Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
Life in the two years since their wedding had been nothing short of blissful. Chris sat by the fireplace, watching the flames flickering and sighed in utter contentment. A man shouldn't have it this good. Having his best friend for a partner and the finest woman breathing for a wife. Coupled with a good job and nice home, it was nearly the American dream. Then six weeks ago, his whole world changed to a more brilliant shade of living color. For at twelve minutes past midnight, during a helluva snowstorm, Adam Alexander Larabee howled his way into the world.
"He's beautiful, like his mother," Chris whispered, kissing the soft black down that fell onto the baby's forehead. Sara was nestled in his arms on the large sofa, the baby nursing at her breast. Life just couldn't get better than this. The choice for the name was easy. Adam for his father and Alexander, to honor Lily. The elderly woman was already quite smitten with the newest Larabee. Lily had moved in during Sara's final weeks and was staying for the winter. Chris and Sara wanted her to stay for good, but she was a free spirit and not used to being pinned down. They hoped to compromise, getting her an apartment near their ranch. The money for the downpayment had been Lily's wedding gift. The purchased the land at a good price and designed the house together. Adam's birth made the house, a home.
"Anybody home?" a voice bellowed from the pantry, near the back door.
"Don't you ever knock?" Chris replied, as Buck ambled through the hall. "Adam's having supper..." he warned, knowing Buck wouldn't want to intrude.
"Hey, is he awake? Wait until he sees what old Uncle Buck got him."
"Uh-oh," Sara frowned, "That didn't sound good."
"Buck, it better not have parents..." he warned of the rogue's attempts on getting his godson a large dog.
"Coast clear?" Buck asked and getting a postive reply, he entered, or rather, staggering inside the cozy den.
"Oh My God," Sara laughed, handing the sated baby to his father, who was laughing. "Chris, do you see a pattern here?" She shook her head at the pile now accumulating by the hearth. A football, baseball, baseball mitt and bat, hockey stick and tiny skates and a basketball were all waiting.
"Gotta start 'im young," Buck crowed, tossing a diaper over his shoulder. "Gimme that boy!" He took the chubby infant and grinned like a fool. "Hey, you know, with his dark hair and blue eyes... he looks like me! Damn lucky Kid..."
"Bite your tongue!"
"Hey, Lily!" Buck turned as the pretty, silver-haired woman walked towards him. "Marry me?"
"Sorry, Stud," She denied, kissing his cheek. "He looks like Sara..." she paused as the baby glared at the adults, "Well, not that... that's all Larabee!" she teased of the intense stare she'd seen on the handsome blond's face.
Like an expert, Buck defty held the hearty boy over his shoulder, patting his back and rocking. He talked to the infant like an adult, the whole time, showing him the sports gear. By the time the baby burped, Buck had made an offer to become the little boy's agent, once he hit the NFL, NHL, NBA or NL. Chris just laughed, kissed his wife and smiled at the look of pure adoration on Buck's face. The big guy didn't have a chance. Adam was already well established in the large heart.
Max McKenna ran a shaky hand through his short auburn hair and sighed. He cast his hazel eyes at the door, his handsome features tense. Then he resumed his pacing, in the back room of the chruch. The tuxedo suddenly seemed two sizes too small and it felt like it was 100 degrees in the old church. He took a long swig from the bottle of coke on the table nearby and listened to the organist.
"Come on, Big Brother," He hissed, eyeing the clock. "Where the hell are you?" He kicked a table leg and frowned. "Fine thing, the best man and the ring are late for the wedding."
He drained the lukewarm soda and thought back seven months, to a blizzard in February in New York when his whole world changed. He was a free lance reporter, doing mostly investigative stuff. The twenty-four year old was wild and fearless, already earning him grudging respect from his elders. His stories were good, intense and held the reader rivited. He'd quickly earned a good name and solid reputation, that garnered big bucks. He was covering a high profile murder case in Manhattan and staying at his big brother's condo. The star NFL quarterback had the life of a king. A star in the league, a great salary, a solid future and a dozen pretty girls at his beck and call. Max barely had time for a second date. His stories took him all over the world. Then he made the best decision in his wild, young life. Instead of going directely to Ryan's large apartment overlooking central park, he'd opted for a change. His angle on the murder was that the victim had suspected someone was selling artifacts from the Natural History Museum. He wanted to poke around there, ask questions and interview the staff. So, there he was, on 79th street heading for the museum near Central Park West. He stumbled through the door and literally into her arms.
"I'm Caitlin Harte," she'd said, to which he replied starry-eyed, "Marry me?"
She laughed and that only added to her beauty. He'd never seen anyone so fine. Gorgeous eyes that were blue-rimmed purple, shoulder length curly dark hair and a face painted by the angels. She was working at the museum, as the assistant editor of Natural History Magazine as well as handling a myriad of other assignments within the large facility. She was easy to talk to and it was if he knew her his whole life. Before he knew it, it was midnight and the streets were shut down due to the storm. He left a message on Ryan's machine. He and this wonderful woman shared a meager dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, butter cookies and lemonade. She took him on a tour of the buidling, they explored the exhibits together. He kissed her for the first time outside Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Hall. He didn't think the hero of San Juan Hill would mind. The two weeks of his assignment flew and his trip to Cairo was miserable. He couldn't live without her. He missed her face, her scent, her taste... he needed her. So he got a job at New Yorker Magazine and moved in with her. Then Ryan came home and met Cait for the first time.
Ryan paused in the doorway of the church and felt his heart clench. For the first time in his life, he was in love, truly and deeply, the forever kind. She was witty and charming, wise as well as beautiful. She had a great sense of humor, loved sports and eating messy. She was everything he ever dreamed of... and in ten minutes, would marry his kid brother. He sighed, took a deep breath andwalked into the church.
"Hi Grams, how are you?" Caitlin smiled on the phone, her mind painting a picture of her grandmother.
"Fine, dear, but how are you?"
"Well, if you're not too busy, we'd like to have you over for lunch, around 1 p.m."
"We?" Grace Rutherford paused. "We who? I thought Max was in London?"
"He was, he flew home last night. He's not the one inviting you, however..."
"Child, what on earth are you talking about?"
"You have Mom and Pop bring you over for lunch, at one," she paused, her throat tightening. "Because there is somebody I want you to meet... somebody incredible."
"Oh Cait!" The old woman sat up in her rocker, a smile born easy.
"Her name is Grace Maureen McKenna and she's dying to meet her great grandmother."
"Oh honey!" She sobbed, "When?"
"Five this morning... we named her for you and Max's mother," she noted her deceased mother-in-law. "She's nearly eight pounds, has a head full of black curls and it the most beautiful baby ever born."
After Cait spoke to her parents, Max's grandfather and the folks from both places of work, the exhausted mother slept. Max was beat, having taking a red-eye to get back in time. He eyed the pretty baby his arms and tears welled in his eyes. Cait was right, she was the most precious thing ever born. One tiny hand curled trustingly over his finger.
"You hang on, Honey, I'll always be here for you..."
Ryan froze in the doorway, seeing Cait sleeping peacefully. Her dark hair was cut short and framed her heart-shaped face. The deep lavender gown suited her and he felt his insides turn to jelly. Max had returned to Seamus's apartment and was sleeping on the couch. The old man was downstairs, buying gifts for his 'aingeal'. As he cast his eyes upon his new niece, he had do doubt the old man was right. She was an angel, her tiny features were a duplicate of Cait's. He placed a tiny pale blue bunny at the foot of the incubator. The pastel balloons were held by the largest Raggedy Ann doll he could find. It stood about three feet tall and fit into the bedside chair. Here, in the garish daylight alone, he let his heart out. The agony of the pain he felt shone through his blue eyes, as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
"I love you..." he whispered, pulling his hand back. He didn't see the old man back out of the doorway, his face stilled. He was back over the baby, taking in every perfect feature, when she woke up. He backed up a bit, watching her face screw up. "Uh-oh..." he wrinked his face, as the howl was about to be born. "Shh! Hey don't do that, you'll wake your mother. She's all worn out... shh... go back to sleep." Not wishing to disturb the new mother, he picked the squalling bundle up, holding her away from his body like a timebomb. "Hi there... I'm your Uncle Ryan... damn you got a good set of lungs." He finally lowered the baby to his shoulder and began to rock his body side to side. She grew quiet, then began to hiccup. "God, you smell great..." he voice caught in emotion as the heady scent only a new baby can produce filled him. "I wish you were mine..." he sat down and transferred her to his lap, letting his large hands support her head and neck.
"She likes you!" Cait yawned, having just woke up.
"She's a woman," He muttered cockily, suddenly uncomfortable. "She hungry?" he guessed, watching her little rosebud mouth work on the tiny fist. "Maybe she should eat..."
"You don't have the right equipment, Uncle Ryan..." Cait teased, raising an eyebrow and laughing as he face flushed. "Here... I..." she spotted the doll and squealed in delight. She'd collected dolls her whole life and rag dolls were her favorite. "It's beautiful! I've never seen one so big! Ryan... thank you!"
"I better get going," he gently lowered the baby to her and backed away. "I'll... uh... stop... over... when we get... uh... back..." He said of his upcoming roadtrip. He didn't turn back as he headed to the hall. He didn't see the look of compassion and sympathy from his grandfather.
"Aye, Lad... tis a great burden yer totin'..." Seamus shook his head and went into the room
As if fate scripted the final act, he was in the gazebo. It was place he never grew tired, recalling the lost days of his boyhood. His mother loved it here, sitting inside the cupola, reading or doing stitchery, surrounded by the large gathering of flowers. He'd romanced many women out here and of course, it was a favorite stroll for he and his beloved Joey. He was thinking on walking to the tomb to sit with them, once he caught his breath. The gardener looked up as a clatter sounded. He trotted several yards to the gazebo and saw the cane lying on the ground.
"Mr. L?" the black man inquired, peeking through the white iron gingerbread structure. "Bless him Lord!" He made the sign of the cross, seeing the dead man in his final sleep.
The funeral was simple, which in itself stood out in this town. Funerals were celebrated with a style and flavor known only to New Orleans. After the burial, the task of settling the massive estate fell onto a world renowned legal team. The estate was probated and a new fly was cast into the ointment. Louis, in his will, had given his mother her lifelong quest. All the money from his estate and that of his late mother's, was left to heirs of her lost child. He'd seen to it that her living quest, to find her lost baby, would be sated.
While the legal eagles debated the situation in a posh office, across the border, Gussie Trent scowled. They talked of him like he was somebody. Pages of ink spilling beatitudes of his generosity and kindness. Generous! Hah! He dined in splendour, while they lived in squallor. She fidgeted, watching the news coverage... there... there was his face on the screen again. The anger rose up and she threw her dinner tray on the floor.
"Now... now... Miz Trent... that ain't nice..."
"...tough... ap...ples..." Gussie mumbled, the stroke making it hard to talk. She'd suffered so many illnesses over the years, she learned to live in pain. But then a series of strokes took their toll, leaving the eighty year old confined to a bed in a nursing home. "...call... call..." she grunted, moving her atrophied hand, bent at an unnatural angle.
"Yuh best eat this supper..." Lavina, the aide assigned to the cranky old woman ordered, "If yuh eat it all, I'll call him. Deal?" She saw the head dip once and placed a new tray down. She lifted the lid of the pureed meal and began. An hour later, after the old woman was washed, changed and settled in for the night, she picked up the phone.
Gussie was watching reruns of Lawrence Welk, when he came through the door. She fumbled with the remote, turning the television off. "...talk... 'portant... no... have... long..."
He watched through hooded eyes, as her crippled hand clutched the paper. He took it from her and studied the headlines.
"Yes, I read about his death. What does it have to do with us?"
"...fat..her... your...son..."
"What!" He hissed, backing up and closing the door. He leaned over the bed. "What do you mean Aunt Gussie? Louis Moreau is my father?"
"...is..." she insisted, still seeing the dead eyes of her niece, an empty bottle of pills doing what the needles and booze didn't.
"How? Why didn't you ever tell me? Do you have proof?"
"...promised... moth..er... no... tell... shame... shame... wrong..."
He tried to calm the irate woman, giving her a drink of warm Ensure. The milky liquid ran from her drooping mouth. He dabbed it with a napkin. Finally, she steadied her roving eye and looked at him.
"...I ...die ...soon ...no ...take ...promise ...grave..." she caught her breath, the chest pain was back, as it had been earlier. "...mother ...killed self... shame... over... birth... he... didn't... want... her... you... used... her..."
He skimmed his memory, recalling little of his mother. She died when he was what? Ten? She was a junkie and a drunk. Men used her and abused her and she let them. He'd never had any respect for her. But what if what Gussie said was true? What if Louis Moreau had fathered him? If she'd been used by him and tossed away? That would have broken her... They lived in poverty, barely getting by. His Aunt Gussie was his mother's only relative and took him in, raising him as her own. They lived in filth, dirt poor and barely survived. He worked two jobs to support them, until he finally got a decent paying career.
"Is there proof?"
"...suit ... lawsuit... paid Judge... threw her... out... no fight... left..."
"I understand," he nodded, "I'll take care of it... you rest now."
He brushed the gray hair from her face and held her hand, as a spasm overtook her. He stayed with her until the night nurse shooed him home. He drove through the streets, thinking on the claims she made. He began his research on the internet, calling up stories on the Moreau's. He read all he could about Louis' life. He read about the lawsuit and was shocked at how young and pretty his mother was, before Louis Moreau threw her out like old garbage. It was four a.m. when the phone rang. The night supervisor told him Gussie died. A week later, after burying her and making a vow over the grave she shared with his mother, he began his new job. The transfer was the first step, gaining him entry into New Orleans. Once settled, with a good paycheck and a modest apartment, he began his quest to find justice. Several of the periodicals he read, reported a rumor of Isabella Moreau having a secret child, born before her marriage to Raoul. This was alluded to also, in Louis's will. His job didn't allow for much spare time, so he decided to hire someone to dig out the truth. He didn't want anyone to get in the way of his fortune. He had the power and means to see that nobody did. He made the call.
"Hey Sunshine!" Max boomed, lifting his giggling daughter high in the air. A crown of black curls danced on her shoulders. Her large eyes were a deep bluish purple. She was the light of his life. He blew raspberries on her belly and drank in the sweet laughter. "Where's Mommy?" He asked the pint-sized hellion. She ruled the house and she knew it. Her chubby fist pointed to the kitchen. "Ahhh..." he nodded, dropping his knapsack. He ran a hand through his damp auburn hair and snuck up on his busy wife. "Gotcha!" He laughed as she shrieked, tossing flour on his face. He set his squirming daughter down in her highchair, where she happily resumed her meal. Then he caught his protesting bride and kissed her.
"Break out the bubbley!"
"What?" Cait asked, eyeing the light in his hazel eyes.
"I cancelled the gig in Mexico," he said of the assignment to interview a controversial politician. "I'll be busy here for awhile..."
"What kind of busy?" She inquired, finishing the cake and stirring the batter. It's not that she didn't welcome the news, she would have been lonely without him. Since her father's death the year before, her mother and grandmother spent the spring and summer up north in Maine, with her father's sister Dolores.
"I got a job..." he announced, "the big bucks kind, look at this," he tossed down a pile of bills. "That's just the incentive..." he popped the top on a beer and took a swig.
"I don't like it," she flipped through bills and poured the batter into a pan. She popped it into the oven and dried her hands.
"You didn't even hear it!" His anger flashed. She had a good job working for the historical society. She loved her work and was good at it, naming her price for biographies and documentaries. "Actually, it's right up your alley... I've been hired to investigate the Moreau case."
"Louis Moreau?" she frowned, "...you mean the missing heir that he mentioned in his will. Who hired you?"
"I got the call from a clerk in the law office... and the retainer." He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down on his lap. "So Mrs. McKenna, what to do think?"
"You already cashed the check!" she said icily, pulling away. "You're a little late."
"I can't turn this down, Cait, it's the story of a lifetime. Do you realize if this is true...what it means. " He protested. "They could have picked anybody, they chose me, Cait, me...just think what this could lead to. a book... maybe even a movie... It's a good mystery... you love history, I don't get it..."
"I want to take Grace a walk before dinner," She wiped the chattering toddler's mouth and tied her tiny sneakers on. She saw the dejected look on his face and had no reply. It was the chance of a lifetime and he would be a fool to turn it down. She didn't understand the fear that consumed her. Maybe she was tired. She weighed all the evidence as they walked, then deposited the sleepy child on the large quilt on the floor of the living room. Max was on the porch, in the glider. She snuggled next to him and kissed his neck.
"So, Mr. McKenna, where do we start?" She basked for a moment in the smile on his face and decided it was the right move. After all, what's the worst that could happen?
It was well past one when the two made their way up Decatur Street. The Mississippi River bid them good afternoon, as they entered the crowded store front. It had the markings of an old time Italian Deli, full of flavor, colorful customers and wonderful aroma. The Central Grocery is well known for it's deli-catable masterpieces and it's unpretentious atmosphere. Vin tucked his glasses in his neckline and eyed the overstocked shelves rimming the walls. Pastas of every shape, size and color sat idle, cans of sardines, tomatoes, roasted peppers and other delicacies added to the mystique. But most of all, what locals and tourist alike flock to the deli for is the wonderful muffuletta's.
"Okay if we eat outside?"
"Sure," Chris grinned, knowing that the flock of locals and tourists packed into the tiny place was already wearing on his open-sky friend. Twenty minutes later, they made their way to a bench near the river and sat down.
The plate-sized sandwich starts with a whole load of crusty Italian bread. This is stuffed past the overflowing point with a large variety of Italian meats and cheeses, topped with rich olive salad. A half would fill the heartiest appetite and the Chris carried the one they were splitting, while Vin carried two bottles of Barq's Root Beer, napkins and plates.
As they ate, they discussed the many sights they would cover this weekend. That started with the tour of the town, which Chris would take Vin on after lunch. They roamed the streets, Chris explaining the history, ornate grillwork and exquisite architecture. From Jackson Square and the cathedral, through old town Carrollton, Esplanade Avenue, Audobon Park, Lake Pontchartrain and ending up at a place that was a must see.
"City of the Dead," Chris explained of the above ground tombs that were necessary here. As they walked, he explained the history and the native culture added to the uniqueness of the cemetary. Years of flooding that brought the 'resting' clientele into the streets, caused the ornate, elaborate 'cities' to be built. The blond took his curious friend through Cemetary Number Three, right behind a tour group.
Vin was hanging on every word his friend issued, while he eyed the statues, tombs and crosses.
"How'd ya know all that?" he inquired, when the blond finally paused to take a breath.
One Larabee lip turned up and his eyes crinkled in warmth under the expensive designed shades. It wasn't Vin's question, as much as the near awe hidden in the tone. He through a half-grin at his star-struck friend.
"High I.Q., natural ability to retain knowledge like a sponge..."
"No, really," the Texan persisted with a straight face, "How d'ya know all this stuff?"
Chris narrowed his eyes and fought the urge to grin. "Smart ass..." then they shared a good laugh and continued their trip.
Vin peered at the decorative, rusty iron work and tall marble statues that crowded the cemetary. He listened as the guide explained the history, architecture and paranormal activity. Large crosses, Angels wielding swords raised in victory, a weeping mother and many other oversized statues captivated the quiet sharpshooter. The wealthy families afforded large private crypts, where survivors could enter and visit at length, with the deceased. Rows and rows of these miniature houses with tiny iron fences resembled a strange surburbia. It was then Vin understood Chris's title when they entered. By the time they climbed back in the car, he was beat. He buckled his seat belt and settled back, rummaging in his backpack.
"Never thought I'd be sayin' these words," he shook his curly head and pulled out a soda and something to cure his sweet tooth jones. "Larabee, ya talk t'damn much... wore me the hell out!" He yawned and muched, drank and munched, then his jaw slowed down.
As they made their way back to the hotel, it was near six p.m. Chris stole a glance sideways, while he drove and smiled. Vin's head was resting against the headrest, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. Traces of pralines clung to the lips that were parted, as he slept. One hand clung to a coke, the other disappeared inside the now empty box of sugar-laden candy, which the Texan was now addicted to.
"Your dentist ought to be giving me a commission," the driver noted with a smile.
One of the best places in the country to see live music, the House of Blues was a fine choice for dinner. A local band played blues and rock music, while the busy staff tended to the many patrons filling the room.
After splitting an order of seared Gulf Shrimp blackened in Voodoo sauce with a few beers, they ordered. Vin chose the Slow Smoked Baby Back Ribs in Jack Daniels sauce, mashed sweet potatoes with cinnamon butter and 'nuthin' green on the plate, Ma'am'. Chris went with the Blackened Catfish, shoestring potatoes and greens. The food lived up to it's billing and while Chris was sated with a Irish coffee, Vin perused the dessert menu.
"I'm a little full," he decided, patting his flat abdomen, "think I'll just get one."
"That's using your head," Chris deadpanned, shaking his head. How Vin kept so trim and healthy, despite his diet, was a mystery.
"Reckon I can get somethin' later, after the tour," he noted of his 10 p.m Haunted New Orleans, Voodoo and Vampire excursion. The two hour trek through the French Quarter with two 'geniuine mediums' for guides had him riding a natural high, which need more 'sugar fuel' After much indecision, he opted for the White Chocolate and Walnut Brownie with Vanilla Ice Cream in Caramel Sauce. "Want some?" he offered, the plate to his friend first.
"Hard as it is, I'll pass," the blond wrinkled his nose.
"Yer a snob, Larabee, don't know how I put up with ya."
"Nobody else will have you?" Chris teased and sipped his coffee, enjoying the music. As the hot beverage went down easy, he eyed the other man. Vin was devouring the melting confection at record pace, and the 'damns' of pleasure gave the blond a easy Tannerfied smile.
They moved to the courtyard outside and listened to the music for awhile, before Vin finished his beer and stood.
"Last chance," he winked, raising an eyebrow, blue eyes shining michievously. "I'll put in a good word fer ya..."
"I'm the sane one," Chris replied, sipping his beer. It was decided Vin would do his 'ghost thing' and meet Chris back here. He watched Vin turn to leave and called after him. "Hey..."
"Ya worry t'damn much!" Vin read the light green eye with ease. He nodded his gratefulness and with a wave set off.
By the time Vin returned, carrying a bag of souveneers and full of tales of lurid murders and pirates and the walking dead, Chris was relieved. He listened to the wide-eyed Texan's rehash, watching the slim hands become animated. Vin Tanner had so many facets it amazed him. Every time he thought he had half a grip on the elusive Tanner mystique, the blue-eyed devil slipped through his hands.
"What's that fer?" Vin demanded, seeing a strange, bemused grin on the blond's face.
"Just giving thanks," Chris flagged the waiter, "You being so generous and picking up the tab."
"Yer a cheap bastard, Larabee..." Vin tossed the bills down and picked up his beer, as the band began a new set.
Saturday, Chris took Vin to two plantations outside town, then they explored the back country and bayous. It was midnight when they arrived back in their rooms, tired and sweaty. Two quick showers later, both men fell into an exhaustive sleep.
Chris felt it before he opened his eyes. The room was freezing and a scent of roses was overpowering. He felt the distinctive brush of satin against his face and then a depression on the bed. A soft hand, warm and gentle, caressed his naked back. His heart was hammering and he sucked in an audible breath. When the 'weight' of the body pressed against him, he jerked his eyes open and shot off the bed. She was a few feet away, moving without effort past the bed. The light from the bathroom gave glow enough to see that her beautiful features were twisted in pain. Those slender hands that still burned his flesh, were clasped together in anguish.
"Please... help... I need you... Chris..."
He wasn't sleeping. He was wide awake. He heard the light voice as it sauntered through the room. He closed his eyes, choking on the smell of the roses, willing her to leave. Both fists were clenched and he shivered and gasped, as the hands ran down his arms and naked chest.
"Please... help... me...."
"I'm sorry," he groaned, stiffening his back and walking backwards to...to...anywhere but here. "I can't...please leave." He left out his pent up breath and felt his rising blood pressure near the boiling point. Then the room temperature dropped and the heady scent left. He waited several pregnant minutes, before opening his eyes.
"Shit!" he gasped, raking a shaky hand through his now damp hair. His head was pounding and he headed for the bathroom, seeking Tylenol. He gulped them down, quickly refilling the glass. He dropped the toilet lid and sat down. He leaned his face againgst the cold tiles on the wall and closed his eyes. The pain pulsated between his temples to the point where his eyes hurt. Why him? Vin was the ghost hunter. Read ghost stories, visited haunted ghost towns in Colorado with a converted J.D. in tow. He knew his deep friend was sensitive to all spiritual things and had deep faith and convictions. The blue eyes hungered to learn more about life. Vin loved to read, especially history, Western or Native American lore. But paranormal occurances, aka ghost stories, were a favorite of his. He also knew Vin was much more open-minded than he tended to be. Why didn't the beautiful blond seek him out? The pounding in his head began to recede and he headed back to bed. Then, he noticed the doors to the patio open and frowned, stepping outside. He saw her in the garden, the ivory gown reflecting in the moonlight. Her graceful body disappeared around a ten foot tall hedge, into the ornate maze. Blinking and releasing his breath, he tried to calm his jangled nerves, when he saw a body following her. Not just anybody, a zombiefied Tanner body. Barefoot and barechested, wearing only light sweatpants, Vin disappeared into the hedges.
"Vin!"
Chris pulled on some clothes and shoes, taking the backsteps two at a time. He entered the dark garden, which was as creepy at night as it was beautiful by day. Also, at ground level, it took on a totally different perspective.
The dazed man didn't feel the cold earth under his feet, or the night air clinging to his skin. He walked through the woods, the trees and shrubbery getting dense. The cottage was ahead somewhere. How had he become so lost? His angel was waiting for him there. He longed to see her face, and hold her in his arms. He didn't feel the stones cutting into his feet or the scrapes on his forearms from the bushes. He kept moving, one foot after the other, knowing he wouldn't rest until he found her.
" L'ange, je suis ici..." he called out, seeking to reassure his terrified bride. He called to his angel, telling her he was near.
"Vin?" Chris froze, hearing the distinctive drawl, but not understanding the words. He ran faster, the maze grew thicker, barely meeting his broad shoulders. "Vin! Vin!" he called loudly, over the shrieking wind.
He was close, he could feel her. The cottage was ahead, just beyond the bend.
"Je t'adore " He cried out, his heart full, "Isabella...." She was here, her felt her, stumbling and falling, he reached out, then she was gone. Why did she leave? "Qu'y a-t-il?" His heart was broken. "No No NO ... je suis désolé..." he apologized, voice breaking.
"Vin!" Chris grabbed the rambling man, stunned by the change. Vin was speaking fluent French, in a voice that was not his own. Tears ran down his face, which was locked in pain. Then he turned and it was another shock. There was bloodlust in the wet eyes and the Texan sprang, locking his hands on Chris's neck.
"Je vous tuerai!" Vin growled, gripping the neck of the intruder. He couldn't see a face, but knew, whoever the man was, he had scared Isabella away. For that, he would die!
"Vin!" Chris choked, amazed at the brute strength he friend possessed. He couldn't breathe, spots danced before his vision. The face that was becoming harder to see, was that of a stranger.
"Ahhhh!" Jessenia scowled, eyeing the figures locked in battle in her mirror. The flames on the many candles flickered in protest. The acrid incense clung to the air and the herbs simmered nearby. She stopped chanting, realzing she'd lost him...for now. "The blond one is strong," she noted of the valient heart on the intruder. "He would die for you!" She amazed, feeling his heart's cry clearly. "Perhaps he shall... but not now. You need him... we need him!" she tossed a handful of bitter herbs at the mirror.
Coughing. Someone was coughing. Cold. It was very chilly. Coughing again. Damn... he was the one coughing. He rolled on his side, gasping and swiping the saliva that covered his chin and lips. He shivered in the night air and tasted dirt. He was dizzy and disoriented, but sat up, a strong urge filled him. Someone was in danger. Vin! He recalled the fight, before blacking out. He searched the area, and saw the body curled up nearby.
"Vin!" he croaked, rubbing his sore throat and crawling over. He rolled the unconscious man on his back and felt for a pulse. "Thank God," he muttered, tapping the stilled face. "Vin...Vin, wake up." He didn't stir and his skin was icy cold. He hooked his hands under the armpits of the victim and hauled him upright, over one shoulder. Then, balancing his precious cargo, he began the long walk, or stagger, back to the room. Vin's head banged agains his back, as he struggled to get them both back to safety.
By the time he reached the entry to the maze, the back of the mansion was in view. His legs were burning rubber and his head was pounding. He carefully eased Vin onto a bench, tapping the pale face.
"Vin!" He croaked, out of breath and gasping. "Wake up! I can't carry you up them stairs. Vin!" he slapped the face hard and the body jerked. Vin's eyes slowly opened, but the dulled fixed stare, told the blond that his friend was not aware. "Come on, I'll help you. Vin?" He pulled the pliant body up and slung an arm over his neck. They held each up and managed, barely, to get back to the room. Chris dropped Vin on his bed and knelt by his feet. He winced at the icy skin and the cuts from the sharp rocks. Vin was sleeping again, his chest rising and falling. Cuts, small ones thankfully, scored his arms. Chris ran hot, soapy water in the tub and shook the body awake again. "Wake up...come on, Vin!" he urged the disgrunted face.
"Fuck off!" Vin shoved whoever was pulling at him and tried to free himself from the strong arms.
Chris sighed in relief as the Texan's normal tone of voice returned. He pulled the protesting body into the bathroom, where a chair sat next to the tub. He got Vin's legs inside and used a wash cloth to get the dirt off and out of the cuts. They weren't serious, but needed to be cleaned out. He shoved Vin's leaden arms into the flannel robe that hung on the door, hoping to warm him up. Coffee... he use the electric pot to make Vin a fast hot cup of coffee or better yet, hot cocoa. He was finished scrubbing the left foot, when a moan and a surly voice assaulted him.
Vin lifted his head and saw tiles. Tiles? He blinked through the remnants of the thick black cloak as it left. Water, there was water running. Steam filled his lungs and despite the warm cloth covering him, he was freezing. He was also dizzy, very dizzy and a nausea filled him. His head was filled with dank, stale reams of cotton, clinging to his normal senses. He saw blond hair by his knee and an olive green shirt. Chris? The boggled blue eyes followed the water sound and he realized he was in the bathroom, his feet in the tub. Chris was bathing his feet. Chris was what? He jerked awake then, his senses slamming into him at full blast.
"What the Hell are ya doin'?" He fought, trying to pull his feet out. "Don't be touchin' m'feet. Get away..."
"Shut up!"
Chris growled in a voice so lethel it froze every noun and verb still dancing on Vin's salty tongue. The green eyes were full of ire and fire and caused Vin to swallow hard. His open mouth bobbled a moment, then clamped shut. Then he saw the blood in the water and got scared. He noticed cuts on his arms and felt pain in his feet. The dizziness returned as he tried to remember what happened. They got back, he showered, flopped in bed... and... and... nothing. But something did happen... something that chilled him to the core. It was lurking on the outskirts of his mind, just beyond reach and gave him a sharp pain in his rebellious stomach. "Oh God..."
"I gotcha Vin!" Chris saw the fear chase the anger from the worried face. All the color drained away and he saw the lean, almost concave abdomen rebelling. He shoved Vin over the toilet and stood waiting. Once the vomiting stopped, he provided support. Handing Vin tissues to blow his nose and cough up the residue, then several cups of water. Finally, he sat him back on the chair. The feet were cleaned and Vin never said a word, just pushed Chris's hand away.
"I... can... do... it..." he said quietly, hands trembling badly as he dried his feet. Two of the cuts continued to bleed. They were very small and he applied antiseptic spray and bandaids. He used the chair to propel his body up, but the dizziness remained and he grabbed Chris's arm, as the doorway moved. "Sorry..."
"That's okay," Chris reassured, leading the shaken man to his bed. He was still shivering and Chris got him in bed and under the quilt. "You want some hot chocolate or coffee? Help warm you up?"
"Yeah," Vin nodded, his eyes frantic and darting all over the room. When Chris returned a few minutes later, he was sitting up, reaching for a sweatshirt. He took the robe off and pulled his heavy ATF sweatshirt on, still he was cold. He sipped the hot cocoa gratefully, letting the steam warm his face. Then he saw the bruises on Chris's neck. The other was sitting on a chair across the room, his chest heaving in what Vin mistook for anger. "What happened?"
"What do you remember?" Chris kept his voice level, but the frightening encounter left him very shaken.
"Goin' t'bed."
"..and..." he baited, watching the figure on the bed. He never saw Vin's eyes quite so large. He watched both trembling hands raise the mug and the sky eyes darted, seeking an answer.
"... and... and..." Vin fought hard, thinking and thinking, but it was black wall. "...seein' tiles... yer head... blood in the tub. "Fuck!" He nearly dropped the half empty mug. He placed it on the bedside and made to fists, raising them and pounding the bed. The bruises on Chris's neck were vivid against his pale skin. "Somebody bust in?" He hoped, thinking they'd tackled an intruder. Larabee's head shook and he watched both elbows hit the leader's knees. The blond head dipped, hanging low. "Chris?"
That made him wince. It wasn't often, the words 'nearly never' came to mind; that he heard such a hopeless and incredibly young Tanner voice. Vin had more guts than anybody Chris knew. He wasn't afraid of anything, except the void that now occupied his memory. How could tell him? 'Well, Vin, a ghost came into me bed and then outside, you followed her, speaking fluent French' No, he'd scare him worse.
"Chris?"
Damn, the voice was wavering now and he knew the Adam's apple was bobbing at a record rate. The eyes, large and almost luminous blue, would burn right through his gut. Yet, he had to answer. He raised his head and flinched again. Yeah, those killer eyes could do more damange than a bullet. He walked over to the bed and sat next to the shaken man.
"She came back, you followed her outside, in the maze... cut your feet and arms. I saw you follow her, from the patio and went after you.... brought you back here."
"She... that ghost lady ya saw..." Vin rasped in a voice barely audible. "..the one with the blond hair and the purple choker?"
"Yeah, I... choker?" Chris turned and looked into worried face, relieved that color was returning. "I didn't mention a purple choker, Vin."
"Sure ya did," he nodded, trying to convince himself. "Ya must 'ove... it was matchin' her eyes... had a cameo on it..."
"No, Vin, I never told you about that... Vin..." He sighed as the body in denial, turned away, seeking relief under the quilt. "Something happened out there. You were following her somewhere. Maybe..."
"I'm goin' t'sleep," Vin lied, clenching his eyes shut. Why did he remember a choker that Chris didn't tell him about? He saw it clearly in his head, her face swam before him, laughing and beautiful. He felt her touch his face, his lips... "Shit!" he hissed, twisting in the bed. He sat up, he must have dozed off for a while. Dawn was cresting, filling the room with pale rose-golden light. He went to the bathroom, got washed and tossed his running clothes on. He was just finishing tying his sneakers and crept quietly through Chris's room, to get outthe back door. He was sound asleep, but the now bruises looked worse and Vin felt sucker punched. If they were alone in the garden, then the bruises on his best friend's neck were from his own hands.
"No!" he denied, turning his hands over and shaking his head. He heard the body in the bed move and swallowed hard, unable to meet the eyes of his best friend. "I couldda killed ya..." he sobered up, sitting on the bed as the room swam around.
"No, you couldn't," Chris replied, through a yawn. He studied the profile and frowned, "Still don't remember?"
"No, but seein' yer neck all marked up..." he shook his head. "I done that, didn't I?"
"You were... uh..." Chris paused carefully, "havin' a nightmare, didn't know who I was. It won't happen again."
"I'm sorry," Vin sighed, studying his hands. "I'd never hurt ya..."
"Talk sense," Chris gruffed, sitting up and eyeing the new day. "Look, sun's up. The nightmare's over and there's new day out there. Let's not waste it okay? Thought we were gonna catch some gators?" he teased, knowing how Vin was looking forward to their swamp trip. "Hey," he tapped the slumped shoulder. "We got no room for sulking around this campfire, Cowboy. Get your ass in gear." Still no reply. "Look, Vin, I'm taking a shower and getting dressed. Go for your run, you'll feel better. I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast, okay?"
"Yeah," Vin stood, thinking on Chris's words. He walked to the patio doorway, watching the blond rummaging through his drawers. A thought struck him and he turned back. "Hey Chris?" He saw the body move and turn to him, "Ya think, maybe, it was a nightmare? Maybe from that tour I took the other night? That fella sure was scary," he said of the host, "...and the girl" he shivered of the black fingernails and lipsticked brunette "...real creepy... told a whole lotta stories about the town... she even mentioned this place and that Isabella lady. Ya think that's what done it?"
"Yeah, Vin, " he heard the hopeful sound in the tone and if it would take the fear from those blue eyes, he give it to him, "No more ghosthunting, okay?"
"Okay," Vin sighed, "I'm sorry, Chris."
"You say that again and I'll post those pictures of your tatooed ass in the lobby. Maybe somebody knows that number..."
"Shut the hell up!" Vin tossed back, fueled the warm smile that Larabee sent him. "...and ya leave m'ass the hell alone!" he fired back, taking the arm extended and locking forearms. He didn't say anything then, just nodded and swallowed hard, so very grateful for the having this man to call friend.
While the younger man let the new dawn and warm sun dissolve his fears, his friend worried. While the hot water pulsed over his lean body, Chris mulled over the actions in the garden. He dried off and dressed, before sitting at the desk. He made a list of all he remembered and stared at the phone. Josiah was a very studied person. He had several degrees, including a masters in theology. He'd also studied psychology and knew a thing or two about the mind. Maybe he could offer an answer. He heard Vin return and took his coffee outside. He'd see how the day went and call the preacher later. He let his seagreen gaze drift to the magnificent garden below. What secrets were the elaborate display of flowers and intricate shrubs hiding? Would the lure of the maze be too strong, even for a Tanner? He wondered what it was that drew his friend to wander in it's path. He planned on bringing the subject of finding another hotel up at breakfast. He flinched and hissed, as the face of Nigel Bates stared up at him from the edge of the garden. The dark, hooded eyes seemed to read his mind.
"Jesus..." he muttered, flicking his glasses on and pretending to read the paper. He peeked sideways a few seconds later and the garden was empty again.
The old woman listened to Bates on the phone and shook her head. "You worry too much... of course the young one will stay. The spell is nearly complete. Two more moons... that's all I need. He is so strong... the blond will yield to him, you will see. We are so close..." her ears listened to his prattle, while her eyes peered out the window at the new day. They narrowed, seeing the couple across the plaza. She muttered a string of curses and eyed the altar again. Two more days... that's all she needed. She hung the phone up and watched the figures at the cafe.
Unaware that they were being watched, they ordered breakfast. He chose French Toast and sausage, she got crepes and turned to the child.
"You want pancakes, Honey?" Caitlin McKenna asked her five-year old daughter. The short dark curly head shook negatively. Two large almost violet eyes in a heart shaped face, so like her own, peered up at her. "Not hungry?"
"No." Grace clutched Emily, her beloved ragdoll and stared at the river.
"I'm sorry, she's a little cranky today," the pretty woman apologized to her guest.
"That's alright," he answered, turning and casting his eyes up the street. He felt a coldness brush over him, almost as if someone walked on his grave. He dispelled it and returned to his meal, eager to finish and get back to business.
To any passerby, they seemed like the all American family, but the old woman knew different. "The blood will spill... justice will be done." she vowed, seeing the blue-eyed savior's face in her mind's eye.
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