An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Seventeen


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He hated being afraid of anything.  It wasn't in
him to fear, that unwanted emotion pounded out of
him by his father long ago.  Still, it was there. 
Lurking under his skin, making him break out in a
fine sweat every time a new face popped up in the
bar.  Hell, even the familiar smiles and winks took
on an underlying motive in his suspicious mind. 
Would PeeWee suddenly growl at him to take his
hand?  Would Mike's burr draw him in then harden
into a more menacing tone in triumph once he had
Sam in a dangerous hold?

Everyone was suspect now.  Sam jumped at the burst
of cold air every time the bar door swung open,
waiting for the ghost - what else could it be? - to
come for him.  For three days, he'd looked at
everyone with a jaundiced eye, keeping to himself
in word and deed.  Mike had noticed, once trying to
talk to him about it.  It ended up with Sam
snapping at the older man to leave him the hell
alone.  He'd later apologized, but it was grudging
and distant.  Like the good man he was, Mike
accepted the apology, though Sam knew Mike wondered
what was wrong.  He'd tried to give Mike a bit of
an explanation, saying the business with Cannon had
rattled him.  Mike seemed satisfied, but he kept
his distance since then.

It was Saturday now, and Sam had yet to make a
decision.  He wished he could talk to someone about
the visits from his 'friend', but who could he
tell?  Fox?  No, his brother had enough to worry
about with Dana.  Mike?  Emma?  God, no.  They
weren't family, not really.  Besides, no matter who
he told, they would think he was crazy.  Maybe he
*was* crazy.  Maybe the conversations with a ghost
were all in his mind.  Maybe his mind produced
images and sounds from his missing two years,
serving them up in an effort to stop him from doing
something very wrong.

This guy, whoever he was, could be someone from his
past.  Sam knew alcohol had made him a different
person back then - what if he'd gotten into
something more sinister?  What if he spent the last
two years in the company of some less than
honorable men?  Men who could prey upon his mind
easily, as his brain had been opened to suggestion
and dulled with opiates.  Sam had seen enough of
the drug world in southeast Asia when he'd been
stationed there during the war.  It wasn't as
prevalent or easily obtained as booze, but heroin
had a foothold among the natives.  It was big
business in a war-torn world, and there was always
money to be made, especially when everyone was busy
fighting the Nips.

And if this person wanted him back into the fold,
would he escalate his efforts?  Would he stop with
a simple 'no' as he'd done so far?  Sam didn't
think so.  Cannon had said he was guided to the bar
by an unseen man; if whoever wanted him back was
willing to use a stranger to get to Sam, he
wouldn't stop there.  Anyone in Sam's circle could
be in danger.  Sam shuddered, imagining himself
with his own hands around Emma's neck.  Finally
going over the edge because of a simple touch, one
that set him off.  God, he didn't want to hurt
anyone.  Neither did he want to turn and run;
running went against everything in his nature,
every prideful bone and skilled muscle in his body.

But maybe running was the only answer.  Running not
from his demons... rather, barreling toward them in
a final confrontation.  He didn't know anymore.

However, there was one thing he felt certain would
come to pass.  Whatever was going on, Sam had to
deal with it sooner or later.  Hiding behind the
bar wasn't helping, neither was the sour,
mistrustful attitude he served along with the
drinks.  People were beginning to look at him with
distaste, preferring to sit and Mike's end of the
bar.  But what could he do?

He could wait.  He *would* wait.  If he knew
anything at all, it was that his ghost man would
come for him again.  No matter where he was, it
would find him.  And if it was all in his own mind,
then there was no escaping that, now was there? 
Next time he got an unwelcome visit, he'd do more
than shake in his shoes.  He was determined to find
out the motive behind the man.

The trick was to keep everyone at a distance until
then.  He couldn't risk his friends and family on
the chance the guy would target him alone.  And he
couldn't very well tell them what was going on, now
could he?  He'd find himself in a straightjacket
before he finished the last word.  His track record
wasn't exactly stellar, especially since he
couldn't remember jack shit about the last two
years.

No, he just had to wait, and somehow find the
strength to fight back alone.  No problem, really. 
All he had to do was remember how he felt when he
stood up to his dad.  Easy.  Rubber knees and all.

"Choking the rag doesn't get the bar clean." 
Mike's voice interrupted Sam's thoughts, and he
jerked his head up, taking a step away at the same
time.  The soft blue eyes of his boss, so like
Emma's, narrowed at his retreat.  But Mike didn't
pursue his obvious thoughts, saying instead, "Why
don't you take your break, lad?  Me and Tommy,
we've got the bar tonight."

Actually, Tommy had finally had his cast removed
yesterday.  He hopped around the bar now like
gangbusters, taking up the slack from Sam's
inattention.  Sam wondered how long he'd have a
job, if this kept up.

"I don't need a break," he muttered, shooting Mike
a look designed to warn him off.  He didn't need
his boss sniffing around him in the mood he was in;
he hated to be so mean to those he cared about, but
he couldn't seem to make his gloom and paranoia go
away.

"Take the damned break, lad."

It wasn't anger making Mike so terse; the older man
was a study in control, just like his daughter. 
They both hated to be out of the loop about
anything, especially when it concerned family and
friends.  Sam hesitated and Mike once again
prodded.

"Just go on.  You're makin' me itchy with those
dark looks o'yours.  Get some fresh air and cool
off."

With a nod to Mike, he silently scooted in the
opposite direction and made for the kitchen.  Thank
goodness Emma hadn't yet arrived, though what he
was going to tell her, he didn't know.  He grabbed
his coat on the way out, fingering the pack of
cigarettes he'd bought yesterday when the anxiety
of it all was too much to bear.  He hadn't smoked
in years, and really hated it, the habit reminding
him too much of his father.  But the rush of
nicotine helped calm him, and he ducked out the
back door into the alley to light up, avoiding the
curious stares of the kitchen help.

The air smelled of rain to come, sharp and humid. 
Almost cold, but not.  It hadn't snowed since the
night he woke to find Emma's face before him.  The
weather felt out of sorts, just as he did.  Just as
smoking did.  Just as did his fear.

As he exhaled the smoke into damp night, he
muttered to one he knew was listening.

"Come and get me."


**********


"Well, glad you could make it, girl," Mike said,
giving Emma a knowing look, his words teasing. 
"Just in time, too.  Crowd's picking up."

Emma deposited her coat and hat behind the bar and
picked up her apron with an embarrassed smile. 
Today, she'd gotten her house chores done early and
had slipped away to scour the department stores for
just the right dress to wear for her date with Sam
tomorrow night.  Despite her silence on the
subject, her father had had a great time ribbing
her about the effort she put forth to look good for
Sam.  In any other time, she'd have sputtered and
given her dad what for, denying she felt anything
more than a bit of anticipation of a good meal.

But this was different.  She could not hide the
softness in her voice whenever she spoke of Sam,
nor the pleasure the upcoming date showed on her
face.  Let her father think what he liked; it was
all true, wasn't it?

For the first time, she was having a good time with
a man.  It wasn't love by any means.  Nor did she
expect marriage around the next corner.  But she
knew Sam felt the same way - she could see it in
his eyes and hear it in his voice every time he
spoke to her.  He was content with plain, little
Emma, just as she was with him.  They were friends
on a path to something more, and the excitement of
that thought was enough to sustain her for days, in
spite of the fact she hadn't heard from Sam all
week.

"Big crowds are good for business, Da," she replied
with a sparkle in her voice.  "Good thing Tommy's
on his feet good and proper again.  And Aidan and
Joseph should be back come next weekend."

"Thank God for that," Mike agreed, nodding. 
"Seein' as how some of us aren't exactly in the
mood for work."

Emma thought her father spoke of her tardiness, and
she opened her mouth to hush him when she noted the
lack of humor on his face.  She scanned the
immediately vicinity as she tied her apron. 
"Where's Sam?"

What little good mood there was in father's gaze
faded as he turned to build a pint.  "Out back on
break."  The curt tone he used was highly unusual,
especially when he spoke of Sam.  The golden boy
and her father were on the outs?

"Something wrong?"

"Wrong?  No, no."  Mike shrugged, giving her his
profile.  "I'm just about to kick his ass, that's
all."

"Oh, Lord," Emma muttered, knowing the onset of a
volcanic eruption when she saw one.  Moving closer,
she vowed to nip it in the bud before her father
and the man she... well, it was best to put a halt
to any hard feelings right now.  "What did you do?"

Mike's head jerked her way, his eyes blazing. 
"What did *I* do?  Not a God damned thing, girl."

"Stop swearing."

"I'll swear all I want," Mike huffed, sniffing up
his pride as he calmed down.  "The boy's the
problem, Emma.  Not me."

"Sam?"  She had trouble believing Sam would insult
her father in any way.  Yes, he was cocky and
wouldn't take an affront lightly.  But he also
respected her father and would never do anything to
hurt or anger him.  Well, at least she thought so. 
"What did he do, then?"  She fully expected this to
be a tiff over something as unimportant as the
outcome of a boxing bet, or some such nonsense. 
Men could be so sensitive about sporting things
sometimes.

"He's acting like a jerk, that's what he's done. 
Scaring the customers off with that scowl."

"Oh, like the one you have now?" she pointed out,
pinching his stony cheek.

"This is different."  Her father's face softened,
but not into a smile.  True concern shadowed his
eyes as he turned to her.  "Something's wrong with
the lad, Emma."

A prickle of dread bloomed in her chest.  "What?" 
Sam was so full of life and happiness these days,
his smile sunny despite his amnesia, as if nothing
could touch him.

"He hasn't been the same since..." Mike trailed
off, biting his lip.

He was keeping something from her - *both* of them
were, she could sense it.  Looking back over the
week, she recalled her lack of communication with
Sam and her father's increasing silence when she
casually asked about work.  Something had happened
along the way, and her father knew what it was.

"He's okay, isn't he?"  Emma grabbed her dad's arm
and gave it a shake.  "Is he hurt?"

Mike put his hand over hers; it was cold from the
pint, but underneath it was warm and true as
always.  "He's fine, Emma.  As well as a body could
be, considering he had another run-in with our
thief.  Which I wasn't supposed to tell you, by the
way."

"He what?  How dare you keep that from me, the two
of you -"

"Now, darlin', don't get all riled.  He caught the
fellow, actually.  Done right good."

But Sam as the hero didn't settle her anger; damn
him for getting into trouble when she'd asked him
not to!  "When did this happen?"

"Sunday night.  Sam saw the man across the street
from the pub and gave chase.  Poor guy walked right
into a bus; he's still in the hospital."

"A bus."  She swallowed and closed her eyes,
picturing Sam flattened by one of those monstrous
vehicles.

"He's okay, girl."  Mike gave her hand a big
squeeze.  "He knew you'd react just the way you
have, so he asked me not to tell you.  It's over
and done."

Her eyes snapped open and she pulled away.  "No it
isn't," she said through clenched teeth.

"Now, don't you be giving him grief over that,
child," Mike admonished her.  "It's rattled him
somehow, I know it.  His mood is black as night,
and if it weren't for Fox and Dana, I'd have had
him out on his rear for the way he's snappin' at
everyone."

Guilt dimmed her ire a bit; she hadn't given any
thought to the possibility Sam was hiding something
more serious.  "Are you sure he wasn't hurt?  He
may not have told anyone."

"A hurt man can't lift the barrels of beer I saw
him unloading yesterday afternoon."  Her father's
brow creased.  "No, this is different, I tell ya. 
Something's eatin' at the lad and it ain't good."

"Well, we'll soon see," she said, dodging her
father's attempt to stop her as she made her way to
the lift gate.

"Even if he is a bear, Emmagirl - you go easy on
the lad, ya hear?" Mike called after her. 
"Sometimes a man's just gotta have some time to
work things out in his head."

Maybe so, she thought.  But she wasn't letting his
direct ignorance of her request to stay out of
trouble go unnoticed.  If he wanted to stay in her
life, he'd damn well have to tame that wild side of
his.


**********


"Come on, come on," Sam said again and again,
louder in the dark of the alley.  With agitated
fingers, he brought the cigarette to his mouth,
feeling the smoke burn into his lungs.  Coat
flapping open, he stepped off the stoop, hearing
his shoes slap in the murky puddles.

"What's the matter?" he shouted to the dank brick
walls, spreading his arms.  "You too scared of me
now?  C'mon, God damn it!  Come get me!"

The sight of a man on the sidewalk, his shadowed
figure some twenty feet away, made Sam's heart
trip.  There he was.  All dark and still, waiting.

Damn.  If he'd known all it took was a shouted
challenge, he'd have done it days ago.

Sam took a step forward, eager to put an end to his
misery.  "C'mon," he softly said, throwing the
cigarette to the pavement.  He advanced, a
fierceness to his smile; it felt familiar, as if he
faced a dozen Nips bent on tearing him to pieces. 
It wasn't the first time, but it would be the last,
if he had any say about it.  "Come get me."

"Are you drunk?" the man asked, approaching Sam. 
He stepped into the light from above the kitchen
door and Sam blinked.

Oh, this was good, Sam thought.  He'd expected
something like this all week.  Did the ghost man
think the policeman's uniform would make him lie
down and quit?

"Am I drunk?" he laughed, clenching his fists. 
"Hell, no.  If I were, I wouldn't be able to kick
your ass."

The mild confusion on the cop's face turned
instantly to steely command.  "All right."  His
hands went to his belt; in moments, he had his
cuffs and night stick ready.  "Turn around, buddy. 
You need to sleep this off in a nice cozy cell."

Sam raised his fists, his snarl echoing through the
alley.  He was ready.  Come hell or high water, he
was taking this guy down.  He felt invincible, his
body tensed to strike at the least little movement
or sound.  

"Sam!"

He whirled, narrowly missing Emma's head with his
fist.  "Shit!" he cried, feeling his knees buckle
under the slam of the night stick.  He fell, his
hands hitting the grimy asphalt with a dull thud.

"No!  Stop!"  That was Emma; he saw her small feet
take her around him.  "Leave him alone!"

"Ma'am, he's drunk.  Step back, please."

"He's not drunk!"  Sam winced as he flopped to his
ass, hearing Emma plead for his freedom.  He wanted
to shout at her to leave things be, but his head
was swimming from the heady rush of smoking, not to
mention his panic at almost striking her with his
fist.  "He works in the pub!"

"Emma, is that you?"

"Davey," she replied in a relieved voice.  "Sam
here works for Da.  He was checking out the alley. 
We had a man try to rob us last week, didn't you
hear?"

"You did?  I just moved back to the precinct a
couple of days ago.  Guess I must have missed all
the hubbub."  The guy's voice held a smile.  "How's
your Da, anyway?"

"He's fine, Davey.  Just fine."

Oh, this was just great, Sam thought.  Let's have a
cup of tea while we're at it.

"You say this fella here works for your Da?"

"Sam's been with us for a couple of weeks.  You've
been gone what?  Six months or more?"

"Yep.  Me and the missus didn't like it on the
other side of town.  A bit too much noise and
carrying on."

Sam raised his head, giving the two a grimace.  He
jerked away from the cop's helping hand, growling,
"Don't touch me."  He got up, keeping a wary eye on
Davey, who brought his guard up once again.

"You sure you know this guy, Emma?"

Emma moved to Sam's side, her smile bright.  "I do. 
He's just a bit leery of that thing, you know." 
She nodded at the night stick.  "He's okay, Davey. 
You go on now and I'll get him back inside.  We
won't bother you again."

The cop tipped his hat and nodded.  "Merry
Christmas to you and yours, Emma."

"Same to you, Davey," she answered, her smile
cracking when the guy disappeared around the
corner.  In an instant, she whirled on Sam, concern
layered with anger in her barked question.  "Just
what do you think you're doing?"

Sam shook his head to clear it, stepping away from
her intoxicating nearness.  With shaky hands, he
fished out another cigarette and lit it up,
watching her eyes widen with disbelief.  "Just
taking in a bit of fresh air, doll."  God, he hated
that snide tone in his voice.  But of all the
people he wanted away from him at this dangerous
time in his life, Emma was the most important to
him.  She didn't deserve what he was about to give
her, but it had to be done.

"Stop that."  She was magnificent in her fury,
reaching up to pluck the smoke from his mouth.  She
ground it beneath the sole of her shoe, dismissing
his 'hey!' with a terse, "And don't call me doll. 
What is the matter with you, anyway?"

"Me?"  He backed off even more, feeling the damp
wall opposite the kitchen door meet his back.  He
practically lounged, stuffing his hands in his
pockets as he avoided her probing gaze.  "Nothing's
the matter with me.  In fact, you could say I'm
finally back to normal."

His pissy, arrogant, hell-bent-for-leather self. 
It didn't feel as good as it used to.

"Normal is picking fights with policemen?"  She
stepped closer, giving him a sniff.  "Was he right,
Sam?  Have you been drinking?"  Her worried
expression tugged at his heart, but he found it
easy to ignore as he slid away, trying to melt into
the wall.

"No."  He should have said yes; he mentally kicked
himself for letting the opportunity pass.  His
solemn face broke into a grin that he felt fall
short of its potential to throw her off.  He hid
behind his narrowed eyes, working to make her
believe with his words.  He didn't have his
brother's vocabulary, but he had the attitude, and
knew how to use it effectively.  "But a shot of
whiskey sounds good right now.  Be a good girl and
go get one for me, okay?"

All anger gone, she let her mouth drop open.  He
could almost see a sheen of tears swim across her
eyes.  But that was easily ignored as well, as he
bent his head to light another cigarette.  "Sam, Da
says you've been a bit down this week.  Is there
anything wrong?"

It took some effort to keep the smile going.  But
he was getting pretty good at lying.  Some things
never changed.  "Wrong?  Nothing's wrong, honey."

But Emma wasn't put off by his casual front, and he
knew then she never would be.  He'd revealed too
much of himself to the woman standing before him. 
Said and done things he'd never done with any
woman, and most likely never would again.  Emma had
opened her heart to him, he could see it in her
concerned gaze and hear it in her soft voice.

"Is it what happened Sunday night?"

"What?"

"Da told me you caught the fellow who tried to rob
us."  Emma's eyes twinkled with the beginnings of
hope; he knew she wanted desperately to put him at
ease.  But nothing would calm him, and he felt
horrible for letting her down this way.  "I really
should light into you for acting so foolish, you
know."

He shrugged.  "Then do it.  Let me have it, Emma." 
Anything but this sympathetic attempt to pull him
back in; the break needed to be clean and precise. 
Her worry didn't help.  Only her anger would do.

"Sam -"

"Do it, damn it!" he snapped, noting the death of
her good mood with a heavy heart.

"You don't have to yell at me."

"And you don't have to be so nosy."

The light in her eyes died a bit, but his harshness
failed to make a bigger dent in her calm demeanor;
damn, but she was the resilient sort, wasn't she? 
What would it take to set her apart from him?

"Tell me, Sam," she pleaded, moving his way with
one hand reaching to touch him.  He stared at it,
wondering if every offered hand would now make him
cringe and retreat.  "Something's wrong, I know it
is.  Just tell me."

Not Emma's, surely... her hand couldn't be the one
to bring him down.  It was small and so innocent in
its giving; palm up, the slender fingers and flesh
hiding a strength he knew he could grab onto.  His
own hand itched to take hers, as he experienced a
moment of weakness.  Emma could make things right. 
She'd hold him close and keep away the ghost man,
her love wrapping him in safety.

No.  His fear won out, and he let his fading smile
harden.  He had to do something, and fast.  He
would no longer put her and her family in danger. 
The decision pierced him like Cannon's knife,
tearing out a gaping hole he knew would never heal.

"I've decided to go back to baseball," he stated,
the lie falling easily from his lips as his hand
fisted in his coat pocket.  "I called my agent this
week, and he says he thinks he can get me back with
my old team in New York."

For a moment, Emma looked as if he *had* hit her,
paling under the flickering light of the doorway
lamp.  Her hand snatched back and she stood still,
her arms protectively going around her waist.  "I
see."  He'd never seen such a blank expression on
her face; he'd expected her to be thrown by his
statement.  Instead, she casually asked, "Is that
what you want, Sam?"

No, he wanted *her*.  He wanted normalcy and family
and he God damn wanted to serve beer to guys named
PeeWee and sneak kisses from this beautiful woman
in the kitchen pantry and watch her grow pregnant
with his child....

He loved Emma.  The realization staggered him. 
He'd never loved a woman before, had never wanted
the things that came with giving yourself to
another person that way.  The responsibility that
came with that revelation urged him to protect her
in every way possible.  It also made him choke down
the truth and answer with forced brightness.

"I came into money this week.  Enough to get me
back where I belong."

Her control faltered, as she raised eyes as bleak
as a winter landscape.  So pale blue.  So
distressed.  But not cold, no.  They shone with
unshed tears, a warm embrace still waiting for him
to say it was all a ruse.  To forgive and take him
in.  To make everything right.  "You don't belong
here?"

God, but he couldn't give her what she wanted. 
Neither could he stand to look at her face.  The
naked longing there - something Emma had never
allowed him to see before - made it difficult to
hang on, to finish it.

So he hung his head, breaking the pull of her eyes. 
He drew smoke into his lungs as he muttered with
deliberate bitterness, "Wherever I belong, it sure
as hell ain't in this dump."  He heard her sharp
gasp and nearly wept inside with relief.  Now she'd
listen.  Now she'd back off, responding to his
insult with Scully pride.  Enough pride to make it
easy for them both.

Except she didn't.  An unusual vulnerability took
hold in her voice, and tight sadness suffused his
chest at her soft, "And what about us?"

Again, he took a drag off the cigarette, feeling
the first drops of rain fall on his hand.  "What
about us," he said, each word a stone falling from
his lips.  They echoed off the pavement with
feigned disinterest, hitting like the last beads of
a broken strand of pearls.

"Sam, look at me."

If he couldn't face her, she'd know.  Every lie,
all the hurt he felt, the fear suffocating him...
the love burning within him.  But he'd done this
before; turned off emotion in the face of his
father's wrath.  Piece of cake.  His head snapped
up, his eyes unblinking, feeling so dark and cold
he wondered if she'd freeze right before his eyes.

"There is no 'us', Emma."  She actually flinched at
his tone, and he softened a bit.  "Look, doll - we
had a good time, didn't we?  If I led you to
believe it was more than just a few laughs, I'm..."

"Not what I thought you were," she interrupted, her
eyes becoming icy.  The winter he wanted had just
arrived.

He should be gratified with her change of demeanor,
but he wasn't.  The distaste in her gaze as she
looked him up and down turned his stomach.  She
swiped a quick hand over her cheek and pulled her
shoulders up from their slump, a final gesture of
retrieving her tattered pride.  "Guess I was wrong
in thinking you'd changed."

Beneath her contempt lay a choking disappointment,
and Sam wished he could find the words to ease her
hurt.  She wasn't wrong, damn it.  He wasn't the
bastard he used to be; she'd changed all that with
her patience and sincerity.  The moment he'd
realized she was willing to take a chance on a bum,
he'd been hers forever.

But there were bums... guys down on their luck who
just needed a break.  And there were assholes -
guys who took and turned without a second glance. 
He was fast becoming the latter in her mind; just a
few more biting words and he'd have her closing the
door between them with no chance of ever opening it
again.

"Tell me something, Sam... did you ever intend to
be serious with me?  Or was it really all just... a
few laughs?"

His silence led her to believe the worst, despite
every nerve in him screaming to shout at her that
she was everything to him.  Maybe he didn't need
words after all.  But Emma stood waiting, and he
had no choice but to crush her and her damned need
for answers.

Sam looked down, grinding his cigarette to dust
beneath his heel.  "How many times do I have to say
it?  I don't need this dead-end job anymore.  I
just need to go back where I belong."  Emma turned
away from him; Sam stopped himself after a hesitant
step, his hands fighting the need to touch her.  He
bit his lip, closing his eyes against the pain he
was sure to inflict with his next words.  "We can
still see each other, Emma.  You know... get
together and have a few drinks.  You know what I
mean?  I'm flush now, and I wanna show you a good
time."

The standard come-on, one designed to send a loose
woman swooning and a good girl into retreat. 
Delivered in a swaggering tone, it hit its mark, as
Emma steeled her shoulders.

"A good time?"

"Yeah, baby.  Me and you.  Soon as I get set up
somewhere, I'll give you a call."

"You're moving out?"

It was an inspired decision, one he didn't make
lightly.  But it made good sense to remove himself
from their lives until... well, maybe forever.

"Yeah.  This place kinda cramps my style, you know? 
Now that I have the dough to move on up -"

"Try the Governor Calvert House," she said, cutting
off his inane chatter with a swift, angry tone. 
"It caters to folks like you.  But go easy on the
drinking."  She spared a sharp glance over her
shoulder, her eyes shining with hurt.  "All the
money in the world won't get you out of jail if you
break a nineteenth century armoire to pieces."

Like he'd done to her heart.  The unspoken cemented
the path he'd taken, as he realized he'd finally
gotten what he wanted.  He never figured on it
hurting so damned much.  "Emma -"

"Just do me one favor," she whispered, giving him
her back once again.  "Da will want to know why
you're leaving.  Tell him... something.  Anything
besides telling him the work's no good for you.  It
would hurt him unbearably to hear you don't like
the pub."

In a thrice, she'd gone.  Disappeared behind the
door with a finality he felt down to his bones.

He stood there in the growing rain, despair taking
hold.  Looked like he was out of a job.  And a
place to live.

And out of Emma's life.  It was for the best,
wasn't it?  As far as the pain, that would go away
as well.  Wouldn't it?

He didn't even go back inside.  Talk to Mike?  Nah. 
Why waste the opportunity to totally destroy
himself in their eyes?  He just walked away.  From
an uncertain past and into a future without Emma.



End Chapter Seventeen