose his love to protect the lives of potentially millions of others—then that would be what was written. If it she had to sacrifice all of the angels in Heaven to save Heaven itself then so be it.

Christopher still hadn't opened his mouth to say anything further and it frightened her to the bone.

"Christopher, I'm sorry,"

All he gave her in return was silence.

She tried to rest her hand on one of his shoulders, but he shrugged it off with emphasis.

"Don't touch me," He spat out. "Don't. Touch. Me."

They both waited the silence out.

"Say something, Christopher," She finally could stand it no longer. All he did in response was to do a roundabout to avoid her, speeding up faster and faster, while she struggled to keep up the pursuit on her damned gimpy leg. "Tell me that you hate me, Christopher—tell me that you forgive me, but Goddamn you, please don't leave me like this. Don't leave me alone. You're my best friend. You're the only friend I have in this whole world."

He shocked her by stopping his motion and spinning around so fast that they nearly knocked foreheads.

"Leave this place, Angel," He spat words again. Christopher's people had taken considerable interest in their conversation as it had escalated. Angel saw Roxanne, merely a finely crafted silhouette with her arms crossed in the distance. Seth's gray eyes were wide-eyed as he worked his way through the park with purpose. Angel could imagine this situation getting out of hand in a hurry. "I want you to walk away from this place while you still can."

Angel stood in that same block of space for a long time after she heard the car engine driving the only friend she'd ever known away from the park—and out of her life.

Her husband Seth looked like a statue in the park. The shadow that was Roxanne Sanchez finally moved away an inch at a time to comfort the man she loved—and give him space at the same time.

Angel cried.

With the exception of her devoted husband, Seth she knew that Dragon's prediction of her isolation was all but true. Serena Tennyson had been proven nearly right. Lisa Healy had been proven nearly correct as well.

And yet their gods had been proven wrong—at least for now. There was one silver lining in an otherwise dark room. I only lay down with you, Brad. She had told herself over and again since that day in Memphis. I didn't have sex with you, Brad.

And if she had, the Gray Man wouldn't ever know anyhow.

She was getting better. She was better.

Perhaps Christopher would come around after his initial anger had had its say and his true feelings surfaced.

She was alive.

As long as she lived, her redemption was possibly still at hand.

Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree was alive.

And yet, she felt so very alone.
Seth

The Grand Jury walked back into the court and took their anointed place to Dr. Seth Dupree's left.

None of them looked in his or any of the few people who had been allowed to see these proceedings in person. It irked him, just a little, that these 12 people could carry the verdict of a man's spouse without even having to look at him.

Seth Dupree stood in his accustomed spot in this courtroom as he had in the days since this Grand Jury had convened. Soon after, Angel and her lawyer was a tall drink of water entered the scene and took their familiar places. The federal prosecutor, whose nose hairs were killing time above his top lip, looked confident and stood on the opposite of the room with his hands clamped in front of him. Finally, the judge made it a perfect attendance for all the outstanding parties involved spoke into his mike and informed everyone that they could be seated.

He read through some preliminary instructions to the Grand Jury and when he spoke again he said: "Ms. Chairperson, Have you reached a verdict in the case of the State of Georgia against Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree?"

"We have your honor,"

"Very well," He said and encouraged the defendant and her lawyer to stand up.

He saw as his wife glanced momentarily in his direction before paying her full attention back to the judge and jury. Seth could feel his heart thumping in his chest. There was no doubt in his mind that his wife had committed wrongdoings—but he didn't want to see her locked away like some common criminal.

He flashed her one of his best smiles though he truly wasn't feeling what the smile represented one bit.

And he felt it fade just as quickly as Christopher Prince enters the courtroom. The man's appearance drew the attention from everyone already seated inside, especially Angel and the judge herself. Why would the new leader of a House in Chains come here? And more importantly, whose guest is he as this invitation only affair of the federal government?

It took four solid minutes for the judge to quiet the room down enough to allow the chairperson to announce that Angel was not guilty on three relatively minor occurrences of conspiracy.

Seth knew that it was time for them all to learn her fate on the more serious offenses.

The judge cleared his voice and studied the verdict before speaking further.

"On the indictment of conspiracy to participate in the kidnapping of six Atlanta minors, with the subsequent loss of lives of two of those children, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant, Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree, not guilty."

Seth could see his wife literally sigh in relief just as he could feel himself doing the same. Angel's lawyer flashed his wife a stern look and Seth recognized it immediately: She knows this isn't over. There is one significant charge left.

"On the indictment of conspiracy to commit terrorist attacks on or against a person or persons of the United States of America on April 11, 2011, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant, Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree," The Chairperson paused for breath and then said, "We find the defendant guilty."

Noises, both loud and soft, go through the small crowd in the courtroom. The Judge pounds his gavel repeatedly to retain order in his courtroom. Seth shot out of his seat. Chris Prince's face was empty of emotion and betrayed little else.

Angel looked ill. She leaned on her lawyer for physical support.

"Dr. Hicks Dupree if you would remain standing," The Judge said without looking at her.

Angel's lawyer said, "Judge, on behalf of my client, I respectfully submit to this court that I plan to appeal this verdict to the appellate courts—

The Judge nodded as if he'd heard this motion in his courtroom before.

"This is your right, of course, Counselor," He finally lifted his bald head from his notes. "But before you waste a perfectly good stamp or courier you may wish to hear me out first."

"Your Honor," The Prosecutor's victorious expression had melted away. "I don't understand. The Grand Jury has spoken—"

"Counselors, you have done your job, the jury had done theirs based upon the evidence that was presented in front of them." He said patiently. "I'll respectfully remind both of you that I am the one who is solely responsible for the sentencing portion of this hearing. In other words, you two would be wise to shut up if you will, sit down if you might, and let me do my job."

"Yes, sir," Both lawyers managed to sound magnanimous.

"I have taken into account all of the sworn written, recorded and spoken testimony in this case. I also was given confidential, detailed bureau information about the doctor's tireless efforts in bringing perpetrators of one of the greatest civil fiasco's I've witnessed in my life."

"Your Honor," The Prosecutor overstated the obvious. "This is highly irregular,"

The Judge nodded once.

"You are damned right it is. The key point here is whether it is lawful or not? I can site you enough case law to keep you up well your bedtime every night this week going through it if you like." And when no one dared to respond the Judge continued. "I've heard directly from the newly appointed Director of the FBI, Nicholas Sheridan, Special Agent Tabitha Blue, noted author Thomas Pepper and retired Hostage Negotiator Justin Ryan who seemed to have a soft spot for the Doctor. I also have letters from former patients, colleagues, teachers, parents of five of Atlanta's missing children who were recovered and Mrs. Fredrick's entire third grade class at Brown Elementary School. You spoke to those kids over there, Dr. Hicks Dupree?"

"Yes, your honor," Angel bit back a smile. "I've spoken there once week for the last six months about the dangers of alcohol and drug abuse."

The Judge sat back in his chair, bit on the frame of his eyeglasses and Seth heard his voice take on a more serious tone.

"Those who have testified on your behalf come from different backgrounds and beliefs and motivations yet they all share one constant opinion: They all believe that this sad chapter in our country's history would have not been brought to a close in the timespan it had without your assistance. You put yourself through a considerable amount of personal as well as professional peril to help find those children before..." The Judge let the last word fade into the oblivion that it deserved. "The Deputy Director went as far as to say that he has confidential information, sensitive to continuing investigations that this madness would have escalated to an unfathomable level without this woman's intervention that concluded with putting a stop to Joseph Champion; a man who has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt as the mastermind behind the assassination of a President of the United States. Adolphus Sweet is not a man who I voted for, but as an officer in service to a nation as well was a man who I had a deep respect for."

Angel's lawyer said, "My client acknowledges Mr. Sheridan's area of expertise in these matters, Judge.

"As well she should, Counselor," The Judge sat erect and directed his full attention on Angel. Seth felt himself tense. "Doctor, are you an alcoholic?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

The Judge scribbled on a legal pad.

"I realize that you have been receiving treatment for your addiction. I will say that I am not pleased with your progress. So I am assigning you to one of the finer drug and alcoholic rehabilitation center in this country for the next 90 days. You should not expect your recovery to be simple, Doctor. And I want you to keep in mind that his is an offer that you cannot refuse."

Angel nodded.

The Judge leaned over his bench and made an ominous face that dared anyone in the courtroom to challenge his final ruling.

"I am suspending any jail time as long as you complete the program as I've instructed. But before you celebrate to loudly there is this: I am stripping you of all your medical licenses for practicing clinical or any other type psychology. When you exit your treatment you will need to seek out a new profession as a means to continue to be self-supporting."

"Of course, your Honor," Angel looked as if she'd swallowed a whole lot of somethings that were sour. "Thank you for giving me a second chance."

"This is so ordered," The Judge slammed the gavel down one last time. "We are done with our business here, court is adjourned."

When they reached the hallway outside the courtroom, Seth watched Angel and her lawyer as they met with the mass of media that descended on the two women like flies on an open buffet.

Christopher Prince seized the opportunity to escape the courtroom with as little fanfare as his new found position as a House in Chains new One. He and Seth made eye contact. Seth had been struggling with bouts of memory loss, but his pent up disdain for this man during the earliest hours of 411 had not. How could I have been such a fool? How could he have hated such a good and honorable and loyal man as this one?

Seth wanted to say something to Chris but he didn't want to let a poor choice of words or a misunderstood meaning get in the way.

Yet, it was the other man who made an offer to the Gray Man instead.

Chris stuck out his hand—and Dr. Seth Dupree shook it and held it there for a long time.

"Good luck to you, Doctor," Chris said, "He looked over his shoulder at his childhood friend and flashed some type of pushing motion with his hands that Seth quickly gathered as a signal that only the two of them would understand. "You're going to need every last ounce of it. I love your wife like the sister I never had. Siblings have a caring and forgiveness for one another that no other relationship can endure. I don't know if you can fully understand that."

"That is where you are wrong, Chris," The Gray Man found himself saying. "I can understand it. And yet, our relationship as husband and wife has nothing to do with luck as you mentioned before—none of this does."

And then Christopher Prince disappeared out of a side door.

Five minutes later, Angel hopped into his arms and kissed him open mouthed. She was smiling from ear to ear with her lips in full bloom. She had cried along the route between leaving the courtroom, talking to the reporters and limping over to where he was.

"I'll be going away for a while, Seth," She looked like a new woman. She looked as if the burdens of this world had been lifted off of her shoulders. She couldn't have been more wrong. "I will be back again. We'll be back. We can start over again."

"Start over, huh?"

"Of, course," Angel's smile waned a little. "Look, Seth, I'm sorry about you having to be embarrassed about hearing my sorry history in front of strangers like that. It isn't fair that you had to be subjected to all my drinking, my infidelities...all of my personal demons once again."

"I'm not concerned about what was said back there, Angel," Seth said cautiously, "Some of those incidents were from a long time ago. What I am concerned with is the here and now. I'm disappointed in the fact that you haven't changed my love. I don't think that you ever will. What everyone has seen on display in an essence is who you are, Angel."

Angel cocked a brow in confusion.

"I don't understand what you mean by that, Seth," She said in a low tone. Seth dried one of her tears. "Seth, I've been totally honest with you about everything. Look, Seth, I'm sure that you'll find this corny, but I feel cleansed by this entire experience. I'm going to kick this drinking thing."

"No you're not, Angel," Seth said without anger. "You're not going to stop the drinking or the sleeping around. Especially now, that they've taken what little there was of your career from you. You have nothing left. And with nothing left to lose you are bound to get worse than you already are. Everyday more of who you really are will raise to the surface. I can't live with this any longer. I can't live with you and what you are anymore. I'm sorry. You can't come home again."

Angel stood there and glared into his gray eyes for a very long time.

"You know," Angel's lips parted into a serviceable O. "Somehow...you know...Memphis...Brad."

"Yes," Seth owed her that much left. "I know because I planted him in that airport and into your life."

"Why?"

"I know you, Angel," He said. "I know what turns you on. You made it easy."

"Seth, you are a son of a bitch. You actually set me up."

"I did."

Angel made some type of movement with her mouth.

"Look, Seth, I can't be angry with you. Why would I ever be angry with you? Yet, if you set me up you know that I didn't have intercourse with him." Seth frowned at her proclamation as weak as it was. "Alright, Seth, we had drinks—we had a lot of drinks, but I didn't have sex with him. It never went beyond drinking and talking, even when he pushed. I did that much, Seth. I at least overcame that temptation."

"No," Seth heard his voice fall to a dangerously low decibel that he'd never heard in it before. "No you didn't overcome temptation at all."

"Look, Seth, I don't know what Brad or whatever his name was told you—"

"You don't get it do you, Angel," Seth had to do something with his hands to keep from grabbing her here in this courthouse. He was reminded of the confrontation down in Macon nearly a year ago, while the FBI waited outside for her to leave with them. "Your test wasn't to see if you would sleep with another man, Angel. Your test revolved around you allowing yourself to be put in yet another bad situation that could compromise our marriage that would compromise me."

"Seth," Angel couldn't find any more words...but she did find more tears though. "Seth, I didn't realize—"

"But you should have," The Gray Man found his fury at long last and it was liberating in its intensity. "Angel, I nearly died a thousand times in the streets of Atlanta trying to reach you when I found out that Roxanne Sanchez wanted you dead. I have to live the rest of my life every night seeing that reign of terror that Quincy Morgan and his Peacekeeper's let loose after dark. Right now I'm struggling to remember moments of my past after bleeding out from a madman named Joseph Champion that you took as a lover, Angel. I can't remember my friend's names sometimes that have moved on to eternity, Angel, but I will never forget these things, ever." Seth paused both for breath and a vain attempt to collect himself. "After all of this, after this abomination that was our marriage you expect me to come back to you. I promised myself that I would stay by yours side to allow this Grand Jury thing to play itself out...but no further. If there was any chance of us saving our marriage it went out the window the moment when stepped into that hotel room with Brad."

"Please, Seth," She grasped at his bicep, but just like their marriage, it was all slipping away from her grasp. He pulled away and walked off. "I will do better, Seth. Don't leave me alone. I'm begging you not to leave me alone. Serena told me that I would suffer from loneliness. It would be my personal Whirlwind."

Seth spun around one final time to face his wife—who he still loved dearly, but could no longer live with.

"I guess that you can't go home again, Angel." He said again without cruelty and left her there crying and alone.

And in that one moment in time, Dr. Seth Dupree realized, yet again, that all his life it was if he'd been holding his breath...waiting.

He hoped to mend his broken heart.

He hoped to breathe again.

He hoped.
Epilogue: Another Dying Man

Thomas Pepper was dying.

He knew that it was inevitable. He knew that there is no way he could continue to cheat his destiny. So he spends his final days like he does today, seated in his wheelchair with just enough strength in his arms to wheel himself around his room. And it amazes him that a man who was once as big and as strong as a bull just one year ago could be eaten up with disease at such a rapid pace.

Thomas' long awaited book 411 was published last Tuesday and debuted in the number one slot in the New York Times, USA Today and dozens of national and international periodicals.

He smiled at the memory. Pride was one of the many sins that Thomas had prepared himself to answer for during the Judgement. 411 was his finest work. And to his surprise, the critics have been offering up positive review after positive review for his final piece that he would ever write.

He'd been watching the television all morning when he hadn't been watching the children playing. He'd seen a brief caption flash across the bottom of the screen stating that Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree had been proven guilty by a Grand Jury but would not serve jail time for her crimes. Thomas knew that many in his former profession would consider that proclamation as light sentence indeed.

Thomas Pepper knew better.

He knows that the Director of the FBI, Nicholas Sheridan, has bought more than the doctor's silence with his influence on her sentence. He had bought Agent Tabitha Blue and her people more time to find the renegade offspring of Pandora and bring them to justice before the world learned of their genocidal plans. Even recognition of Joseph Champion's harrowing plot alone may be enough to set the country off on deep, dark journey that it may not be able to pull back from. And when Champion sent him a evidence of what these renegades from Pandora had done: Thomas realized that the poisoning of President Adolphus Sweet and Mayor Ernestine Johnson was just the start of a mass murder of people of color.

Champion also gambled that the more people knew about what truly happened to these public figures the more likely the world would learn the truth. That is why I burned the CD that he sent me. That's why I read the information thoroughly but didn't use the information in the final edit of my book. He would take the truth to his coming grave with him.

And yet what will you do with your truth, Christopher Prince?

Joseph Champion told one very large lie amidst all of those truths that he'd revealed to the doctor before she killed him that night. He fabricated the idea that he'd sent the new leader of a House in Chains a disk containing the same valuable information that Thomas knew. Champion played Sheridan—he played all of us for fools even from his grave. Sheridan came to see Thomas days ago and told him in person that he'd left word with Chris to meet with him soon after the ceremony concluded that had honored the deaths of his fallen family. Chris didn't know the reason why. He couldn't have known otherwise. And yet, once the two men, who were no longer allies, had agreed to meet under adverse circumstances, Sheridan was forced to reveal his secret to his former agent.

On the other end of the deal, Thomas knew that while Angel would not serve any official time she would suffer in anguish for as long as she lived for the decisions that she made during the days before and during the crisis in Atlanta.

And yet, Thomas knew that she would face those days of tribulation alone. His time was now at an end. He could not help her any longer.

He wanted to get to the window and look out. He'd used most of his advance of 411 and even called in the last favors that he ever would to assure himself this spot with an unobstructed view of the neighborhood preschool's playground below from the hospice center. Thomas loved to watch the children at play. And now, with all of that book business behind him, he can finally spend as many hours of the day as he wishes watching them.

He finds that he hasn't the strength to push himself forward towards the window. He grew ever irritable. He cursed, but still can't get it done to his liking. He found that he was too far away from his emergency button to call for help.

He heard his door bell chime.

He smiled immediately.

The nurses had access to his room at all times. He knew that the ringing on the bell only served as a courtesy call before they used voice authorization to let themselves in. Perhaps they'd come to change his linens or clean his bathroom as they did daily. He hoped so. Whoever was on the other side of that door could help him get to where he wanted to be. He hoped that they'd dispatched some of the ladies who were closer to his own age. They tended to be kinder to him and show more patients with all of his physical limitations than the younger women did.

He found himself staring at the older nurses sometimes, but not in any sexual manner that he may have just one year earlier. He felt ashamed for the way that he'd treated women before. He felt worse for the manner that he'd treated the sanctity of marriage. It is another in the long line of issues that I have to answer for. Thomas minister friend had counseled him and told him that God forgives all sins and the sinners who committed them—even sinners like him. All he had to do was believed in his heart and ask for His forgiveness.

The children would be out soon. He didn't want to miss them. Who knew how long he had left before even this privilege would be denied to him.

He heard a female voice utter her authorization code and then the bolted lock disengaged from the locking mechanism behind him. Thomas looked over his shoulder and saw only one set of legs had joined him in his room this time.

In his mind's eye Thomas sometimes saw Serena Tennyson walk through that door. Sometimes she'd come to kill him. Other times she'd come simply to stay with him and watch him die as he had watched her do so six months earlier.

Thomas knew that it wasn't Serena Tennyson or one of his nurses that had come today.

It was his mother, Julia, who had come to sit with him this day.

He could feel his eyes light up with her entrance and he could see the twinkle in her eyes as well. It was so very different when she showed up at Christmas time. He resisted her. He resented her presence after being out of his life after so many years. They'd argued about the past—about how she'd left Thomas and his siblings to fend for themselves while her father lay dying of the same cancer that was eating at his life right now. They cried together. They argued some more. Yet, Thomas knew that his mother was an old woman now. And he knew that she'd come seeking forgiveness for her past sins like he was seeking forgiveness from a higher power for his.

He had neither the strength nor the time to judge anymore.

They'd spent the last few months together getting to know one another again s mother and son. She started taking him out to places where he wanted to go like the store, or to the library, or to the park—or to Christopher Prince's ceremony for his fallen family as he so desired.

If Thomas had any chance of God forgiving his many sins during his last days, how could he decide not to forgive his mother's?

And after all, it felt wonderful to have his mom with him now—even here in the last days of his life.

Julia pushed him to his favorite spot in the entire room, in the entire world that he couldn't have reached without her help. And then she left him alone there with the children and rested her own old legs in front of the TV on the couch on the far side of the room.

Thomas had arrived in his favorite spot just in the nick of time.

He watched the three and four year olds running and jumping about having a big time on a beautiful spring day. The teacher's aides were watchful enough, but became distracted by one of the children who had taken a tumble over by the slide and was crying probably more embarrassment than the effects of an actual injury. The little boy didn't appear to be seriously hurt.

Meanwhile, just out of view of the aides, two older boys seemed to be locked in a disagreement over something or the other. The talking soon turned into shouting and the shouting escalated into shoving and eventually punches being thrown.

One combatant was a little black boy while the other was a petite shaped white child.

The memories of what happened during Scar pushed up from back of his mind to the surface. He nearly stood in his chair sickened so to what he was seeing. He wanted to cry out and bang on the glass for them to stop what they were doing. He begged out loud for them to behave themselves. Please act civilized. Please don't act like savages towards another. Thomas was unsure whether he was speaking specifically to the preschool aged boys or to two members of the race in general. One part of his brain did ask the other this question: Why couldn't one generation learn from the mistakes of those who came before it? He felt his mother rising behind him as he wondered if this country—this world would ever find enough tolerance in the areas of race relations before it was too late for any of it to matter.

Thomas wondered if discord and conflict between these two races was inevitable whether Tabitha Blue found these renegade Pandora agents before the world learned the truth about Joseph Champion's true intentions or not? He wondered if Christopher Prince's anointed rising as the One would prevent future conflicts like the ones suffered by so many last year or ignite more of them? The last question was one of the final points that he'd put to the many millions of readers that he knew would view the pages of his final work.

Thankfully, the disagreement between the young boys had ended as quickly as it had come. The two children were back laughing and playing in no time. Whatever had brought on the fury had settled itself even without the aid of grownup supervision or interference.

Thomas Pepper sat himself back in his wheelchair and smiled.

And that smile didn't fade when the tears of joy flowed down his flushed cheeks.

Perhaps there is hope for peace in our time—in the time of those he would leave behind when I'm dead and gone.

Julia must have seen the tears on his face and wrapped her arms around her boy and comforted him the best she could. Thomas squeezed her wrist with affection but never took his eyes off of the children of all races playing below.

He watched the two boys for a few minutes more.

Perhaps in that miniature block of time and space the two of them had discovered the truth that so many of us had failed to grasp if not completely understand. Thomas hoped that someday soon—before it was too late—that they would be gracious enough to share it with him in the little time he had left.

He would gladly spend the last of his energy—the last of his life's blood to pass the knowledge and wisdom to a country and world that so very badly needed it.

After all, wherever Thomas Pepper went, the truth was never far behind.

He hoped...he prayed that this truth was not far behind.

End of Episode 9

End of Series

Thank you for downloading this e-book and/or any episode in this series.

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Dedication

As I've said before, this one is for...well, for 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 Presents: Where are our Children

Episode 1: 411 (Available Now!!!)

Episode 2: Deliverance (Available Now!!!)

Episode 3: Rapture (Available Now!!!)

Episode 4: Past Prologue (Available Now!!!)

Episode 5: Zero Hour (Available Now!!!)

Episode 6: Betrayal (Available Now!!!)

Episode 7: Scar (Available Now!!!)

Episode 8: Whirlwind (Available Now!!!)

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