Excerpt from unpublished book

The stars danced in the blackness. They seemed like fireflies with one fluid, orchestrated movement. Colors surrounded the pinpricks of light with a phosphorescent hue. He started to wonder how this was all possible. Just then images moved across the dark landscape, but they weren't shadows or hazy figures. They were clear and distinct and up in the sky. He looked at the images and realized that he knew them. His wife, his kids, his house, all swam through his vision.

Just then he realized that he was asleep and his eyes were closed. All he saw were memories playing from his mind on the eyelids. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked. He tried orienting himself to where he was, but in his freshly awoken state, up seemed down and familiar shapes had no meaning. It took him a few moments before he was able to recognize that the tall, slender person in front of him with multiple arms raised high above was really a palm tree.

"Are you okay?" came a voice from somewhere above him. He tried moving his head to find the sound, but as soon as he did the stars came back into his vision. Only this time they were visible even in the daylight. He closed his eyes, hoping that it would help, but the throbbing only continued. "Just take it easy," the voice said. "We've called 911 and someone will be here to help you." Then the voice seemed to be talking to someone else because it didn't seem as loud or as close to him, but he heard them say, "He's awake, but obviously hurting. I don't know. I'll ask. What's your name?"

It took him a second to understand that the person was asking him the question. It required a lot of effort, but he was able to mutter, "Ben."

"Ok, Ben. Just lay still. The paramedics are on their way." Then, to the someone else, "Should we try and move him? But he's in the middle of the street. Ok, ok. I'll leave him. Should we check for bleeding?" The conversation seemed one-sided to Ben because he could only hear the person talking in front of him.

There was something familiar about that voice, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He opened his eyes again to see who was tending to him. His vision still a little hazy, he couldn't quite distinguish the features of the person, but the long flowing hair that surrounded the face gave it away that it was a woman. Ben blinked a couple of times hoping that that would help clarify what he saw. Little by little different features became more distinct until he was able to see her face clearly enough.

He inhaled slightly, and as he did his ribs shot a searing pain through his body. He knew this person. Not only knew her, but loved her. This was his wife. Why did she ask him for his name?

"Charlotte," he whispered. The lady's face turned back towards Ben's with a bewildered look. She was about to say something when a team of paramedics arrived and rushed in. Charlotte stood up and backed away, still staring at the man lying in front of her.

The paramedics quickly checked over Ben, looking for any bleeding or injuries that would prevent them from moving him. They tended to his wounds and lifted him onto the stretcher to wheel him into the vehicle. Ben tried looking around for his wife, but could not see her.

Charlotte watched the paramedics as they worked, and then dashed over to the truck to get one last look at this man that knew her name before they loaded him up. Ben turned his head at the last moment and caught her stare.

"Charlotte," he whispered again with a pleading look in his eyes. This wasn't just a man that knew her name. This was a man that depended on her, that needed her to be with him. She quickly stepped up into the van with the paramedics before they could stop her.

"Do you know this man?" the paramedic asked.

"His name is Ben," Charlotte said.

"Do you know what happened?"

Charlotte opened her mouth to respond, but for some reason completely forgot what she was about to say. Did she know what happened? She thought she did, but it wasn't coming out. She felt like those times in college when she had the answer on the tip of her tongue but for the life of her could not get her mouth to produce the words.

"Ma'am? Do you know what happened?"

"I'm not sure," was all she could say.

Ben lay on the stretcher, listening to the conversation between his wife and the paramedic. Why was she not telling them what happened. She had been with him on the street before the car had pulled up next to them. He could remember that they had tried to take her and he had fought against them. Then he had blacked out.

"Charlotte," he eked out again.

She leaned closer to this man whom she did not know, madly curious as to how he knew her. His mouth moved with the intention to talk, but the I.V. from the paramedics had already taken its effect and he fell back into painless unconsciousness.

The steady beeping woke him up. It was dark in the room except for the lights from the monitors and the brilliance coming from the nurse's station outside. His eyes tried to adjust to the dark, but all seemed like hazy silhouettes. Suddenly a figure moved toward him from the dark side of the room and placed his hand over Ben's mouth.

"It's over, Ben," the man said. "We could have killed you, but that wouldn't have proven anything. Now you have to live your life with what you weren't willing to give to us."

Ben's mind raced with the implications of what the man was saying. He instantly thought about his wife and family.

"Are you thinking about her?" the man asked with a sneer in his voice. "She doesn't remember you. None of them do. You are now an anomaly, a figment of people's imagination. They'll talk to you and forget you the next moment. Your life is over. All because you weren't willing to work with us."

"Go to hell," Ben whispered.

The man smiled in the darkness. "I think you'll find you're already there."

Life

A single light shined down on the alley. The shadows sat motionless on the ground like painted stencils. A black cat moved among the strewn debris, her silhouette mimicking her every move. A sharp bark erupted from a nearby window and the cat sprang forward, distancing herself from the perceived threat. After a few bounds she realized that the dog was not following her and she slowed down to her previous saunter. Reaching the end of the street, she stopped. Looking around, she paused, not wanting to leave the alley. She took a few moments to groom her fur, her ears moving slightly to every sound.

After feeling content with her appearance, she decided to leave the comfort of the dark alley. She quickly maneuvered underneath a parked vehicle and crouched in her new secure place. Cars rushed passed her on the street, but she took no notice. A loud slam was heard above her and the engine started. She darted out from under the car that had quickly turned from a safety blanket to a death trap only to find herself running straight toward a pair of moving legs. Like a fly avoiding a swatting hand, the cat jumped to the side and into an open door.

“Mom! There’s a cat!” came a high pitched voice from the room that the cat had just escaped into. The cat tried to exit quickly again, but a pair of agile hands wrapped themselves around her body and hoisted her up. She wriggled in the arms of her new assailant to no avail. Resorting to self defense, she extracted her claws and scratched. The little girl screamed and dropped the cat, who immediately ran out into the night again, this time running down the street and not entering any more doorways.

As she ran, she noticed a park with a solitary tree in the middle. Making her way to the tree, she climbed up to a solid branch, which became her new safe house. She paused to groom the recently accumulated dirt out of her fur. Unfortunately, she didn't find solace for long. A barrage of chattering was produced by an overprotective mother squirrel. Though the animal posed no immediate threat to the cat, she nevertheless felt it better to leave it be and move on. She scrambled down the tree and left the defensive squirrel to its nest.

It felt good to walk on the soft grass as she made her way across the park. However, the dew had started to settle in and her paws being wet was not a welcome feature. Finding a bench, she hopped up and flicked the water off her feet. Taking time to groom once more, she looked around her in the dark, her eyes easily adjusting to the limited light. Looking at her, it would seem she noticed nothing and everything all at once. She would have stayed on that bench, since she didn't want to walk on the wet grass anymore, but spending a night on a hard park bench was not ideal. She moved to the edge of the bench and shimmied in place, as if waiting any longer would make the grass less wet. Finally deciding to leave, she leapt onto the moist ground and bounded over to the dry sidewalk. Flicking her paws again, she walked down the street.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar sound and a guttural meow instinctively came from her throat. She started off toward the sound, dodging the few cars and people that were still out. The sound stopped and so did she. She stood motionless with her ears twitching, trying desperately to pick up the noise again. Once it started back up, she wasted no time in sprinting to it. Turning a corner, she saw an elderly gentleman on the back porch of a house shaking a can of cat treats. Meowing loudly now, she walked up to the man with eager anticipation.

“Hey, there. You came home,” the man feebly said. “Can’t resist these things, can you?” She meowed in response, still waiting for her morsel. His hands shook as he opened the lid. One would have thought that it took nearly all his effort just to do that. He tried to shake out one treat, but three came instead. He tried as carefully as he could to put the other two back, but one fell on the ground. Seizing the opportunity, she quickly ate the treat and then looked up to him for more, meowing once again. “Oh, why not,” he lovingly replied to her begging, dropping the second treat at the same time. She snatched it up and licked her face, which caused her to start grooming once more.

“Well, I can’t have you sitting there all night,” the old man said. “Come inside.” He shooed the cat inside with his foot and closed the porch door. Once inside, she waited for him to shuffle past her and sit down before jumping up onto his warm lap. Kneading her paws lightly into his legs, she turned around and then settled down and started to purr. His hand stroked her fur and caused her tail to twitch. She could anticipate when his hand would contact her head again and her ears flattened just before. Once again the palm stroked her fur and released. She flattened her ears, waiting for the coming affection, only to be denied. She cooed softly and looked up, rubbing her head into his chest at the same time. However, there was no response. His stomach no longer moved against her with his breath. She nudged her head once again into his chest, but he was no more. She waited for a moment, taking the opportunity to groom herself again, then settled back down into the still warm lap and fell asleep.

Career Choice

14.

A new record. At least, it was for him. He knew he was nothing compared to others in history, but all that mattered was his own.

So, how to handle number 15? Because, there was no sense in stopping at 14. Why did people just barely break a record? Why not shatter it?

His goal was at least 25. That would definitely turn heads. Then they would write stories about him.

He stood up and stretched. He had to take a breather. He had been cooped up for too long on this last one. Stepping outside he took in a deep breath of the fresh mountain air. The crisp snow crunched under his boots. He always found snow amazing. Here was something that was molded high in the heavens in a dramatic fashion, only to fall down as soft as a feather. Deceptively so, for enough of these feathers could crush buildings. But here it lay, harmless, almost crying out for someone to play with it. He reached his bare hand down and grabbed a fistful. The cold felt refreshing on his overworked fingers. He squeezed the snow in his hands and watched it compress into a ball. Another marvel. Continue to apply pressure and this soft blanket becomes almost like a steel trap.

He let it fall from his hand. The red stain stood out in stark contrast to the pure white. He looked at it part in disgust for the blemish it was against the pristine background and part in awe at its uniqueness. He stepped on the ball with his boot and ground it into the snow. All that was left was a pink smudge. He shuffled some fresh powder with his shoe on top and the stain disappeared. Everything could be covered up.

He closed the door behind him and started walking off into the forest.

He hadn't always wanted to become who he was, but then again few people do. Most start off life with a fantasy notion of their ideal self only to have that dream stifled or shattered. An astronaut was his childhood dream, which he found comical since he always had a fear of drifting off into space and not being able to make it back to his ship. Maybe that's why it was his goal. We always tend to want to conquer that which frightens us the most. He still had the vision of flying among the stars in a spaceship, but he also knew that it would never come to pass. His chance had long since vanished.

He walked up to the small stream that still flowed despite the desperate attempts of the cold atmosphere to freeze it solid. Dipping his hands down into the water, he washed them clean. The crimson mixed with the crystal blue and flowed downstream until it disappeared around a few rocks in the bend. He smiled slightly. He loved it up here.

His smile quickly faded, however, as he thought back to the reason for his unique career choice. He could still feel the sting on his face from the beatings, even though it had been many years. Somehow, even though the body heals and forgets, the mind holds on. He had only been able to withstand so much before taking matters into his own hands. He thought that running away would solve the problem, but problems like lions only seem to chase harder when their prey tries to escape. The drugs, alcohol and sex that followed all blurred together in his memory. The only image that came ringing clearly back into his mind was the hand coming at him over and over and over again.

He had to conquer that which frightened him the most. That was when he started his current career. The first day on the job was brutal and he made a lot of mistakes. But who doesn't their first day? Luckily, he was able to clean up his errors and move ahead. By the time he had completed his fourth project, he was flawless.

He crouched for a moment next to the stream, then stood up and walked back to the door.

"Hello there," came a voice from behind him.

He turned around and saw a man dressed in mountain gear that looked like it had been purchased from the store that very same day. The man's cheeks were flushed as his body tried to compensate for the altitude and the cold. He could tell that this man had never been hiking in these types of conditions before.

"I said, hello there," the man repeated. "Do you live up here? I didn't think there was anyone who could live in these dastardly conditions."

He stared at the man without moving a muscle.

"Yes, well, I was hoping you might be able to help me out. You see, I was traveling with a group of people when I saw a small rock outcropping and thought I would try and summit it to get a few pictures. However, I am now hopelessly lost and was ready to give in when I saw you."

He gave no response to the man and still stood with one hand on the door handle. Though his body did not move, his mind raced. Years on the job had fine tuned his thoughts where it was now second nature. The whole project was completed in his head before he even released his hand from the door.

15.

Looks like it's going to be a long day at work.

Therapy

They stared at each other with that look that dared the other to speak first. The clock moved silently on the wall, almost like it didn't want to make a sound. The dark wood furniture seemed to melt into the wood paneled walls. The diplomas stood out in stark contrast with their gold borders and silver seals. The only color that came from the room was the red couch that he sat on, and even that was a muted burgundy. He knew what the other was doing, but he didn't want to be the first to break the silence. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of winning. He had a point to prove, and speaking would negate why he remained reticent.

He thought back to the events leading up to this meeting. Why had she left again? He couldn't remember. It was only a few days ago, but it seemed like forever. He relived that moment over and over again, saw her walking out the door and it slamming behind her. He remembered the painting falling off the wall from the force of her anger. Or was it frustration? He didn't know for sure. He just knew that the one thing that had kept his life together was gone.

The other man's glasses glinted with the small amount of sunlight that came through the heavy blinds. The light in the corner was on to add illumination to the dim office, but it being the middle of the day the lamp only caused the room to seem darker than it was. He looked around the office at the shelves of books and wondered if the man with the glasses had even read half of them. He then saw the man start writing on the pad that he had been holding in his lap. The pencil scratched across the surface leaving the carbon markings in its wake. He wondered what caused the man to start writing. Was it because he looked at the books? Or because he still wasn't talking? He then thought how the other might even be doodling, just to pass the time. He didn't care. Let him write or draw whatever he wanted. He wasn't speaking. He was here against his will and no one was going to change that fact.

She was like that. She could hold her own and not back down. He always loved that quality in her and never thought that it would be one of the reasons that she would leave. He remembered at least that much. What lead up to it? That's what he wanted to know. Of course, he knew if he had asked her that she would have retorted that he should have known by now. Mind reading games were not his forte. He always wanted it straight. Don't beat around the bushes. However, whenever he would say that to her she would become more infuriated and hurt that he didn't understand her. The ironic part was that he wanted to - desperately.

The chair creaked beneath the man with the glasses as he repositioned himself. Was he getting restless? Did he want it to end already? The man smiled slightly at the other's discomfort. He hoped his butt hurt from sitting for so long. He hoped he had to go the bathroom, that he was hungry, thirsty, anything that would cause him to end this.

He wasn't naturally a spiteful person. He was usually congenial and friendly. Few were the people that met him and didn't like him. But it had slowly gone downhill. Little things had started to bug him. He began cutting people off in traffic and silently cursing out others. He saw others as moronic and incapable of a logical thought. But she could never do wrong. It wasn't that she never made mistakes, but they were always downplayed in his eyes. He quickly forgave her for any fault or error in judgment. And maybe that was where he went wrong. Maybe it was the fact that he never helped her learn to deal with her own issues that caused their separation. He was doing it again. He was taking the blame onto himself instead of allowing her to be at fault. But he had been doing it for so long that it was ingrained in him.

He looked at the clock and the man in glasses wrote. Maybe he could get the man to write things that didn't mean anything. He reached up, scratched the inside of his ear and then looked at his finger. The man in glasses watched him put the finger to his nose and sniff before wiping it off on his leg. The writing resumed. The man laughed inside at how stupid the man in the glasses was. Why did they think that everything meant something?

That's what she had done. Every little twitch that he had. Everything he said or did she felt had some meaning behind it and she questioned it. Why couldn't she realize that sometimes he did something for no reason at all? It had bugged him so much that he began watching everything he did. No longer could he just answer what was on the top of his head for fear of having to explain himself. And that was something else that frustrated her.

He looked at the man in the glasses. Hours had passed and besides the scratching of the pencil or the creaking of the seats, no sound had been made. Why was he here? Why couldn't he just go home and live his life? What was left of it, at least, now that she was gone.

The door behind him opened and two men in white coats came in.

"Well, Mr. Thompson, perhaps tomorrow we can continue?" said the man in the glasses.

He didn't respond. He didn't even move. All he could think about was her. The men in white came over and helped him up. He stood there staring at the floor. The dark carpet seemed to fit the room perfectly. "I miss her," he finally said.

"We all do," replied the man in the glasses. "But we can't get her back. What we need to do is help everyone else that misses her find a way to move on. And only you can do that." He reached out his hand and put in on the man's shoulder. "Do you want to help us?"

His mind went to the hand on his shoulder and the hands of the men in white on his arms. He wondered how easily they could break him if they wanted. He wondered if they cut their nails. He half smiled at his random thought.

The man in glasses seemed to notice this and said, "Tomorrow, then. Have a good night, Mr. Thompson."

The men in white walked him out of the room and down the hall.

"Boughten"

It's not Friday, and this isn't my typical creative short story Free Write. I decided that I could channel my creativity in writing by sharing everyday occurrences in my life. After all, truth is stranger than fiction, right?

Well, yesterday wasn't strange, but as a writer, you tend to remember instances where your English skills are called into question. My excuse is that writers think well while writing, but not in the spoken word. When your fingers are furiously tapping away at a keyboard or your hand is cramped from scribbling your thoughts on paper, you still have time to think. There's no way of telling whether I spent five minutes on this post or five hours. To the reader, it is continuous. However, in conversation, if I were to pause for even ten seconds to selectively choose my words and make sure I said what I wanted, people would think I was dropped a couple of times when I was young.

Ok. Enough foreplay. By now I'm sure you're wondering what the heck I'm talking about. Yesterday I used the word "boughten" in a conversation. Would I ever use that word while writing? Of course not! I know it's not a grammatically correct word. But, as I explained maybe a little bit too much above, writers don't think so well on their feet. Why else do we have spell check, grammar check and such? (By the way, in this post I spelled channel, occurrences, continuous and grammar wrong before using the spell check function to correct my mistakes. See what I mean?)

The Traveler

He held the passport in his hand. The stamps overlaid each other in a collage of ink and color showcasing his various travels.

"Business or pleasure?" asked the immigration agent with no emotion.

"Business," said the traveler in a natural tone.

The agent scanned through the passport quickly and added his stamp to the already existing montage.

"Welcome. Enjoy your stay."

The traveler flashed a wry smile before passing through the gates. He pulled out a small black book from his back pocket and flipped to a page that was earmarked. He read the name and description and then closed the book and returned it to his pocket.

He walked out of the station and onto the street. He had already visited this place many times before and the streets were familiar to him. He quickly flagged down a taxi and got in.

"Where to?" asked the driver.

"Corner of Virgil and Dante."

"Can only take you as far as Middletown St. Not authorized to go further."

The man in the back seat slipped a large bill to the drive and said, "You're authorized."

"Virgil and Dante," said the driver, taking the money and putting the car in drive.

They passed through the city and numerous apartment buildings. People milled around the streets and in and out of shops. As they drove past Middletown, the scenery quickly changed. Large buildings and clean streets became run down shacks and litter covered roads.

Arriving at their destination, the traveler exited the car and paid the driver who instantly sped off back in the direction of the city.

The traveler walked down the street until he stood before a house that barely stood on its own. The roof had gaping holes that were covered with cut pieces of plastic. The walls bled mildew and crusted paint.

He approached the door and knocked. The echo inside indicated that not much furniture occupied the empty space that was someone's living area. He heard footsteps coming to the door and then the latch turn.

The wooden door swung back and a young man stood there. His hair was disheveled and his clothes ragged. He had no shoes on and his teeth looked like they hadn't seen a toothbrush in ages.

He looked at the traveler, but didn't say anything.

Time passed with both of them staring at each other.

Finally, the young man turned and walked back inside. The traveler followed. There were two chairs in the open space besides a small table and a lamp. The young man indicated to the traveler that he could sit with a wave of his hand. He himself took the other chair.

Dust billowed from the faded fabric, but none of it seemed to settle on the traveler.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," said the young man.

"I come when I am called," replied the traveler.

"I would have preferred your visit a little earlier."

"I'm sure I would have found you in better circumstances."

"Yes. You would have. I only moved out here after I waited in the city for five years."

"Why didn't you wait longer?"

"Longer? And continue to go mad among all those hypocrites?"

"Hypocrites?"

"Yeah, you heard me. All of them talking about how they're going to be saved. I know. I used to be the same. But then I woke up and saw reality."

"And what is that?"

"That there is no salvation. There is no there. There is only here."

"You don't really believe that."

"Maybe you haven't looked around you. I think where I am speaks for my beliefs quite succinctly."

"Perhaps. Or it could be that you want others to think you believe in this."

"Yes. That must be it. I put myself through this hell just so I can convince others that I'm not a believer."

"Be careful what you call hell. You have no idea what that is."

"I don't? Ten years I've been here. Ten years! And nothing! No word, no visit, no indication of what was going to happen. Do you realize what that does to a man? What that does to his mind?"

The young man breathed heavily with his rage. The traveler gauged the man before him and then stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blank card and handed it over. The young man stood as well and took it. As soon as he did, it turned black.

The traveler turned and walked out of the house.

"Wait!" the young man called after him. "This can't be it!"

The traveler paid no attention to him. He quickly walked down the pathway to the street. The young man ran after him, but as soon as he reached the end of the property, he slammed into an invisible wall and fell backward. His eyes wide with fear he looked up at the traveler who stood on the broken sidewalk.

"It's too late," the traveler said. "Your soul has spoken."

The ground rumbled underneath the young man. He stood up with a wild look and tried to run through the invisible barrier again and again, each time getting more and more panicked. The ground shook so furiously that he could barely stand on his feet. Like a madman, he stumbled back toward the house. He reached the doorway and used it to hold himself up. He looked back at the traveler who stood in serene silence watching the ordeal before him.

The young man screamed when he saw the ground split open before him. Fire erupted out of the earth and soon a chasm was left before him. It continued to open until the house also began to creak and groan under its own weight. He knew now there was nothing to do. The house split and crumbled underneath him. The chasm opened fully and engulfed the entire house and the man inside.

Within a few minutes, the earth had filled itself in so that all that was left was barren dirt.

The traveler pulled out his black book and turned to the page. He checked off a small box next to the young man's name and then placed it back in his pocket.

"Welcome to hell," he said, and then walked back down the street toward the city.

New beginnings

It didn't matter. Jalyn had already taken everything from him that she needed.

She turned back to look at the man laying on the bed, the sheets barely covering his body. She had enjoyed him; she couldn't deny that. It always made the job easier when the man could please her that way.

The door to the hotel room closed softly, the click of the latch silently echoing in the hall. Within seconds of leaving the room, her cell phone rang.

"Yes?" Jalyn answered.

"It is finished?" came the voice from the phone.

"Of course."

"Did you make sure?"

"Don't you trust me? This isn't my first job, you know."

"We don't want any fowl ups."

"Don't worry. He'll be dead before you can end this call." And with that, she hung up the phone.

Her high heels dug into the stiff carpet of the hall, leaving a trail of indentations as she walked. She reached the elevator and pushed the down button. It's soft green glow seemed to stand out against the beige paint on the wall. The ding of the elevator announced the arrival of the car. She looked up to see the doors open and a man inside with a gun raised at the ready.

They stood there for a second, staring at each other. Finally, she spoke.

"Matt, are you going to shoot me?"

"Hadn't planned on it," replied Matt.

"Then can you lower the gun?"

"Not just yet. Head back to the room. I'll follow."

"Really? It's going to be like this, then?"

"That's how he wants it."

She sighed and turned back down the hall. Reaching the door, she took out the key card and opened the lock. Inside, the man still laid on the bed in the same position. Nothing had moved. Matt walked around Jalyn and felt the man's pulse. Satisfied that he didn't feel anything, he opened his cell phone and hit redial.

"He's dead," he said into the phone. "Yeah, I just checked ... Ok. Got it." He hung up the phone and put away his gun.

"See?" she said. "That wasn't necessary at all."

"I trust you," said Matt, with a coy grin.

"Sure you do," she replied, matching his sarcasm. "So, may I go now? I usually don't like to hang around after the job is done."

"Of course," he said, and they walked out the door.

Back at the elevator, Matt turned to Jalyn and asked, "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Matt," she sighed. "No offense, but I don't like to mix business and pleasure."

"Really?" he smirked. "Then what do you call that back there?"

The elevator door opened and Matt entered. He turned around to see Jalyn with her gun drawn. "That was pleasure," she said. "This is business." The silencer on the gun muffled the sound of the shot, making it seem like only a cough. Matt slumped to the floor, leaving a red stain down the elevator wall.

Jalyn rushed back to the room and pulled out a small vial. She poured it into the naked man's mouth. She sat back until he coughed and sputtered. She rolled him over onto his side to help him breathe.

"Thank God," she said. "It worked."

"Of course it did," the man said. "Did he buy it?"

"I sure hope so. The call was made, but he had sent Matt to verify the kill. I didn't expect that."

"And...?"

"He's on his way down in the elevator. I'd say we have only a minute before all hell breaks loose."

"Then I'd better get dressed."

He started to get up, but she grabbed his face and embraced it with a passionate kiss. He returned it and then pulled her away before saying, "It'll work. We'll make it."

She smiled at him and got together a small duffel bag of personals while he dressed. He reached out his hand to hers and led her to the door. Just before opening it he gave her one more kiss and asked, "Ready to make history?"

"I've been ready," she said, and they left the room, headed down the back stairs and into the dark cover of night.