It took less than an hour to make the decision though it had taken nearly a year to fully understand why the decision had to be made. Vivian Marek was not Vivian Marek. In Boston she had been born Vivian Elizabeth Marek, but called Viva Maria Fontana by her grandmother Maria Fontana who had raised her. In junior high it became Frankie Marek, at seventeen in Florida it became Frankie Jones. In Virginia it once again became Vivian Elizabeth Marek. She wasn't a goddamn Vivian, which was what she had finally concluded approximately two weeks ago. She told Rita and Reid, she never told Jack; after all he was only someone she had around for a good lay. He didn't need to know that she planned on killing someone. Frankie decided to kill Vivian Marek. She sold the house, the company, the various estates and other acreage; anything that tied her to Vivian Elizabeth Marek was erased. The identity itself was erased. There was no more Vivian, only Frankie. She created several accounts at a different bank under Frankie Fontana. She bought a loft apartment on Valley Street signed to Frankie Fontana. She was Frankie Fontana.  

And she was happy. This happiness was better than singing and playing piano with her grandmother, better than waking up next to Nicky, better than anything. She felt more whole than she ever had, but there was one thing left to do.

Scene 2

"Oh my gosh! You know what?" Catherine asked abruptly as she stood amongst the girls in her fifty-dollar red-lace thong and matching bra blow-drying her hair. The girl had no inhibitions when it came to her body.

"What?" Darcy asked as she pulled her shirt back over her head in the girl’s locker room after their lacrosse practice. 

"Mr. Jency gave me a C on that Hemmingway paper," Catherine replied.

"He gave me a B, wow, you must have really half-assed that one, Cat? Have you ever gotten a C before?" Darcy asked with a little chuckle.

"Only in chemistry, but Mr. Cruise always falls for a little cleavage," Catherine replied with a frown at Darcy’s chuckle. "And you got a B? How?"

"I don’t see Mr. Jency as being that type..." Darcy trailed off, ignoring Catherine’s last comment, but remaining annoyed nonetheless.

"C’mon he’s male, what else is there to it?"  Catherine said with a shrug. "All men are horny beasts."

"All?" Darcy asked.

"Yes, all," Catherine replied as though it were the most certain fact in the world.

Carla Kilgore sauntered past them and both Catherine and Darcy intentionally stopped in the middle of what they were doing to glare at her.

"Why don’t you just beat her up, Darce? That girl would be all nails and teeth to your right hooks and bashing heads into lockers style," Catherine demanded.

"If I do that, I’ll more than likely lose my spot on the team which will result in me not going to state and losing any prospective scholarships," Darcy explained.

"Or you can let Carla continue to hit you from behind until your knee is damaged to where you won’t be able to go to states and thus loose any prospective lacrosse scholarships anyway," Catherine countered.

"Lose, lose situation," Darcy remarked.

"Besides do you even plan on going to college?" Catherine asked absently as she began to reapply her make-up.

Darcy’s frown deepened, "yeah, I do, that’s why I have to have this lacrosse scholarship."

"Oh," Catherine said with her curling iron in one hand and a mascara wand in the other.

"What am I that stupid?" Darcy asked as she chunked some of her things in her gym bag.

She released her one length of hair from the curling iron and sprang upwards.  "Stupid? What the hell are you talking about Darcy?" Catherine asked as she wrapped another length of hair around the barrel.

"Well, your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when I mentioned scholarship? Like, wow, Darcy has plans beyond that school that don’t involve working on her car?"  Darcy explained with a roll of her eyes.

"Whatever, Darcy, you’re totally blowing this out of proportion. It’s not like you’ve ever expressed any college prospects before," Catherine returned with an exasperated sigh.

"So what makes it so hard to believe?"  Darcy demanded as she finished lacing up her boots.

Catherine finally stopped her primping. "Dude, where is this coming from? I don’t think your fucking stupid or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all."

"Whatever Cat, you’ve always laughed if I mentioned any higher ambitions other than spending the rest of my life as a grease monkey," Darcy snapped as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "Have a great day."

Scene 3 

The taxi ride from Richmond was long and insufferably silent.  And yet it still felt good to be in a familiar place on familiar ground, heading towards home. 

Home.  It had always been his intention to leave the Glen as soon as his troubles had passed.  But now he was starting to think of it as home again.  He couldn't help but place part of the blame squarely on the shoulders of the woman sitting next to him. 

Leo cut a glance at Jillie from the corner of his eye.  She was hugging the door, putting as much space between them as she could.  Her blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses, disguising the beautiful shiner she was sporting.  He felt guilty about that, even though he hadn't been the one to strike her.  Even as it twisted his insides into knots, his head told him it wasn't his fault.  He'd warned her. 

You're not leaving me behind, so forget it, Leo," she'd balked.  "I'm just as much a part of this as you are."

"No, you're not. But the minute you get in that car, you will be. There won't be any turning back. And if I can't find that diamond, it won't be the jungle you'll have to worry about."

"You can't scare me, Leo. I'm in this until it's over. I don't want to have to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, wondering what bad thing is going to happen next. A man is dead. You're being blackmailed. And I'm the only thing standing between you and your future prison bitch. So I'm in this, whether you like it or not."

It was over now.  For better or worse.  Much worse, in some cases.

He was proud of her.  She'd proved much more resilient than he'd expected.  In return for her strength and determination, she had a few scrapes and bruises and a couple dozen mosquito bites.  But she was beautiful all the same.

Damn, he had to stop thinking that way.  He was only torturing himself.  She hated him and he wasn't too fond of her, either.

It didn't stop him from wanting her.

Leo turned his head and tried to focus on something outside of the cab.  He was a free man now.  The price for that freedom had been high, but he closed his mind to those particular memories.  It was hard to believe that such a relatively short amount of time had passed since he and his little caravan had flown down to Manaus and then on to Caracas.

And he and Jillie were the only ones to return.

That had to mean something, didn't it?

Of course not.  He heard her give a little sigh and squashed the urge to show his concern.  She hadn't said a word to him since they'd boarded the plane in Dallas.  He looked at her again, staring at the torn dress she still wore.  They hadn't had much time to change - and even if they had, they had no clothes.  Everything had been lost except for the one bag he'd been able to salvage.  Fortunately, it had been the one with all of their essential documents and identification.

"A cocktail dress?"

Jillie had crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin a notch. "Never underestimate the power of a woman. That dress has gotten me out of more than one bind."

"I'd bet more than one bind has gotten you out of this dress," Leo had muttered, holding the silky garment up for a second inspection before tossing it back down on the suitcase. He'd tried to ignore the way her scent clung to the fabric.  "This is ridiculous, Jillian. We're not going on a cruise to Paris. We're going to South America. Give me one good reason why you're going to need a cocktail dress in the middle of the fucking rainforest! I never should have allowed you to come along in the first place."

"Allowed me?" she'd gaped. "You couldn't stop me, remember?"

He could have.  He should have.  But he hadn't.

Jillie turned and caught him staring.  He couldn't see her eyes, but the corners of her mouth turned down in a scowl.  Leo imagined she was probably glaring at him.  Didn't I warn you? he wanted to ask.  But he didn't do that, either.

They'd entered the Glen and Leo watched with a growing sense of dread as the driver made all the turns leading to Jillie's apartment.  He wanted to make things right.  Well, as right as they could be.  However, there was only one thing Jillian Conlan wanted from him, and he wasn't ready to give it to her yet.

The car slowed to a stop and Jillie opened the door, stepping out onto the sidewalk.  The jagged hem of the dress rose to flash an expanse of bare, tanned thigh.  One strap slid down her shoulder and she didn't bother to push it back up.  She trudged up the steps of the stoop and he opened his door and angled out before she could disappear.

"Jillian!" Leo called out.  She stiffened and stopped, but didn't turn around.  Her long blonde hair shimmered prettily in the sunlight, despite the fact that it had been a while since either of them had had a proper shower.  The seconds ticked by and there was so much he wanted to say to her.  But his mouth wouldn't move in accordance with his brain.

She closed the door behind herself, effectively shutting him out.  Rejected.  God, he was used to that with her.  So why did it feel like a fist to his gut?

Leo dropped back into the cab and slammed the door.

"Where to now?" the swarthy cabbie asked, watching Leo warily in the rearview mirror.

He didn't want to his place.  To face that empty house.  Nothing would have changed there since he'd left.

He gave the man directions to the nearest bar and closed his eyes.

"Welcome home."

Scene 4

"You’re moving?" Catherine screeched. "You can’t move!"

Jareth rubbed his ear; it was like nails on a chalkboard. He finished taping up another box and moved to another, but Catherine kicked the box, knocking it and its contents to the floor. Jareth looked up at her, slightly annoyed, as though he were dealing with a petulant child. He picked the box back up and stuffed the contents back in.

"Why can’t I move?" he asked calmly...patiently.

"Because you’re my boyfriend!" Catherine cried, but her lack of assurance in the statement showed.

"Yeah, whatever, Cat, we flirted well, but we didn’t date well," Jareth stated and slid the tape gun across another box.  "And I'm only moving across town anyway.  It isn't like I'm leaving the city."

Catherine stammered, "But...but...Jareth? Why?"

He looked up at her seeing how genuinely upset she was.  He set the tape gun down and reached out to pull Catherine towards him. She was barely taller than he was even when he was sitting down. He rested his hands on her svelte hips.

"You’re so beautiful, Cat, in more ways than you know," he said with a warm smile.

"Oh, Jareth," Cat sighed, "please don’t tell me this before you go off and desert me."

He laughed, "I’m not deserting you, princess, but my life is a waste of time. I'm 22 and living at home. I gotta get out. I know you know that feeling.  Besides, I've got a new job and I've been saving money for the last two years anyway.  I gotta do this, Cat.  I have to start over."

Catherine nodded as she absently twirled her French-manicured tips in Jareth’s loose curls. "I’m sorry I wasn’t a better girlfriend."

Jareth smiled and pulled her closer to where he could press his head into the warm, smooth expanse of her slender stomach.

"Cat, I like our relationship, whether you’re my girlfriend or not. You keep me on my toes."

"I didn’t hurt you?"

"No.  You could never hurt me."

"I always hurt the people I love when I don’t mean to."  She looked like a sad little girl, the one only Jareth knew. Not the rich, confident, unbreakable Catherine Fairchild the rest of the world knew.

"I love you, too, Cat," Jareth said as he pressed a kiss to her bare stomach. She was too complicated right now though. Maybe she always would be. In that way, she was like Darcy, untamable in a sense.  What he wanted, and needed, was someone simpler.  Someone he didn't have to work to be around.  He had always had to work to be what Cat expected.  He did love her but he needed someone who wanted him, just the way he was.

Scene 5

"Here you go," the cabbie gruffly remarked as he pulled into the driveway of the brick manor in Conlan’s Glen. "You sure this is where you want to be? You’re a long way from home," he commented.

Brett grunted a quick yes and emerged from the cab, squinting in the bright Virginia sun. So this was it. Home. Well, temporarily home, at least. His aunt, Terry, and uncle, Rich Guthrie opened up the house to him until he could find his own place closer to Washington, or at least until he was comfortable enough in the Glen on his own. "We’re never around that much anyway, but you’ll be sharing the house with Tabitha, Dylan, and Max most of the time. You’ll have to walk Max every once in a while, but Tabitha and Dylan can walk themselves," Uncle Rich had joked when Brett first called him.

The cabbie rolled Brett’s suitcase to the door and Brett lugged his heavy Tampa Bay Lightning duffel bag with him, before paying the cabbie and watching the yellow car speed away. "So here I am," Brett mused aloud, looking at the familiar surroundings in a very different way. He knew Conlan’s Glen. He knew this house. He remembered every year, coming to Virginia to visit his cousins. But he never anticipated calling the Guthrie house home. Brett rang the doorbell and patiently waited for someone to let him in. From outside, he heard the rustling of the wind against the leaves of the newly blooming trees, the whistling of birds, the loud barking of Max, and the sound of heavy feet clamoring down the stairs.

Dylan swung the door open, expecting to see his older cousin standing there. When he was Brett though, he was surprised. This wasn’t the older cousin Dylan used to dream of being like. Sure, he was the adult and the professional athlete that Dylan still dreamed of being, but there was something missing from Brett. He seemed empty. Dylan had overheard his parents talking about what Brett had gone through and how they’d have to be a support system for him, but that just made Dylan laugh. He remembered thinking,

‘So they’ll be there for Brett, but not for me,’ but he never said anything. "Hey man, how’s it going?"

Brett smiled at his cousin and gave him a quick hug before Dylan grabbed one of the suitcases and they started to move Brett inside the house. "It’s different. So, I get your room and you have to move to the shed, right?" He teased.

"The shed my ass," Dylan answered. "Too bad we still don’t have that old outhouse. It would have been perfect for you. Nah, really, though, you’re going to be in the room that you and Mike used to sleep in. You can do whatever you want with the walls and stuff, since it’s your room now."

"Thanks, man. It beats the basement couch." The cousins carried Brett’s bags up to the third floor of the house and dropped them inside his room before both sat down on the floor. Brett looked around the room, as if seeing it again for the first time, and Dylan stared at his cousin. "What?" Brett asked when Dylan’s eyes bore too deeply into him to ignore.

"I don’t know," Dylan shrugged. "You’re just different. I don’t know what it is. You’re just... not you."

"Yeah, well a trade’ll do that. It’s kind of like when a girl doesn’t like you anymore and she dumps you. Everything’s going well, it’s working for everyone, and you’re happy and then all of a sudden, there’s no need for you anymore, so you’re dumped for someone better. I’ll get over it," Brett told Dylan.

"Girls not liking you," Dylan repeated, scowling at the thought of Macy.

"Got girl problems, Dylan?"

"I’m 15, of course I do. Got any advice?"

Brett laughed. "I’m not exactly the best guy to ask for that but I’ll help you with what I can."

"And I may not be the best guy to help you out with whatever else happened, but I’ll try the best I can," Dylan affirmed.

On the next Episode of Secret Horizons...

"Good. I'm happy for you. Shacking up with Hallie wasn't the best decision you ever made. Can't say Liza and I have bonded or anything, but she seems to be a good woman. Compared to your ex, she's gotta be a saint, huh?" Her eyes sparkled, a glimmer of her usual fire sparking to life. Pushing away from the wall, Jillie moved to hug her big brother. "New York. I'm jealous."

Episode 171