Tandem Venit Amor, Qualem Texiis Pudori Quam Nudasse Alicui Sit Mihi, Fama, Magis
 

BYERS:

If I ever needed a drink, now would be the time.

It's with gratitude that I realize that I am in a familiar part of town. The area is not wonderful, but it has changed little in the eleven years that we have been away from it.

Eleven years...so much has happened...it doesn't seem possible that all this time has passed...

I walk past City Hall, where Susanne and I were married. It was a very tiny ceremony, with Frohike and Langly as our witnesses. We later celebrated with pizza and beer...

In the very bar I am standing in front of right now.

Life is a very strange thing.

I debate going in. Going inside will mean confronting memories that I would just as soon not have to work with right now. Dealing with my present life has already sent me into overload.

I need a drink. Now.
 

It's Monday night, and the bar is quiet. Only a few regulars grace the bar, and the tables are empty. I sit myself at one of the tables near the back after ordering a margarita.

Juliet's drink. Not one I would normally select for myself. But these are hardly normal circumstances.

It's not a bad concoction, actually. A bit sweet for my liking-I'm a Tanqueray and tonic drinker myself-but it's got a strong, tart lime flavor. And it's potent. I can feel my nerves untangle a bit after a few sips. Not enough to relax me, but to make the knots in my neck and back perhaps a little less tight.

I only then realize how much tension I'm housing. I'm of average size, but the stress I feel could probably do in someone nearing Mitch's size.

I could stand to be at Mitch's tonight. However, his bar is in rural Maryland, and I really do not want to physically stray far from Juliet. She was asleep when I left. Admittedly, it was narcotic-induced sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

I have the sensation that it will be a very long time before I get a full night of resuscitating sleep. It isn't just Jeffrey's fate that has me feeling like this, although the experience was painfully draining. Juliet will be undergoing hip surgery the day after tomorrow. That in itself will be an uncomfortable process...but most likely, nothing compared to the rehabilitation that is sure to follow.

And Jeffrey will be cremated tomorrow, and there will be a private service in the hospital chapel in the morning. I am not sure how I will deal with this. I think I could actually do better would it be that Juliet was there. She cannot, however, at this point be moved.

I feel that she will be cheated of her last chance to say goodbye. After all, that's what a funeral is. The realization that a person is gone, with no possibility of return, and the opportunity to say farewell. I know that she is anguished over this reality. And there seems to be nothing I can do to mitigate her pain. I can be there in her stead, but it is still not the same, and we both know it.

But be there I will. No matter what it does to me.

God, I miss Jeffrey Parker. The man who would be my father-in-law...who treated me with gentleness and respect...who welcomed me into his family as if I were his own...why?

Why? There are so many miserable, and dare I say, deserving individuals for whom the world would not mourn.

Yet whoever, or whatever, has chosen to take Jeffrey Parker from our lives...and I am filled with rage and sorrow.

The bartender asks me if I'd like a refill. I wasn't even aware that I had downed my entire glass.

He brings the same.

If the first one began to loosen the kinks that plague my back, then the second one served to rubberize my knees and detach my mind from my body.

I nearly jump out of my chair when I realize that a voice is addressing me.

"Hey there." A woman's voice, the accent not local. I try to place it...western Pennsylvania, perhaps.

She is a short woman, dark hair worn slightly wavy, creamy skin with rosy highlights, and dark, lively, deeply intelligent eyes that take in everything.

She looks familiar...where have I seen her before?

"I know you," she looks at me. "I remember taking care of you in the quarantine ward at Georgetown, and later in intensive care...ring a bell?"

I close my eyes...

"Gizzie?" For some reason, her unusual name sticks in my mind.

"You got it. Gizzie, even my parents call me that. And you're John Byers."

This woman has got to have the most prodigious memory on the planet. She must see hundreds of patients a year. Maybe more. Yet she remembers me.

And how could I forget her? Once I came out of coma, I remember her lively manner, super competent care, and sharp, no-nonsense demeanor with anyone she deemed not to have my best interests at heart. She was a wonderfully therapeutic combination of tough and tender, and I remember, as I improved, enjoying her acerbic wit and astute observations about nearly everyone and everything. She was smarter and knew more than most of the physicians around her-and they knew it, too.

And she was at Ally and Langly's wedding, and I'm pretty damn sure I danced with her...I have to admit, it was an occasion upon which I was utterly intoxicated...

Which I'm working up to right now.

"So what's up? You look like somebody took the peanuts right out of your M&M's."

A most apt description for a closet M&M's addict-I'll even eat the plain ones.

"Things are...rather difficult right now."

"Welcome to real life." She pulls up a chair and signals the bartender, and orders a concoction she labels a gizzfizz, which she describes as Ballatore Gran Spumante mixed with Mountain Dew. The bartender raises an eyebrow, but this woman has presence-he's sensibly not about to argue with her. "Seriously, I get the impression that 'rather difficult' is a polite understatement, and I'd like to point out that this is the giz you're talking to. So spill."

As I said, this is not a woman you argue with-at least, not if you have any kind of sensibilities about you. And while mine are rapidly diminishing, I still have enough presence of mind not to defy her. Remember, I've watched her in action. I've observed the fate of certain individuals who weren't certain as to what proper hospital behavior was-at least while she was present.

"You remember...Juliet, don't you?" Probably a foolish question-

"Of course I remember her. She was your girlfriend, got mighty sick herself, and had the most damn nice parents on the face of the earth. Good looking girl, too." She eyes me suspiciously. "So what's the deal?"

"She was...seriously injured in an auto accident Friday night."

"Jesus." The bartender drops her golden fizzy beverage in front of her, and places a third margarita in front of me. "What's her condition?"

"She's in fair condition at the moment...but as if that wasn't enough, less than 24 hours after she was nearly killed, her father suffered a deep brain bleed...we took him off life support early this morning. He went not long after."

"Christ, I'm sorry, John," she says softly. Not only do those dark eyes dance with intelligence, but they house deep compassion as well...it's good that she has the strength that she does. Otherwise, the work she does would kill her. I wonder if she's ever had an ulcer. Or a nervous breakdown.

I would were I her.

"What kind of injuries did she sustain?" Gizzie has gone into clinical mode, assessing, measuring, synthesizing.

"A shattered hip, a broken arm, a concussion, numerous bruises and cuts..." I wince as I list the violations that have assaulted her slender form.

"How is she doing on the concussion?"

"She's better...she doesn't remember much about the accident, though."

"She won't, probably. She's probably having terrible headaches, though."

"They've got her on a lot of morphine."

"How much?"

"4 milligrams every four hours."

"Pretty hefty dose...should keep her comfortable. Okay, maybe not comfortable, but not shrieking in pain. Swear to God, we don't do enough for pain in this country. We're so caught up in the idea that everyone who gets a shot of narcotics is going to become an addict, which is totally stupid. So we undermedicate, and everyone suffers. Especially the nursing staff." With that, she knocks back a generous quantity of gizzfizz. "And with our new administration, well, they probably think unless you're donating at least half your salary to one of their godawful 'churches,' you deserve to suffer."

There is a surprising amount of bitterness in her voice, which shocks me. Bitterness is something I would have felt Gizzie to be above.

"Sorry. I'm on my soapbox again. Seen too many dying people in too much pain. Get me down. Tell me, how're you holding up?"

I look down into my third margarita, watching the pale green liquid, the ice crackling as it melts...

"Tell the truth."

I don't think you get a choice with her.

"Well...I don't know how much more of this I can handle."

She levels a clear, dark gaze at me. "I'll tell you how much you can handle. All of it. Because you have to."

"I don't know...by the way, what are you doing in Baltimore?"

"I LIVE here. With my husband and two large dogs and four talking birds. What's your excuse?"

"Juliet was airlifted here...she was hit near the Delaware-Maryland border, and there were no trauma facilities close enough to handle her."

"What brings you to this dive?"

"I used to live in Baltimore."

"Did you, now? And what sort of atrocities did you commit in a former life to deserve that?"

You have no idea...

"I...I was married before, you know."

"Let me guess. To a woman named Susanne."

How in the hell did she know that?

"You called for her when you were coming to and feverish. I assumed it was a person of importance...but I didn't mention it to Juliet or her parents. I figured it was a new relationship-least that was the impression I got-and I figured, there's plenty in the world that can fuck it up without my contributions."

"Actually, this is the very bar where Susanne and I celebrated our wedding."

This produces a loud cackle on Gizzie's part. "Funny, I figured you for more class than that." But she smiles, and it's a warm, friendly smile. "Sudden decision?"

"Very sudden. I'd never done anything like that in my life."

"How'd you meet her?"

I'm not sure I want to get into that. It's a long story...and one that not many people would believe were they to hear it. I'm reasonably convinced that Gizzie is one of those people.

"At an electronics convention. Things...developed rather quickly."

She nods, knowingly, says nothing. "How long did you know each other before you got hitched?"

"Three months." Actually, this is not entirely accurate. I met her three months before we got married...but after the first few days, she was gone for most of that three months.

We were married a week after she was returned to us.

"And then?"

"We were only married for six months...she died." I have no wish to go into the gruesome details surrounding her murder.

A murder that was conveniently never solved. That was buried as if it were a dust bunny, to be swept under the sofa and forgotten.

I never forgot. I still haven't.

And I have moments when I feel twinges of guilt...for abandoning her.

When I found her in our apartment, bloodied and broken, I promised that she would be the only one.

I have failed to keep my word to her.

I know now that to make, and keep, such a promise is utterly unrealistic. Nonetheless, I still feel that in some way, I have betrayed her.

"Juliet and I are engaged," I tell her, and revealing this detail makes me feel somewhat more grounded, more in the present moment.

She smiles. "That's wonderful. So tell me, why do you feel so guilty about trying to have a little happiness? I mean, it's a fucked up world out there, and all you're trying to do...shit. Let me just say this: if I'd have known you'd just sit around beating yourself up all the time, I wouldn't have worked my ass off so damn hard to keep you alive."

"I'm not beating myself up-"

"Yes, you are. You probably promised her that she'd be the only one, that you'd never love another. Well, guess what? It doesn't work that way. She died. You lived. You move on. You have to." She downs another one of her foamy concoctions. "Listen, I don't know shit from what happened to you and your first wife, and I know there's a lot you're not telling me. And that's fine. It's your business, and I don't need to know it. But I busted my hump to make sure you got well, that you goddamn survived, and now you owe me."

I'm a bit puzzled, to say the least...

"You owe me this: you go forward, you quit bashing yourself about what happened I don't know how many years ago, and you get on with it. We've all got pasts, John. Stuff we're not proud of. All of us. Hate to break the news to you, but you're not so unique that way."

She's got a small puddle of gizzfizz in her glass, which she sips thoughtfully. "And if your lady has a shattered pelvis, you've got a lot of work to do here and now. I suggest you get oriented."

She finishes her drink. "And if I don't get a wedding invitation, I will hunt you down and kill you myself." She punctuates that threat, which I take seriously, with one of her smiles that could bring down a kingdom.

My manners have left me. "May I buy you a drink?"

She shakes her head. "Nope, got to go home and let the dogs out. And by the way, that's tequila you're doing...go slow on those babies, unless you feel like passing out in your own puke."

I have to remember, this woman is a nurse...this is normal for her.

She gives me a look that is both firm and kind. "Look, anytime you want to talk, I come here a couple nights a week, usually with my husband, but he's working tonight...fucking retail. Just make sure you quit feeling like all this is your fault. It's not. There's a lot of nasty stuff going down out there. And I think it's going to get worse. I think you blame yourself for what has happened both to your first wife and to your fiancee."

I don't think that blame is necessarily misplaced.

"No. Now, would Giz lie to you? I don't think so. So finish your drink, and I hope to God you're not driving, 'cause you look like hell-"

"I'm not."

"Good. Hate to have you back in my ICU. Now let me get out of here before my dogs pee the rug." She gives me a quick, friendly hug. "Seriously. You know where I work. You need a friend ever, you call me."

And she's gone.
 

Trying to walk is something of a challenge. I'm dizzy from the liquor-tequila hits me much harder than gin ever does. Couple that with the tension and exhaustion from recent events, and I'm almost incapable of movement.

I manage.

I have to.

Gizzie will kill me if I don't.
 

I'm back in Juliet's room. Her mother is in the 'recliner,' and her eyes are closed but she isn't asleep. I take her hand silently.

"John." Her voice is a thin, tired whisper. "Go home. Get some rest. I forced Cal back to the hotel, and I'm going to do the same to you."

"What about you? You look exhausted."

I hope she can't smell the liquor on me.

"John. Let me be alone with my baby girl. Please. Just tonight. I promise that after the..."

She chokes on the bitter word, and I rub my hand over her back.

"You will get some sleep." I finish her sentence.

"I will. I'm going to need to. But right now, let me be here, with my little girl...my little girl who is going to live."

Her eyes are pleading. This is not simply a ploy to get me out. She means it.

She needs this time for herself.

And if Gizzie were here, she'd kick my butt all the way back to Virginia, if I attempted to encroach.

"Let me just kiss her goodnight," I say quietly.

She smiles. "John, if you didn't, I'd wonder." She closes her eyes again. "I'm sorry, dear, but I need this time. Why don't you go back to the hotel room with Cal? He has two beds in his room...and you're in no condition to drive."

I feel the blush creeping up from my chest and shoulders, up my neck and into my face.

She noticed.

I am so damn ashamed.
 

FROHIKE:

I met with Ms. Russell, and we discussed numerous cases she'd been invited to take on. Most of them, she was unwilling to pursue...Ms. Russell has standards, and in terms of her work, they're high. As for her intimate relationships, well, there is Renegade...but she is happy with him. Who am I to argue?

And I secretly envy the man. She has a gorgeous set of knockers.

Planned Parenthood has requested her services-the national organization. They have received a number of seemingly official, definitely threatening documents indicating that they are to cease and desist from offering services at once. Their services, according to documentation, are now illegal...in every state. Their attempts to go to the press have been thwarted; it seems the press is now well-controlled, and the public knows nothing. And most of them are not even aware that they know nothing.

This is terrifying. It's worse than I imagined...and believe me, I can imagine a lot.

She gives me a list of names in conjunction with the case. She has instructed me to interview the persons on the list and try to figure out what the common thread is.

All of the names are women's names...and by and large, they appear to be Jewish names, at least at first glance.

All she knows of these women is that they all were abducted and disappeared for a length of time that ranges from three to six months-and they cannot account for their time.

Shades of Dana Scully's experiences. Oh Christ. I find the hairs on the back of my neck standing and a slight sweat forming.

The women have no geographical locations in common...Ms. Russell has determined what some of their occupations are, but I cannot find a thread in that, at least after a cursory examination.

I am, however, taken aback when I see one of the names.

Lydia Gerstein. Upper Saddle River, New Jersey...researcher in pharmacology.

Now former, I may add.

"I know this woman," I inform Ms. Russell. "Allison's sister-in-law by her first marriage."

"Start with her. Maybe she can lead you to some of the others...I don't have locations for all of them, and for all I know, these addresses may not necessarily be good. And speaking of addresses, Mr. Frohike, perhaps you could help me in that regard..."

"Relating to what?"

She suddenly looks very young and very fearful. "I'm...being watched, I'm certain of it. As careful as I've been about my office location, and the care of my employees in coming and going, I still have this horrible sense that I've been found...I've got to move. Soon. Perhaps you have some ideas?"

I have a few...but I need to check them out first. I tell her this, she nods in agreement.

"I have no definitive proof of this, of course...I'm probably just being overly paranoid-"

I think back to the immortal words of Susanne Modeski Byers. "No matter how paranoid you are, you're not paranoid enough." And I echo them.

She relaxes very slightly. "My sentiments exactly."

I just pray she's been sufficiently paranoid until this time.

Otherwise, we're all going to be in bad shape, and very soon.
 

LANGLY:

"I want daddy!" Patrick is homesick. Apparently the novelty of ripping our happy home to shreds has worn off, and now he wants to be with his dad, who I think lets him get away with way more than Ally and me do.

Ally's sitting on the sofa, cross-legged, drinking coffee...usually by this time of day, she's moved to alcohol, but I think this kid wore her to her last nerve and total tiredness.

"Why don't you call him, babe?" She suggests to me. "Let him say hi."

"Don't wanna! Wanna see him!" Patrick knows the difference.

Ally rolls her eyes, weary. "Patrick. Your daddy is sick. He can't play with you right now. Now you can either call him and say hi, or you can just not talk to him at all." She gives him a hard blue gaze.

Don't know if it was the way she said it, or the words she said, but we get a reaction from the kid I never expected.

He starts bawling.

Ally looks like she's so embarrassed, but I give her a look like, don't worry about it. I mean, she did put up with this kid all day...and he's still alive. I consider that a major coup, and he doesn't know it, but he should too.

Me, I only had to put up with the boss from hell...who screams at me for every little thing, hassles me about my hair, and when I told him Ally lost the baby, he was like, I'm not surprised. No sympathy, nothing. Least the guys were okay about it. They dragged my ass out to lunch, and we ended up staying too long, and we got chewed about that, too.

Why don't I quit? I mean, I could. Ally says I can.

But I won't. I quit too many things in my life. And I got to stick this one out. I got a family to take care of. And I'm not gonna live on my wife's money. Sorry. No can do.

Plus, things are getting really weird...we're not supposed to talk about anything we find out, even with each other...but some of the military bases, I can't figure out what the hell is going on...

I know. Sounds like even more reason to bail the hell out, but I can't.

And I got this crying kid now. He doesn't look like the child from hell anymore.

He just looks like a little boy who's scared and sad and lonely and doesn't understand anything going down.

I remember that feeling well. Hell, are you kidding? I still have it. A lot.

Ally gives me this look like, please, help me out here...

I should really go get some work done out back...but I can't make Ally do this anymore today. She's had it.

And it's my nephew, unless things are even weirder than I thought...

I pick up the little guy. I expect him to kick me or something, but he doesn't, and this shocks the hell out of me. He doesn't even go all stiff, like he does when you want him to do something and he doesn't want to.

I cuddle him against me. Christ, he's heavy after a couple minutes, but he hangs on to me...puts his little arms around my neck.

We sit down on the sofa, and I just play with the white hair and tell him it's gonna be okay, Ally and me, we won't let anything bad happen to him...

And he just sits there, clinging on to me, sobbing, until finally, he hiccups a few times, and falls asleep in my lap.

And I don't put him down.
 

"Babe, are you coming to bed?"

"Huh?" I wake up with a start. I didn't even realize I'd nodded off here.

Patrick's still sound asleep in my lap. He's so warm and cuddly...even if he is numbing my legs, I don't want to set him down.

Ally comes over and kisses me lightly on the forehead. "You two look adorable together, you know."

I'm not sure that's the word I had in mind, but she seems to think it works.

And she's smiling that real tender smile she gets at us.

I think about that I almost got to have my own kid. That if things had worked for me and Ally, in a few months, I'd be sitting here doing the same thing with our kid...

Somehow, holding this little guy, that idea isn't so painful now. This kid will drive us over the edge of whatever little sanity we have left, but it's a lot nicer to hold a real kid instead of the idea of one.

And I have the weirdest thought.

I hope Scott's not in a hurry to have him back.
 

We tuck him in the sleeping bag he's got on the floor of our bedroom, and I don't get up right away.

God, he looks so innocent.

And I realize, I got dreams for this kid...

Ally wraps her arms around my shoulders while I'm kneeling down by the little guy, and kisses my hair. I feel a smidgen of something I haven't in god knows how long.

Contentment.

END OF PART 47