🚀 go-pugleaf

[Continued From Part One]
     Boomer was very tempted to pull a knife from the boxed lunch that he
had packed and slice the air, to see if he could cut off a thin slice of
tension. He could very easily sympathise with Avril, the team's hesitant
newcomer, who seemed to want only to get away from the group and leave this
apprehension behind. Boomer felt exactly the same way, even though he knew
how damaging acting on his impulse could be. He had an idea as to how he
could begin to dispel the gloom, though it was an extreme one. But looking
from Shard to the sullen faces of Karen, Angel and Avril, he realised that
extreme was what today called for. So was trust. With that, Boomer trusted.
     "Richard Andrew Bombeil," he said in a clear, low voice, drawing the
attention of the others who stared in confusion.
     "Who?" asked Karen. "What're you taking about, Boomer?"
     "I'm talking about me," replied Boomer, his voice still low but very
present. "What, did you think that my name was Boomer?"
     Karen and Angel managed to synchronise a blink of confusion, followed
by a gasp of realisation. They turned to look at the emaciated hero,
gaping. Angel managed to get words out first.
     "Boomer... Richard... " she began, struggling for the right words.
"You didn't have to do this. We've always respected your right to privacy
and we would have continued."
     "Privacy nothing," replied Boomer, grinning, though vulnerability
showed on his face. "I called you guys out here to have a heart to heart
about things near and dear and you don't even know my real name? This is
about trust, guys, and there's a time where you have to put your money
where your mouth is. Since I've got such a big mouth, I needed to put down
a lot of money. That's all."
     After a moment's pause, Karen nodded. "Thank you, Richard," she said
in a low voice. Boomer winced, then grinned.
     "Come on, just because you know my name doesn't mean you need to use
it against me. If you have to call me by my given, call me Rich. Or Richie.
Or Dick. Or R-man. Or even, heaven forbid, Boomer which is a heck(sm) of a
lot better than Bomber."
     "Bomber?" asked Angellica, raising an eyebrow. Boomer nodded, rolling
his eyes at the thought.
     "Bomber. Comes from my last name, the kids at school used to call me
that all the time." he sighed, thinking back, and his face darkened
slightly. "I was just developing my powers back then, so I had to put on a
lot of weight. Only no one knew what was causing it, just that I was
ravenous all the time."
     "Oh hell(tm)," muttered Karen, lying down to listen. "So you were
putting on weight by leaps and bounds, and the other kids..."
     "Teased me mercilessly about it," replied Boomer, nearly scowling.
     "Why... would they choose to do something like that?" asked Avril
quietly, noting Boomer's drawn face. The man sighed and shook his head
slightly.
     "Why do kids ever do anything? No offence, Avie."
     "None taken..."
     "But at that age? I dunno... everyone's scared, I guess. They're just
starting to realise that the world's bigger than they are and they need to
make sure that other people are feeling the same size. Or in my case, make
me feel their size by making me feel bigger than the world, telling me that
if I ate one more corn chip I'd explode like a bomb."
     "I'm sorry. I... didn't know."
     "'s not your fault, Avie," replied Boomer, smiling slightly at the
girl. "If they don't do things like that at your School, then I'm glad it's
not universal."
     "Why do you keep the name?" asked Angellica, quietly. Boomer looked at
her questioningly, and she went on. "Boomer sounds as though it's derived
from Bomber... why do you call yourself by that?"
     Boomer smiled a bit, leaning his one elbow against the ground to rest
his head as he spoke. "It's a badge of honour," he replied with a wink. "I
survived. They give people who live through wars their guns to keep as
souvenirs; I decided to keep the gun they shot me with. Besides, it's
useful."
     "Useful?" asked Karen, raising her head.
     "Useful," replied Boomer, grinning. "You wouldn't believe how many
people think I can explode. Drives villains _crazy_ when they build a bomb
shelter and instead of futilely blowing up against it, I pick the lock."
     For the first time since she had arrived, Karen smiled slightly. "Just
don't take a code name," she said. "I mean, why do you need one?"
     "To protect myself," replied Boomer, soberly. "After all, if I
revealed my name to the world, you know what would happen. _They_ would
come to me, seeking to pervert my life with their foul presence and destroy
the very foundation of my existence."
     "Who, your enemies?" asked Karen.
     "No, worse," replied Boomer. "Mailing lists. I'd never fight crime
again because clearing out my junk mail would become a full time job."
***
     Elsewhere in Ottawa, courier Yves Anderson clutched his secure
briefcase, walked towards his comfortable car, and thought about home. In
his mind, he had just buttered his third warm, store-bought biscuit and had
poured a cool glass of milk with which to relax for a night in front of the
television. So wrapped up was he in the future that he barely noticed the
present until it slammed into his briefcase with a resounding twock.
Training coming to the fore, the courier brought the armoured case up to
his chest and ran towards the relative safety of his car, which was only
scant meters away. This was when he noticed the arrow sticking from his
briefcase, head embedded in several centimetres of certified bulletproof
lining, still vibrating slightly from impact.
     "Good afternoon, Anderson," smiled a young man who had been leaning
against a nearby lamppost. Anderson looked around frantically for help, but
realised that the sidewalk was unusually deserted today. "Oh, and please,
don't bother calling for help. It would only make our job _so_ much harder
when we hid your body. There are just so few good spots left from which to
pick, don't you agree?"
     Anderson nodded slowly. "If... you say so..."
     "I do, Anderson, I do," replied the man, in a mock soothing tone.
"Tisk, you haven't even asked the obvious question yet. Such a breach of
form."
     "Obvious question?" asked Anderson, his mind taking in escape routes.
Possibly he could dash down an alley and--
     "No running to that alley now," smiled the man, maintaining his loose
pose. "No kicking that pile of trash into my face to distract me from
pursuing. And yes, the question has become that much more obvious, I trust?
Even a mental midget like yourself could think to ask it."
     "How did you know?" gasped Anderson, his eyes widening. Unconsciously,
he gathered the briefcase tighter to his chest, as though this would afford
him some protection against a threat that he felt was tangible but yet
unrevealed.
     "The same way I knew your name, your social insurance number and the
fact that the wedding ring you're wearing is a lie calculated to attract
women. How sad, Anderson, are you really that desperate? Hmmm... the mind
is like an open book to me. Though in your case, it's better likened to a
leaflet on raising bees. Fairly inoffensive, dry and not terribly appealing
to many. Still, you have something that I want."
     "You can't have the briefcase," warned Anderson, backing away from the
man. "I'll protect it with my life."
     "I don't _want_ the briefcase," sighed the man, straightening and
standing. "If I had, I would have had one of my other associates come along
to collect it, or perhaps just had your throat transfixed with my
associate's arrow. I will take your life, though more as a side effect than
anything else. It's hardly a prize, after all."
     "What... do you want?"
     "Your potential, which to look at you, has gone almost completely
untapped for thirty years."
     "My potential?" parroted Anderson.
     "Hmmm, yes. It seem that my employer has determined that you have
rather strong latent paranormal traits within you which could have
expressed at any time in your life. Expressed, because as a rule such
traits universally require the expresser in question to be alive. Which,
I'm afraid, is not a box that you'll be able to tick on surveys for much
longer."
     "I've been trained in the martial arts," said Anderson, desperately
trying to take back control of the situation. The man fixed him with an
unrelenting gaze which froze the courier's soul, a look of utter contempt
and unconcern. Still he pressed on, hoping somehow - anyhow - to rattle the
pillar of stone confronting him. "My hands are deadly weapons!"
     "I'm sure years of thumbing a remote control must have strengthened
them beyond belief," chuckled the man, taking a step towards Anderson.
"I'll say this in words that your mind might just be able to understand,
given time and sufficient training. I am a telepath. Further, I'm reading
every impulse off of your central nervous system billionths of a second
before you can act on it. Every step, every movement, every breath, I know
what it is before you do. Stand still and maybe this won't hurt. As much."
     Anderson's nerve broke. Throwing the briefcase at the man's face, the
courier turned and ran towards the alley that seemed to promise salvation.
He managed two steps before a heavy object coshed him across the back of
the skull, sending his senses reeling. Anderson dropped to the ground like
a rag doll, his stomach heaving. Above him, a cold voice spoke again.
     "I _told_ you not to run, didn't you hear a word that I said?" asked
the man, dumping Anderson's briefcase to the ground. It scattered away,
clanking twice as it slid down the nearly empty pavement. "Now it will be
the hard way. Same as it always is. Why must I always be sent to get the
ones who have no capacity to surprise me? No ability to even begin to amaze
my mind? Pathetic. Bodysnatcher, do your work."
     Anderson looked up at that, and wished in his last second that he
hadn't. There was a wet sucking nose as something pressed itself into the
courier's skin. Then he had far, far too much opportunity to scream.
***
     "Dad?" asked Jack, stepping back in confusion. The girl stared at him,
then sighed and lowered her head, looking miserable. Driven by compassion,
Jack returned to the girl, speaking more gently. "What do you mean... dad?"
     "Isn't it obvious?" asked the girl, looking up at Jack. "My father was
Jack Wynn - Alternator - of--"
     "Alternator? Father?" asked Jack, shaking his head slowly. "What are
you talking about, Jaquline?"
     "The only explanation that I can think of is time travel," replied
Jaquline, studying the floor with an intensity. "Dad never mentioned coming
to the future... but... you're here. You're young again," her voice dropped
to a hushed whisper. "You're not gone."
     Jack's heart skipped a beat and a cold chill ran through his body.
Then, compassion overwhelmed this response, and he stepped forward,
gathering up Jaquline in his arms and hugging tightly. This gesture seemed
to catch her off-guard, but seconds later she returned it, tears dripping
from her eyes and onto Jack's shoulder.
     "I'm sorry," he whispered, a tiny portion of his mind wondering at
protocol for commiserating over one's own death. "I'm so sorry..."
     "Me too," whispered Jaquline. "It's been so hard, carrying on against
the Eyes... when you were gone..."
     "You're so young to be fighting," whispered Jack, shaking his head at
the thought.
     "I was never young," she replied, sighing from her heart. "And...
and.. it's so good to see you again, Dad... there's so much I wanted to
tell you, so much I wanted you to know, how much I loved you, that I was
sorry for the fight we'd had, for the tantrum I threw for..."
     "Shhhh..." said Jack, quietly calming Jaquline. "None of that matters.
I... he... we know how you felt. No matter what."
     That seemed to start off a fresh bout of tears, and Jaquline sobbed
against her father's shoulder. Jack held tightly, his mind carefully blank,
that he didn't think of the girl's words and the implications that they
held.
     "You... can't stay, can you," muttered Jaquline, as her sobs finally
broke with a convulsive shudder. "You have to go back... to where you
belong." Jaquline's 'where you'll die' was carefully omitted, but implied.
     "I... think so," replied Jack, nodding slightly. "There's someone I
have to get back to."
     "Mom," replied Jaquline quietly, her hug tightening. "You've got to go
back to mom."
     "Maybe," replied Jack quietly, studying the girl's face, looking for
traces of Daphne in her. Jaquline's resemblance to him was uncanny and made
him feel as though he was looking into a carnival mirror when he saw her
tear-moistened face. He wondered whether Daphne was just as stubborn in
passing along her features as she was about everything else. It was
impossible to say, yet there there was one more thing which had to be said:
"Yes."
     "I'll... have my science people start working on that then," replied
Jaquline, seeming to struggle to say more but finding no words. "They'll
figure out how to get you back. I know they will."
     "Jaquline," began Jack quietly, wondering if he should ask the
question on his lips. The young girl looked up into Jack's face
questioningly, giving him the permission afforded only to that very rare
breed of father: the right to ask any question of the daughter and expect
an answer in turn. Jack smiled slightly at the expression and continued.
"What happened here? Who are you fighting? How did you get science people?
What happened sums it up, I guess."
     Jaquline shook her head after a moment's hesitation, looking at the
ground with shame that she seemed unable to express. "I can't tell you
that, dad," she said quietly, looking as though she had just committed an
act of treason. "At least not until I know that it's safe... do you
understand? Dad, please say you understand..."
     "I understand," replied Jack, hugging again. "Sometimes you have to
make the hard choices and stick to them, no matter what. It's okay,
Jaquline. I just wanted to... see if I could help you out."
     Jaquline smiled through her sadness, looking Jack in the face again.
"Thanks dad," she replied in a sweet voice, tenderly breaking the hug. "I
think... I have to get back to work. I'm really sorry, dad. I don't want
to--"
     "But you have to, I understand that too," said Jack, wiping a tear
from the girl's cheek.
     "I know you do," said Jaquline. "I just like to hear it. If you just
go down the hall to the left you'll come to a row of doors... they'll be
setting up the fifteenth one on the right. I'll try to visit as soon as I'm
off duty."
     "I'll be expecting you," replied Jack, rising to his feet. With a
smile, he waved to Jaquline and walked through the door, following the
directions given. Chad watched quietly until the man was gone, before
turning to Jaquline.
     "That was--"
     "Yes, it was," replied Jaquline, her voice more confidant. Somehow it
put years of age on top of the few that were visible to the naked eye.
Taking a tissue from a dispenser on her desk, the girl carefully dried off
her eyes. "That was almost fun," she replied with an ironic grimace,
tossing the crumpled tissue into her near-empty waste paper basket.
     "You were very convincing," replied Chad, wearing an ironic grin of
his own. "I guess you'd know which buttons to push, wouldn't you?"
     "Absolutely, said Jaquline, sitting at her desk and pulling open a
drawer that was far too heavy to be comfortable for her child's strength.
"A quick shot of glycerine in the eye, a little bit of acting and I knew
I'd have just the emotional response that I needed. He isn't naive, so much
as far too idealistic. People like that are more easily manipulated through
positive emotions than threats or coercion. I just needed to soften the
truth with a lie or two to shape it into the form I needed it to take," she
finished with a rueful smile and set to working on a stack of paperwork.
     "And about sending him back?" asked Chad, looking at Jaquline with a
questioning glance. "Do you want me to convey that to science division?"
     "No, I'll take care of that personally," replied Jaquline, in the tone
of voice that Chad knew to mean that there was more to this situation than
he knew or would know. Not even a sigh escaped his lips; he was quite used
to secrecy. Everyone was. "He's far too dangerous to be kept here but too
useful to have silenced. He'll do us the most good back home."
     "If you say so," said Chad. "Permission to leave?"
     "Granted," replied Jaquline, nodding without looking up from her
paperwork. She waited for the sound of the door closing to fade before
snaking out a finger to touch an intercom button. "This is Jaquline," she
said into an intercom grill that had been designed to blend into her
desktop. "Have Chad Henderson observed for a random period. Determine his
current allegiance and trace any transmission made by him both within or
without the Underbase. At the end of the random period, I want a
comprehensive report on his alignment sitting on my desk. That's all."
     Jaquline nodded to herself in satisfaction, skimming through the next
folder on her desk, taking in the symbols that comprised an allegiance
report. It had been rather difficult to keep her two departments of
internal security from realising that the other existed, but the benefits
of having two groups to watch for vipers in the nest were manifold, not the
least of which was setting one to watch the members of the other. The word
viper echoed in Jaquline's mind as she examined the report in front of her.
Very suspicious, this Karen Moire's behaviour. A pity, too... Jaquline had
hoped that her friend would have turned out to be loyal. Still, procedure
had to be followed, and the girl reached out to stab another button on her
desk. She would mobilise a division who's presence was completely unknown
to anyone but herself. A division which was very adroit in dealing with
snakes in the garden.
***
     "Um... what about not liking snakes?" asked Karen, looking hopefully
at her friends' expectant faces. Boomer shook his head as Avril giggled
under her breath.
     "Karen, you've got to share something bigger with your friends,"
replied Boomer. "First kiss, prom night, first head you busted, anything!"
     "I guess I just don't much feel like talking," sighed Karen, lying on
the blanket that separated her from the ground. "Someone else go."
     "My father... when he observed your world... would tell me stories,"
began Avril, glancing around to be sure that she had their permission to
speak. Seeing no one ready to silence her, the young mage continued, "He
spoke of superguys... and of origin stories... and how those were
interesting. Perhaps you could talk about them?"
     "Sounds like a plan, Avie," grinned Boomer, smiling at the young
woman, who flushed slightly at the attention. "Why don't you tell us
yours?"
     "Me?" asked Avril, as though surprised that she would be suspected of
having anything interesting to say. "I... have no origin. I was born at my
school... studied there... and was placed in the department of... geomancy
for my specialty. Then I accompanied you..."
     "That's as reasonable an origin as any," replied Avril's guardian,
Angel. "Though I have been curious about one thing."
     "About what are you... curious?" asked Avril, shyly.
     "Your name," asked Angel, smiling faintly. "Is it the result of
linguistic parallelism, random chance, or something else?"
     "Oh... do you mean to ask whether or not it is French?"
     "Exactly," replied Angel, with a nod.
     "It is... my grandfather... loved the language. He petitioned for the
job... of overseeing and watching France... along with his other duties.
When I was born... father asked him for advice... and he suggested Avril,
to go along with my aunt's name."
     "Your aunt?" asked Angel, looking curious. "I don't recall meeting any
relatives other than your father when we visited the school."
     "She is rarely around..." replied Avril, smiling slightly at some
distant, good memory. "Though her visits are very welcome... she too is
named for a month. But... we've digressed. Might I ask, Angellica?"
     "Ask?" asked Angel, looking slightly surprised. "Ask what?"
     "Ask after... your origin. If I ask too much, I apologise..."
     "No," said Angel quietly, her icy exterior cracking for a moment
before she collected herself. Angel shot a quick glance to Shard, who
pulsed once. "No, you aren't asking too much, Avril. I'm... not terribly
sure where to begin."
     "The beginning of course," replied Boomer, leaning on an elbow. "Or
with a big, fat, juicy lie. Either way, you usually get a good story."
     "I suppose so," replied Angel, frowning as she thought. An internal
struggle was never so clear on anyone's face as on Angellica's in that
moment. Finally, the austere woman raised her head and looked at the
others. "I'd... rather not go too far into my past," she said, though
something in her voice betrayed her, making it clear that she would most
desperately like to go back into her earlier days. "But my origin is fairly
unimpressive."
     "You _could_ always embellish," replied Boomer, grinning. "Throw in a
few lust-crazed, drug snorting Nazis, a ton of ninja, maybe a vat of
bubbling toxic waste and an evil genius who's going to use the toxic waste
to turn all of Hamilton into split pea soup..." Boomer let the last word
trail off as he caught Angellica's gaze, cold and hurt. Wishing that the
ground would open up underneath him, Boomer slunk a little lower onto the
ground. "Sorry Angie... sorry..."
     "Never mind," said Angellica flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I wasn't particularly interested in the telling anyway."
     Avril looked from Angellica to Boomer, and bit her lip, considering.
Finally, in a very low voice, she spoke. "I... would very much... like to
hear your story. Please?"
     Angellica looked at her teenaged charge, eyes softening as hers met
Avril's. A tiny strand of resentment lifted from her heart and she nodded.
"As I was saying, my origin is none too impressive," she began, not
shooting an accusatory glance at Boomer, who felt a moment of surprise when
he did not become the victim of the woman's scornful glance. Contrite, the
man could fairly feel something close to surprise radiating from Shard
before the crystal clamped down tightly onto its mental impressions.
Angellica ignored, or did not see, any of this and continued.
     "It was just shortly after I'd gotten married," said the woman,
thinking back to happier times. "There seemed to be nothing whatsoever that
could go wrong. I was in the cradle of happiness."
     "And then... something unfortunate occurred?" asked Avril, as
Angellica paused for a moment to gather her thoughts again. The older woman
shook her head and resumed her story, a tiny smile tugging at the sides of
her mouth.
     "Something wonderful, actually. I was driving home alone one night...
I remember noticing how full the moon looked. My attention couldn't have
wandered for more than a moments before there was a tremendous flash of
white light in front of me. Naturally, I lost control of the car... skidded
and slammed into a fencepost. I was found hours later, but eight miles from
where I'd started."
     "You'd teleported the car?" asked Karen, looking puzzled. Angel turned
a hairline smile on the woman.
     "No, I had had nothing to do with it," replied Angel. "A car is far
more mass than I could hope to handle. But something had, and ever since
then I've been rather abnormal."
     "How did your husband take it?" asked Boomer, keeping his voice level
and serious, to keep from setting his friend off again.
     "He was, after he got over the initial shock, thrilled," replied
Angellica, as Boomer watched the woman's face. He wasn't sure, but there
seemed to be a new light to it as Angel talked, a vitality that the
economical woman rarely displayed to anyone." He gave me my code name... at
least for heroing. Though I'll admit that it's rather a no-brainer, it's
certainly fitting."
     "He sounds like a very supportive man," said Karen, smiling slightly.
     "Yes... he was."
     "He's... dead now?" asked Avril, hoping that this question wasn't one
to be considered taboo. Angellica sighed and nodded.
     "He died several years ago," she replied, her inner light fading as
quickly as it had appeared. "Yes, he died."
     "We all did, in the caverns" muttered Boomer, toying with a blade of
grass. This elicited a sharp gasp from Karen, who shot Boomer a warning
glance. The withered hero sighed inwardly, wondering why he'd been given a
mouth at all. The group had managed to spend nearly a year avoiding this
particular topic of discussion, just as they had seemed to be making
inroads into not dealing with Jack's disappearance. Boomer had participated
quite readily in the discourse of quiet, making himself complicit in its
perpetuation. But now, as a frustrated thrill rushed through him, he
realised that it was time to break the silence and say something.
     "Are you saying that we weren't?" asked Boomer, not unkindly but with
just enough force to his voice to be sure that Karen knew she could not
dismiss this topic with a wave of her hand.
     "I'm not saying that," she muttered. "I'm not saying anything about
it. It's a dead issue, okay? So maybe we can drop it like before?"
     "Boomer..." began Angel warningly, shaking her head, as Avril quietly
watched, too confused and shy to say a word or move, for fear of drawing
attention to herself. Boomer put up a hand and continued.
     "That's just the problem, Karen. We drop the subject when it comes up
and we _keep_ dropping it! Just like Jack! It _happened_ to us and if we
don't start dealing with it soon it's going to be a little too late to do
anything except maybe get our choice of silkscreen on a straitjacket!"
     "It's not HURTING us!" screamed Karen, balling up her fists. "Let it
stay dead!"
     "It won't stay dead!" replied Boomer, his own fists beginning to ball.
"It will never stay dead until we lay it to rest! It's like a vampire, dead
but always coming back for more of you until there's nothing left for it to
take! And then... you're like it. Alive on the outside, but dead on the
inside. Because it's taken everything vital and good from you and left
behind a husk."
     "I didn't want to do it..." sobbed Karen suddenly, her strength
breaking all at once. "I didn't, but I didn't have another choice..."
     "What, Karen?" asked Angel, looking at the woman with concern. "What
did you do? What did that damned place make you do?"
     "I was too strong," sobbed Karen, feeling her not-insignificant weight
being taken by two pairs of hands, feeling herself supported. "I was
breaking... killing everything... I didn't mean to but it was too fragile
and I was too strong and..."
     "Oh god," breathed Angellica, closing her eyes. "Karen, did... did you
have a problem with your strength as a child?"
     "Was born with it," muttered Karen, feeling herself desperately ready
to curl up into a fetal ball to escape this line of questioning. "Your
mother... almost didn't survive... the freak broke my arm. Again." she
said, her voice suddenly echoing two out of the past that she had no doubt
heard often enough that they bounced in the nether reaches of her brain,
waiting for a chance to come out and laugh in her face once more. "Don't
let the freak pet my cat, she'll kill it... look out, here comes the freak,
don't play with her or she'll smash you..." Suddenly, Karen's voice snapped
back to the present, though it was still too distant for Boomer's comfort.
"What could I do? I said... I'd stop people from killing... I told Jack I'd
keep people from murdering each other... it's what I want to do with my
life... why I wanted to be a superguy... but I was killing everything...
nothing could survive me touching it because I was too strong... there was
nothing else I could do..." Karen looked down at her palms, mutely staring
at them. Angellica drew in a sharp breath.
     "That place... made you suicide?" she asked, voice low, disbelief
audible. "Damn it... damn it... DAMN IT!"
     "Angie... Angellica, calm down..." whispered Boomer, putting a hand on
the woman's wrist. Angrily she yanked it away, paused for a moment, then
let herself be touched.
     "Roger was there," she said in a low voice, almost inaudibly, as she
kept a hand on Karen's shoulder.
     "Your husband?" asked Boomer, eyes widening.
     "My husband," replied Angellica, looking at the ground. Karen raised
her own head, face streaked with tears, to look at Angellica with an
expression somewhere between horror and understanding. "It used him... it
used the promise of us being together... to kill me. There are times that I
wish I'd never been brought back from that place alive."
     "Why?" breathed Karen quietly, stilling her tears.
     "Because all at once," said Angellica, her voice slowly filling with
venom and rage as she spoke, "those damned caves took the man I loved - the
man I said I'd spend the rest of my _life_ with - and made him into
something that I could never completely trust the way that I had. Now I
can't think of Roger without that one memory... that one thought... 'what
if he kills me again'?" Angellica, normally reserved and distant but now
passionate and angry, felt a hot tear run down one cheek. "Forevermore, I
have to ask myself if my own _husband_ would be willing to kill me. What is
_not_ to hate about those damned caves?"
     "Nothing," said Boomer, pushing down a distant memory. "There's
nothing not to hate about them. Nothing at all."
     Quietly, Avril slipped off into the woods, not wanting to disturb the
others as they shared their pain and grief so freely. She adjusted her
tunic and vanished into trees and bushes, moving with a huntswoman's skill
and grace.
***
[Continued In Part Three]