Timed Out
By Polgana & Kyla

". . . In this you have found your gift and I know you serve it with honor. I can tell you we are the messengers between Time and its Keeper. You, of all people, know how fragile life is. So, somewhere between the pages of our newspaper, Gary Hobson, find time to live it."

With a sigh Gary stuffed the hand written note back into its envelope and into his pocket. He had lost count of how many times he had taken it out as he had slowly made his way back from Judge Romick's funeral. Poor Lindsey. She had loved her grandfather so much. It had been all he could do not to pull her into his arms and let her release her pent up tears like a flood. He knew they were there. Not just the few that had trickled down her cheeks as she tried to present a brave face to the other mourners. Inside her was a wellspring of grief that could never truly be capped, only covered with love and fond memories until it no longer consumed her every waking moment.

Knowing what was in store for her, he had hesitated giving her the knife. She was so young and had been through so much! How could he put this on her? But, he hadn't. She had been chosen, probably long before he had pulled her back over that railing, by whatever powers governed the Paper. So, he had offered what little comfort he could, along with a tiny hint of a warning, and discharged his duty. His successor had a name. His own message to the 'heir apparent' was dutifully recorded and locked away. Lucius Snow's legacy once again tucked away for the future.

". . .find time to live . . ."

All around him had been people getting on with the business of living. A happy couple, laughing at some private joke as they pushed the stroller that held their own gift to the future. Across the street he saw a group of seniors practicing Tai Chi. They all seemed to be enjoying the bright sun and invigorating breeze. It really was a beautiful day.

*******

Gary entered the kitchen area through the back door. He had managed to take care of two more 'crises' on the way home, the last involving a boy, his dog, and an unscheduled dip into one of the canals. Soaked from head to toe, he decided a quick shower and change of clothes were definitely in order!

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital and get checked out, Mr. Hobson?" the uniformed officer asked for about the third time in the last half-hour.

"P-positive," Gary stammered as he handed back the emergency blanket. "I j-just need a r-really hot sh-shower, and I'll be f-fine. Th-thanks for the r-ride home."

"The least we could do," the officer replied with a grin, "after the way you dived in after that kid. He would've been crushed between those two boats if not for your quick thinking."

"J-just happened to be in the r-right p-place at the right t-time," Gary shrugged, trying to suppress the shivers that still wracked his body. Damn! That water had been cold! "If you d-don't mind, I hear m-my sh-shower calling me."

An hour later, dressed in his most comfortable jeans, t-shirt, and a red plaid flannel shirt, Gary felt much more human, and able to face the world. On the way out the door, he grabbed his favorite jacket, the black leather bomber. He would leave it down in the office. Just in case. The paper had surprised him too many times to get complacent now.

"Gary! I'm so glad you're here!" Marissa Clark sighed with relief as he pushed his way into the packed room. "Graham and Richard both called in sick, Robin hurt her ankle and had to be taken to the hospital, and we . . . are . . .swamped!"

Mud-puddle green eyes took one look at the crowded bar and had to agree. There was not so much as an empty barstool. Vadim was rushing back and forth, trying to fill all the orders as they were shouted at him, but he was already seriously behind. His English was improving dramatically, but it was just not up to the confusion of having six things shouted to him at once. Gary wasn't too sure his own was, either.

Without hesitation, Gary pitched in behind the bar; quickly getting the drink orders caught up. Then he strapped on a white apron, loaded up a tray and started waiting tables. Kelly was his only waitress tonight. He greeted each of his 'regulars' with a quick grin and a few quiet words in his soft southern drawl, laughed at their jokes, and listened attentively to their woes. He was the one to answer the phone when Robin called to let them know it was just a sprain. She would be off the ankle for only a few days. Relieved, Robin had been with McGinty's longer than Gary had owned it, he told her to take as long as she needed. "Your job will still be here," Gary joked. "No one else in their right mind would touch it!"

The rest of the night passed in a blur. For the most part, the patrons had been well behaved and in a pretty jovial mood. A group of ladies at a table in the corner had made a few crude comments about the 'stud muffin' serving their drinks, but had generally behaved themselves. A few regulars made jokes about what an 'honor' it was to be served by the owner. He just shot them a shy smile and took their orders. There had been just the one fight over who was to drive between two guys who obviously shouldn't. Either of them. Gary had confiscated the car keys after they had broken a table, and possibly his jaw, and paid for the cab to take them both home. They could settle up the damages when they came back for the car.

Finally, the last customer paid his tab and wished them a goodnight. Gary slumped against the inner door with an explosive sigh. Hallelujah! He couldn't remember the last time they had been this busy! Every bone in his body ached! Especially his jaw. Something cold was pressed into his hand. He looked down at the full ice bag, then up at Marissa's smiling face. "Thanks," he mumbled, placing the ice against his swollen jaw.

"Thank you," Marissa returned. "I know you were already tired from this morning. You must be exhausted by now."

"I'm okay." The weariness in Gary's voice belied his words. "I'll just finish closing up, take another shower and hit the sack."

"You go on," his partner suggested. "I can close up."

"I still have to replace that broken table," he replied with a cautious shake of his head. "And Kelly needs to get home, too. Neither one of you should be out this late alone." Marissa opened her mouth to argue. "Go on. I just have to dig one out from the basement. It won't take long. Vadim can help me carry it up in the morning."

"You won't try to carry it up alone?"

"Not if it's too heavy," Gary hedged.

"Ga-ary?"

"What if I have to run out first thing? I should make Vadim carry it up alone?"

"The difference being . . .?"

"I'll . . .leave it by the stairs and we'll worry about getting it up tomorrow?"

Marissa patted him on the chest and gave him one of her dazzling smiles. "Good boy. We'll teach you how to delegate yet." Assured that her friend was not going to do anything careless, she let Kelly know that she was almost ready to go.

********

"Aachoo!"

Gary stifled another sneeze as the dust began to settle. It had taken him longer than he had thought it would to find a suitable table. They really needed to get rid of some of the junk down here, he decided. There were a number of old tables, but most had been in almost as bad of a shape as the one he was replacing! He had finally found a nice one buried behind an old jukebox that had obviously seen better days, and three cases of sixty year old Scotch that he had not even known was down there. And it was Glenlivet! A real find! He would have to save that for a really special occasion!

He finally wrestled the small table to the foot of the stairs. Suddenly, looking up at the steep rise of the stairs, Marissa's suggestion made really good sense. He was simply too tired to manhandle the solid oak table up that incline. In fact, he was sorely tempted to just pile up a bunch of dust covers he had seen, and sack out on the floor. The cat could wake him in the morning. Finally, however, the lure of the shower was too strong. With a sigh he dragged his weary body up the stairs. As he paused at the basement door, his sweat soaked shirt suddenly felt ice cold. He made a quick detour to grab his jacket and slip it on. His feet dragging in weariness, he made his way through the office, intent on nothing more strenuous than going up the stairs leading to his loft, his shower and, ultimately, to his bed. He reached out and flicked the light switch. He was startled by a flash/pop, then it was dark again. Damn! Always something! Wearily, Gary grasped the railing and gingerly felt his way up the steps, counting each one. A little trick he learned from having been being blinded for a couple of days. 'Amazing the things that you learn without realizing that you have,' he mused.

Once in the loft, he flicked on the lights, then rummaged around until he had found the spare bulbs. This would only take a moment, and then he wouldn't have to worry about falling down unlit steps in the morning. For about the fiftieth time, he wished the contractors he had hired to replace the ancient wiring could have finished as quickly as the plumbers had. They had finished replacing the burst pipes weeks ago. While the main part of the building had been refitted well enough to reopen, some problem with the codes had kept the electricians from getting to the second floor. Or to the stairway. That had left him effectively with only the one 'temporary' work light over head. The one that had been there for several weeks. Now he didn't even have that to work with. 'Now, where was that step stool? Aha!'

Gary set the stool almost directly under the fixture. One leg seemed a little unsteady, but it wasn't too bad. This would only take a second, anyway. He quickly unscrewed the burnt out bulb and tossed it into a wastebasket in the corner. As he was getting the new bulb in position, the stool wobbled. Whoa! Maybe he should let this . . . The leg of the stool facing the stairs buckled. Acting instinctively, Gary grabbed at the light fixture to stop himself from following the stool to the bottom of the stairs! He hung there for a moment, about four or five feet off the floor. An easy drop, he thought. No prob . . .the fixture lurched in his hands. Bare wires brushed against his hands, and it was as if a giant fist slammed into him. His whole body jerked as the electrical current caused every muscle to contract at once, swinging him in a violent arc as he was practically thrown down the stairwell by the force of his own muscle spasms! He landed sprawled face up on top of the stool that had, literally, been his downfall.

Stunned, he tried to remain calm, assess the damage. He couldn't move. None of his muscles wanted to work. It even hurt to breathe. His left leg was buckled under him, and he felt wetness . . . Suddenly he was glad he couldn't see it. His back hurt where it lay across the top of the stool, but there was surprisingly little pain in his leg. Was that good or bad? And what about the lights dancing before his eyes? Pretty lights . . . Gary felt everything slipping away. Had he hit his head? Was that why everything seemed so . . .distant? Was he dying? Was this his fate? To die alone . . . in darkness? Had he escaped death in the old carpet store, only to have it find him here, in his own home?

How long would it be before he might be found? If at all? What time did Marissa usually come in? Seven, maybe? What time was it now? He tried to raise his arm to look at his watch, but his arms wouldn't move.

He felt . . .light . . .strange. He couldn't see, but he could feel the room spinning. Like a giant vortex, a black hole sucking his soul to oblivion . . .

********

Somewhere a bird was singing accompanied by a familiar scent. Roses? Who brought him roses? Did anyone else even know he liked roses? Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was . . . he wasn't in the hospital. Unless they had some new open-air therapy that he was previously unaware of. He was lying on bare ground. Really . . . soft . . .ground. He rolled off the mound of dirt and took a really good look.

A grave! He had been lying on top of a fresh grave! How . . .? Who . . .? And how was he able to move now? Curious, he looked for the first time at the headstone. What he read there stunned him. He took several unsteady steps back before his wobbly legs gave out and he sat down with a 'thud'.

'Gary Hobson
Born: 9/17/1965
Died: 5/15/1976
Our precious, most beloved son,
You will live on in our hearts forever.'

His grave! He had been lying on top of his own grave! But, it hadn't happened! Lucius Snow had saved him! And, if he was . . .dead . . .how could he be here, looking down at his . . .?

It was too much! Gary scrambled to his feet, unsure just what he was going to do, where he was going to go. He just knew he couldn't stay here! Pain shot up his left leg as he tried to put weight on it too fast, causing him to tumble to the ground once more. And his head hurt so much . . . making it so hard to think . . . The bright sunlight faded as he once again lost consciousness.

********

"Hey, pal. Mind telling me who you are? And what are you doing to my son's grave?"

Dazed, Gary opened his eyes, looking up toward the all too familiar voice. Who . . .? He looked up into a pair of blue eyes he found disturbingly familiar. He felt like he should know the grim faced man kneeling over him; but he was so . . . young! Hair that should be streaked with gray, was almost as thick and dark as his own. This man could be no older than his early forties. Why did Gary feel that was wrong? He didn't know what to say. What to do.

"I'm . . .I'm sorry," he finally managed. "I didn't mean to . . . I-I don't know how I got here. Or where 'here' is, Mr. . . ."

"Hobson. Bernie to my friends." Bernie leaned closer to the distraught younger man. "Lemme take a look." He touched the back of Gary's head lightly, eliciting a painful gasp. "Thought so. You took a hell of a jolt, pal. Can you stand?"

"W-with help," Gary admitted hesitantly. "M-my leg . . . it won't . . .I tried . . ." He waved a hand to indicate his current position.

"Fall down go boom, huh?" Bernie nodded knowingly. "Well, you don't smell like a liquor store, or look like a junkie. Can you remember your name?"

"G-Gary . . . Clark?" he offered looking around in confusion. What was he about to say? "I-I think I was . . .there was this . . . this accident."

"Car accident?" Bernie suggested anxiously. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"N-no, I was . . . alone," Gary assured him. "But . . .I can't . . .I don't know how I got here! This is . . . where?"

"Hickory, Indiana according to the sign coming into town," the elder Hobson nodded. He pushed himself to his feet, reaching down to help Gary. "C'mon, pal. Let's get you to a doctor. Hospital's just down the road."

Gary visibly paled at the suggestion, flinching away from Bernie's proffered hand. "I can't. I can't go to a . . . I can't pay. My . . . my wallet . . . I don't have . . ." Why couldn't he think? "My wallet, and my . . . my insurance cards. I-in the car . . . I think."

"Not a problem," Bernie assured him. "The hospital is happy to work with ya on that. Let me take you to the emergency room and get you looked at."

"N-no. Please, isn't there just s-someplace I can . . . lie down?" Gary pleaded. "I'm just . . . just a little tired."

Bernie squatted back down next to the younger man. Even to his untrained eye the kid looked more than just tired. He looked confused, scared and on the brink of exhaustion. Gary. It chilled him that this stranger bore the same name as the son he had so recently buried. What chilled him even more, this odd, frightened man had his son's eyes. That same haunted look he had when he had just woken up from a nightmare, or was hurting so deep inside that no one could reach in to help him. Even the shape of his eyes . . . He shook his head with a sad sigh. Give it up, Bernard, he admonished himself. Your Gary is gone. There's no bringing him back. This Gary needs your help now.

"My place isn't far from here," he finally decided. "With my . . . son . . . gone, and my . . . my wife in the hospital, I'm rattling around in that big ol' house like a marble in a tin can. Let me take you home with me and, if you aren't feeling better by tomorrow, we'll talk about the hospital then. Deal?"

To his relief, the younger man just nodded; his eyes closed as if too tired to argue further. He finally accepted Bernie's hand. As they touched, Gary felt . . . something. Like an electric shock, only different. Looking into Bernie's eyes, he could see that the older man felt it too. What was going on? It was Bernie that shattered the moment by hauling Gary to his feet. It was awkward trying to keep most of his weight on his right leg, but with Bernie to lean on, he made it to the car and slid into the passenger seat with a sigh. God, he hurt! Every bone and muscle in his body was screaming at him.

As Bernie started the car, Gary fought to stay awake. His eyes felt so heavy; and his head kept spinning like a top. He knew he needed to stay awake, but couldn't think why.

"Um, what . . .what was he like?" he asked. Keep talking, he thought. Keep someone talking. Stay with it. "Your son, I mean. Was he a . . . a good kid?"

"He was a great kid," Bernie sighed. "Big hearted, hard working, always looking out for the smaller kids. At school, I mean. He was the only . . .He, um, he died in Chicago a few weeks ago. There was this essay contest that he was a finalist in. Lois, that's my . . .my wife, she took him to Chicago for the finals. They were at the 'Sun-Times', getting ready to read their essays on TV. There was this little girl that G-Gary had gotten to know." He smiled wistfully at the thought. "The kid took after his old man there. He could charm the honey from the bees. Anyway, her essay was stolen. Gary had an idea who did it. This kid from Barrington had stolen it. Gary chased him to get it back. The little brat admitted all this later . . . after it was too late. Anyway, he confronted the kid; there was a fight; at which point the officials and Lois caught up with them. The other kid immediately accuses Gary of being the thief. Now, poor Gary, he always got tongue-tied when he was excited. And there were all these adults standing over him, and his mom. Poor kid never got a chance to defend himself. He was so embarrassed, he ran off to hide in the men's room. His mom couldn't follow him in there, so she went to look for someone to go in and bring him out. The next thing she knew, there was this . . . W-witnesses said he ran out of the men's room like the devil was chasing him. He r-ran out the door towards the street . . . and tripped on the curb . . ."

"I'm sorry," Gary mumbled sadly. "You must've been . . .I mean I would've been . . ."

"Yeah," Bernie replied tersely. "Well, we all took it pretty hard. I mean, he wasn't even eleven yet! Although the papers said he was. And Lois . . . Man, she really took it hard! Her fault for not having more faith in him, she said. She collapsed at the funeral. J-just fell apart at the seams. Doctors are calling it 'nervous collapse'. I ask you, what's the difference between 'collapse' and 'breakdown'? Can you tell me that?" He glanced over at his way too quiet passenger. "Gar? You still with me, pal?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I'm still . . .So, where is she? What hospital, I mean."

The kid was about dead on his feet, Bernie decided. "The same one I was gonna take you to," he shrugged. "I still think you should see a doctor yourself."

Gary made an effort to sit up straighter, seem more alert. He couldn't let . . . Bernie see how bad he really felt. He didn't understand it himself; but he felt that he could not risk being confined right now.

"I'm okay," he lied. "Just a little banged up. Um, do you . . . do you have any other . . . I mean he . . ."

"No," Bernie sighed wistfully. "That's what makes it so hard, I guess. Gary was the only one we were meant to have. Not that we didn't try, though," he added with a sad smile. "The trying was kinda fun."

His pallor only made the blush that crept up Gary's face all the more evident. He couldn't believe Bernie had said something like that to a total stranger! Then again, he couldn't understand a lot of things right now. Like why Bernie's sad tale sounded so familiar.

"Here we are," Bernie said cheerfully as they turned down a familiar drive.

Gary looked up at the house. It seemed . . . wrong somehow. Images of what he saw now kept getting overlaid with images of . . .something. A place that was almost, but not quite the same. Subtle changes that seemed important in some way that he couldn't quite find the words to define. Where was the trellis he and Dad . . . ? No, that wasn't here. Was it? The old trellis still stood against the house; slats broken or missing, sadly in need of paint. Why did he remember tearing that same trellis down and helping . . . someone . . . Bernie? replace it. He could even remember the feel of the wood, the weight of the hammer, even the way the ladder shook . . .He winced as a knife blade of pain sliced through the back of his head and straight to the spot directly between his eyes. There were other things, too. None so memorable as that trellis, nor as obvious; but jarringly significant all the same.

"C'mon, Gar," the elder Hobson urged as he opened the car door for his 'guest', "Let's get you inside and wrap you around a plate of my special gnocchi. Guaranteed to be the best you ever tasted."

Gary's stomach gave a lurch at just the thought of food. His skull felt as if it was about to burst open from the pain! He slowly shook his head.

"Please, just . . . could I just have something to drink?" he pleaded in a pained voice. His thoughts kept scattering like leaves in a windstorm. One moment he knew who he was, who Bernie was. Knew what the connection was between them. The next . . . What was going on? If only he could think!

As Bernie helped him from the car, Gary thought he saw something . . . someone . . . out of the corner of his eye. Just a flash of orange and a glimpse of . . . what? He winced as he turned his head a little too quickly, trying to get a better look at . . . nothing. He could have sworn . . .

"You got a cat?" he asked in a strained voice. Why did he dread the answer?

"A cat? No. Why?"

"Thought I just saw . . . Must belong to the kid," Gary murmured vaguely.

"What kid?" Bernie asked, looking around hurriedly. "If it's that Whittaker kid lookin' to mess up my green house again . . ."

Gary just gave him a strained smile and shook his head. "J-just some kid," he sighed. He needed to sit down . . .now. "Must've ducked . . . ducked around the corner there." He waved his right hand in the general area of the porch.

Casting a worried glance towards his greenhouse, Bernie slipped an arm around Gary's waist. It was all the kid could do to hobble up the steps. 'Maybe I should consider putting in a ramp?' he thought. 'Now, where did that come from? Why would I need a ramp?' Finally, he was able to lower his charge into an overstuffed armchair. The younger man sank into the cushions with a sigh of relief. He'd made it! And without falling flat on his face.

"What'll ya have?" Bernie asked as he ducked into the kitchen. "We got ice tea, Pepsi and water. Oh! and grape juice. Take your pick."

"Tea?"

"Comin' up.

As Bernie set about putting ice in glasses, Gary let his tired, heavy lidded eyes drift around the room. It was obvious that it had been decorated with a mother's touch. The furniture was all sturdy and comfortable; usually decorated with a throw of some type. Small rugs covered high traffic areas. And pictures lined the mantle along with the prerequisite candlesticks and clock. From where he sat, he could barely make out any details, but they all seemed to show either Bernie or some blonde woman with a small, dark-haired boy. One showed all three of them standing in front of a large, silver vehicle. A camper, maybe? Gary just couldn't tell.

Something moved just in the corner of his eye. Turning his head quickly, Gary winced as the sudden movement shot pain into the area behind his eyes, causing the room to sway. He pressed the heels of his hands tightly against his temples, closing his eyes in a futile effort to shut out the pain. What was it he had seen? A cat? He was pretty sure that was what he had seen, but . . . hadn't Bernie said that they didn't have a cat?

Gary raised his head slightly as the pain eased to bearable levels. Why was he here? Why was he so sure there was a 'why'? Also, how had he gotten here? There had been no car accident. For some reason he was sure of that! He was equally sure that he had not walked to the cemetery.

There it was again! That flash of orange close to the floor. He lurched to his feet, almost toppling over in his haste. That kid! He was in the house! Gary just caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared into the next room; but he was sure it was the same child he had seen while getting out of the car. A boy of about eleven years, with dark hair and sad eyes. He took another clumsy step towards the door the boy and cat had vanished through. Agony seared his left leg as he tried to put weight on it. Gary saved himself from a nasty fall by grabbing the nearest support; the mantle. Grasping fingers brushed against the picture of the Hobson family, knocking it off the shelf. He snatched it as it fell in a move so quick, he surprised even himself. Balancing on his good leg, Gary set the photo back in its rightful place. As he did so, he got a closer look at the three smiling figures.

"Here we go," Bernie exclaimed cheerfully as he carried in a small tray loaded with two glasses of ice and a large pitcher of tea. "Sorry it took so long. Had to find the tray. Lois'll kill me if she comes back to find water stains . . ." He noticed Gary standing frozen by the fireplace, a strange look on his pale features. "What's wrong?"

"The . . . the boy," Gary whispered. "In the p-pictures. Who is he?"

" 'Scuse me?"

"Who's the b-boy?" Gary repeated in a stronger voice. "The-the one in all the pictures."

Bernie stepped up next to him and gently took down the very picture he had knocked over. Smiling sadly back at that moment of joy which, now, could never be recaptured, he replied. "That's my Gary. My son."

The walls wavered at the edge of his vision as Gary's gaze locked on the photo. He suddenly found himself struggling to breathe. "That can't be!" he whispered. "It can't . . .Th-that's him!"

"Him who?" Bernie asked, perplexed. "What are you talkin' about?"

"The kid . . . outside," the younger man tried to explain. His breath was starting to come in ragged little gasps. "I saw . . .saw him again . . . in here! W-with the . . .the cat!"

"What cat? Kiddo, you're not making any sense!" He quickly set the picture back down and grabbed Gary's arm. "Look, you just have a seat back over here. I'm callin' the hospital. You must've hit your head harder than you thought."

Gary jerked his arm out of Bernie's grasp, his eyes filled with an angry, desperate look. "I'm not crazy! I know . . .I know what I saw!"

Confused, Bernie tried to placate his agitated guest. 'Christ! What have I gotten into?' he thought to himself. 'The guy is losin' it!'

"It's okay, Gar," he said in his most soothing voice. "It's okay. You've been through all kinds of . . .what . . . I don't know. And you've had a pretty hard knock to the old coconut to boot. It's only natural that things won't make sense for a while." As he spoke he was keeping pace with Gary as the younger man stumbled one painful step at a time backward, toward the corner by the fireplace. The anger in his eyes was being replaced by a silent plea. 'The kid's so scared he can't think straight.'

The moment Gary's back hit the wall, his legs gave out. With a quiet sob, he slowly slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Rocking slowly back and forth, he kept repeating the same phrase in a low, heart-wrenching moan. "I'm not crazy. I'm not." Dimly, he was aware that Bernie had left the room. He could hear him speaking to someone else. Was he calling the hospital? Gary didn't care anymore. None of this made any sense! Sobbing quietly to himself, he curled into a ball, laying his head on his arms. "Please, God! Just let me wake up!" he prayed as reality left him behind once more.


****************

There were no birds this time; no wind stirring the branches of nearby trees. Just the muffled sound of voices beyond a closed door. Instead of cold bare ground, he was laying on clean sheets with a light blanket drawn almost to his chin. He tried to turn over only to find that padded leather straps secured his arms. Gary felt a moment of panic at this discovery. 'They've locked me up!' he thought in despair, fighting back the tears he felt welling in his eyes. "They think I'm . . .I'm crazy!" he murmured.

"Not at all, Kiddo."

Gary slowly turned his head until he could see who had spoken. Bernie was just laying aside the newspaper he had been reading while waiting for his strange charge to wake up. The younger man tugged ineffectively at the restraints.

"Then why this?" he asked, his voice not much more than a strained whisper.

"You kept pulling out your tubes," Bernie told him. "Don't you remember? By the time the ambulance got there, you were pretty much out of it. Delirious. You were hot as a pistol, too. The docs' think that's what caused you to hallucinate. You know; fever dreams. They've been pumping you full of fluids and medicine to bring down your temperature, and the nurses have all taken turns giving you alcohol rubs." He couldn't suppress a wicked grin at the flush that crept up Gary's cheeks at this disclosure. "You're real popular with the nurses, Gar. They keep drawing lots to see who gets to take care of you."

Flustered, Gary turned his scarlet face towards the window. "H-how long . . .how long have I, um, have I been here?"

"Just a little over two days. Your fever finally broke early this morning." The older man shifted uncomfortably in the hard, vinyl covered chair. "You . . . um, you said some pretty strange things while you were . . .Ahm, who's Marissa?"

Startled, Gary looked back at the older man. "M-Marissa?"

"Yeah. You kept asking for her and some guy named Chuck. There was something in some paper you needed help with," he reported with a puzzled frown. "You also called for your parents."

"I-I did?"

"Ye-ah," Bernie replied, hunching forward, his voice suddenly very low. "I asked you who they were, and where to find them." He peered closely into Gary's mud-puddle green eyes. His son's eyes. "Do you know who you are now?"

Puzzled, Gary began to wonder which of them was crazy. What did he mean by that?

"You knew things, Gar," Bernie reminded him. "Things that only my Gary could've known. About the trellis. We were gonna fix that up as a surprise for his mom. Right after they got back from the contest. And the teacher he had a crush on in the third grade. He was too embarrassed to tell anyone but me about that!"

Gary fought down a feeling of panic and confusion as Bernie's words tugged at his fragmented memory. It was impossible! Gary Hobson was just a child! A dead child! He was an adult, in his thirty's! How could this man possibly think . . .?

"Miss Pritchet," he murmured. "Her name was Miss Angela Pritchet." Dazed he tilted his head to meet Bernie's expectant gaze. "How . . . how could I know that? What's wrong with me?"

"Physically, you've got the docs stumped on that," the older man sighed. "Your leg has swollen to almost twice its size, but there's no injury they can find. Certainly nothing to cause a blood clot or anything like that. That goose egg at the back of your head could explain the amnesia and confusion. But, they don't know what caused your sudden fever and delirium." He leaned in a little closer. "What I don't . . . can't understand is, how can you be my son? He's . . . gone. Forever. We'll never get the chance to know the man he might've become. Unless that man is you!"

The look Gary gave Bernie was a bewildered mix of panic and pain. The strained smile was a poor effort to cover the fear that was so evident in the younger man's eyes.

"I'm not sure who's crazier," he mumbled. "You or me." He gave the straps another weak tug. "Could you . . . please?"

"Not 'til you promise not to yank anymore tubes," Bernie grimaced. "You had blood everywhere!"

"Just the one . . ." he gestured helplessly to the area below his waist, his face a study in scarlet.

"I . . . um, I think I better get the nurse," the older man gulped, not bothering to conceal his discomfort. "That's the one you yanked before."

Gary's eyes grew wide as Bernie's departing words sank in. "Ho, boy."

**********

Gary had to submit to a few more indignities before the doctors would allow that particular tube to be removed. A process that proved highly embarrassing on its own. Not to mention painful. Finally, he was allowed up in a wheelchair. He squirmed uncomfortably as he tried to find a better position, trying not to think about what was throbbing, or why.

"I've been telling Lois about you, " Bernie was saying as he pushed Gary down the hall. "Not what I think I know. Just what you've been able to tell me, the kind of guy you seem to be. That kinda stuff."

"What did she-she say?" Gary asked nervously. "Wh . . . when you told her."

"Nothin'," Bernie sighed. "She hasn't said a word since they brought her here. I keep tryin' to get 'em to let me take her home. But . . . the docs think she might try to hurt herself. I think they're full of it. Normally, Lois is one of the steadiest, most reliable people in the world. Given time to adjust, there isn't anything she can't handle. This just . . . knocked the wind out of her. She'll get better. She has to," he added almost under his breath.

"Is that where we're going?"

"Of course!" the older man smiled. "I always take my new friends to meet the little woman!"

*********

Gary's first glimpse of Lois Hobson was of a woman in the last stages of despair. She was sitting in an armchair, staring blankly out the window of her room. He had to wonder if she knew how pretty a day it was. Or if she could hear the birds singing, if her hollow-eyed stare could see how cheerfully they played in the tree just beyond the glass. Parking the wheelchair just far enough inside the door so as not to block traffic, Bernie walked casually around the bed to his wife's side.

"Hi, Honey," he said as he tenderly kissed her cheek. "I've brought someone to meet you. Remember that fella I was tellin' you about? The one I found . . . found at . . . beside Gary? Guess what? His name is Gary too? Wonder if his folks were like us, huh? Wouldn't that be a kick in the head? C'mon, Lois. Don't be rude. Talk to me," he pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes.

"M-maybe if we just . . . talk," Gary suggested. "We could just . . . you know . . . toss a few subjects around. See if we hit on something she finds interesting enough to join in? How . . . how did you meet?"

"We grew up together," Bernie smiled, taking his silent wife's hand, gently stroking it as he talked. Lois gave no sign that she even noticed. "She was the nosey little tagalong next door. Until high school. Then . . . she blossomed into this . . . All of a sudden, I noticed how beautiful she was. Not fashion model beautiful or goddess on a pedestal . . . Real beauty. Right down to the bone gorgeous! The kind you want to hold onto forever. I knew then that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I wanted to settle down, raise a family. You know the 'Dream'. But, I never dared to hope that she'd settle for a mug like me."

"So, how . . . how did you end up married?" Gary asked, rubbing his head distractedly. He was beginning to feel a little . . . strange.

Bernie gave a little chuckle as he straightened Lois' lap robe, laying her hand back into her lap. "As usual, she was way ahead of me," he replied. "One night, we were at the drive in. For the life of me, I can't remember what movie we'd gone to see. But, I'll never forget the kiss she laid on me. Or what it led to. A few months later, we had to get married. All because of that one moment of passion . . ."

" . . .in the back of a Camarro," Gary whispered, his face pale. He couldn't breathe. His pulse raced as memories came flooding back. A woman standing in front of him. Telling him how badly she wanted grandchildren. Letting it slip that he had not been planned, but was a joyful 'accident'. "All because of one moment's passion in the back of a Camarro," he repeated breathlessly. Neither he nor Bernie saw the peculiar look that appeared on Lois Hobson's face.

"Camarro? It wasn't a Camarro! That's the same mistake Lois . . ."

" G-Gary?" Her voice was little more than a whisper as she turned in her seat.

Awkwardly, Gary tried to maneuver the wheelchair around the end of the bed. All the while saying, "I'm here, Mom. I'm right here!" In his haste, he got the front wheel caught under the corner. Frustrated, he pushed himself out of the chair, forgetting about his injured leg. The chair shot backwards as he tumbled to the floor . . . only to be caught by two pairs of hands. The charge that went through all three of them was like a circuit being closed. Gary pulled his parents close to him as they all sank into a tearful heap. He remembered everything, who he was, what he was, and most importantly, where he was. He was Gary Hobson, son of Bernie and Lois Hobson, and he had come home!

*****************

"It's like one of those science fiction movies," Lois was saying as they drove home. "You must have been caught in a . . .a time warp or something!"

"A time warp? On my stairway?" Gary asked, giving her a strange look. "That just so happened to bring me to my own . . . my own grave? That's a little bizarre, Mom, even for me." He pulled her in closer; still unable to believe it was really her. That any of this was actually happening. The doctors had been stunned at her 'miraculous' recovery. And dismayed at him for trying to walk on a leg that looked like he had tried to stuff a watermelon down his pants legs. Except that he wasn't wearing pants at the time. They had wanted to keep them both for further testing, but they had all been adamant about going home. That had been a problem for Gary, at first. Because of the mysterious nature of his illness, the doctors had been reluctant to release him without supervision. Bernie and Lois had assured them that he would be well 'looked after'.

"Then can you explain it?" she challenged him. "You're the one that's going to be getting tomorrow's newspaper, in twenty years. And trying to keep it a secret from your own mother, I might add! You're the one this is happening to. So tell us what you think!"

"I'm not sure what to think," Gary admitted. "Seeing mys . . .my ghost, and the cat . . .I can't help but think that the paper is involved somehow. Stuff like this has happened before, but never . . . I mean, I was always in pretty good shape physically, even if I was confused as hell. Sorry, Mom. Confused as heck. And I never lost so much of my memory before. There's just so much to this I still don't understand."

Lois snuggled her head into her grown son's chest with a happy sigh. "Well, one thing I know. My son would have grown into a wonderful, compassionate, and handsome man. A hero in every sense of the word. I always knew you were special," she added with a little catch in her voice. "I just never knew how right I was to feel that way."

"Hey! I'm gettin' jealous up here," Bernie called from the front seat. "Save a little of that cuddling for your chauffeur," he teased.

"Anything you say . . . Dad," Gary replied with an easy grin. He could almost forget the pain in his leg; he had gotten so used to it by now. And the pain in his head hadn't bothered him for over an hour. It would be so easy to get caught up in the moment. To forget that he was here for a reason, even if he hadn't the slightest clue what it was.

**********

Bernie pulled the car up as close to the front door as he could. Gary was still a little clumsy on the crutches he was supposed to be using to get around on until his leg healed. If it ever did. It took him a moment to get his balance on the unwieldy props. While his mom hovered beside him, he managed a few awkward steps.

"This is the pits," he complained. "And I don't understand why this is so hard."

"You're just not used to them, Gary," Lois said encouragingly. "It'll take you a little time to get the hang of it."

"I've been on crutches before, Mom," Gary grunted. "It wasn't this hard. This right leg just doesn't want, unh! to get with the . . . program." They were finally at the first step. By the time he had maneuvered his way onto the porch, Gary was bathed in a fine sheen of sweat. 'Lord, help me!' he prayed. 'I'll never make it at this . . .'

"Mrowwr!"

Gary froze at the familiar sound, his eyes widening in shock. His mother, just one step behind, almost knocked him over. Concerned, she peeked around her son to see what was blocking his way.

"Is that . . .?"

"In the flesh," he murmured woodenly. "Mom, meet the cat. Cat, this is my mother. Now, could you please let us by?"

Lois Hobson stepped around her son, giving him an exasperated look. "Don't be silly, Gary. He can't understand what . . ."

The cat daintily stepped to one side, as if to let them pass. Stunned, Lois gave the small feline a closer look. The look she got in return conveyed an intelligence that seemed too vast for such a tiny body. Then she saw what the cat had been sitting on. Slowly, she reached down and picked up a copy of the Chicago Sun-Times. She folded the paper and stuck it in her pocket, much as Gary would do twenty years later.

"Let's get you inside," she said, taking him by the arm. By the time she had him settled in the same armchair as before, Bernie had parked the car and burst through the back door with his usual energy and high spirits.

"You two just stay seated," he commanded happily. "I'll whip up a dinner that'll make you forget all about that stuff they tried to pass off as food at the . . .What's wrong?"

Gary was leaning back in the chair, his eyes closed. Lois was standing by the mantle, a newspaper clutched in her white-knuckled hands. "This isn't right," she said in a pain filled whisper. "We just found each other. We should have more time!"

"Time's what it's all about, Mom," Gary sighed. "I have to stop whatever needs to be stopped. Why is it coming to me now, though? It should still be going to Lucius Snow!"

"Who?" Bernie and Lois cried together. Both of them were staring at Gary like he had sprouted a third eye.

"Lucius Snow," he repeated, puzzled by their intense reaction. "A typesetter at the Sun-Times. He's been getting the paper for about twenty years or so himself by now. Why? What's the matter?"

Lois snatched open the paper as everything fell into place in her mind. It all made sense. In a sick, horrifying way, it made sense. Wordlessly, she handed the paper to Bernie. He read the date, then the headline. 'Oh my God!' he thought. 'Oh my dear God!'

Puzzled, Gary reached up and plucked the paper from his father's numb fingers. He expected the date to be some time in June of '76. He had lost track of the days. And, from his parents' reaction, the headline must be some catastrophic event. Gary was totally unprepared for what he read.

The date was November 23rd, 1963. The headline was about the assassination of President Kennedy. The story went on to describe the events of that fateful day in lurid detail, culminating in the recovery of the body of the assassin in the book depository. The body? But Oswald was arrested! He had been found alive, only to be shot and killed later by Jack Ruby! Puzzled, he read on. Secret Service agent J. T. Marley had accosted the assassin at the scene, shooting him once through the heart. A plane ticket identified the assassin as . . . Lucius Snow!

"That's . . . that's wrong," Gary told them in a strained whisper. "That's all wrong! Lucius Snow went to Dallas to stop Lee Harvey Oswald! I know that! He almost succeeded, too! Only he didn't know that . . . Marley! Marley framed Snow when Oswald ran! He had to have a patsy to take the blame, so he killed Snow when he showed up to . . . That's why . . . Snow wasn't there to save me, and I died. Because I died, there won't be anyone to stop Marley in '96. He'll . . . he'll do it again. The son of a b . . ." He shot his mother an apologetic look.

"I have to go back further," he told her. "I have to go back to the day of the Kennedy assassination and keep Snow from getting killed. If I don't . . ."

"If you don't . . . what?" Bernie asked. "You stay here with us? Would that be so bad?"

"No," Gary sighed. "Not if it was that simple. But, it's not. It never is. If I don't stop Lucius Snow from going into that room at the book depository . . . if he . . . if he dies, I die. For good."

************

Later that night, Gary lay stretched out on the sofa, his leg propped on a couple of extra pillows. Lois and Bernie had wanted him to take their Gary's room, but one look at the stairs had convinced him that it was not a good idea. He had tried to convince them to take him back to the cemetery tonight, but they wouldn't hear of it. Tomorrow would be soon enough, they had pleaded. What could one more day hurt?

Gary had not had the heart to tell them everything he had remembered. He didn't think it would do them any good to know how serious his predicament really was. However he had come to be here, he was also lying on the stairs leading up to his loft. And he was dying. Somehow, he knew his time to act was growing short. Just walking, even with the aid of the crutches, was becoming more and more difficult. He was slowly losing sensation in his legs. How long before he couldn't function at all?

He stared at the ceiling as he considered what he knew he must do. It wouldn't be fair to leave without some kind of good-bye. Nor did he think they could ever bring themselves to do what he was asking. It would be like watching him die a second time. Yet, if he succeeded, he wouldn't have died the first time! Trying to figure it out was giving him another headache.

Finally, his decision made, Gary painfully levered himself to a sitting position. It took him a few minutes to struggle into his clothes and, ultimately, to his feet. Laboriously, he made his way to Bernie's study and eased himself into the chair at the desk and flicked on the lamp. 'Now where did Mom keep . . .' He finally found some stationery and a pen. After several minutes he sat back to read over what he had written.

'Dear Mom and Dad;

I'm sorry I have to leave so soon, but I really have no choice. If I don't get started on the next phase of this journey tonight, I won't have the strength left to complete it. It I don't complete it, I will die. I know that isn't what you want. Leaving like this is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. On the plus side though, if I succeed, you will have no memory of any of this, because your Gary will not have died. And we would never have met. Don't bother trying to figure it out. This is the third time I've done something like this and I still don't have a clue as to how it works. For the last twenty-four years, I have been living on 'borrowed' time. It may very well be that my 'note' has come due.

I know, now, that my birth was not in your plans. That you could have taken the 'easy' way out, but chose, instead, to have me and to love me. For that, I thank you. Just know that your son loves you, has always loved you, and will continue to love you even if Death wins this round.

Your loving son,
Now and forever,
Gary'

He folded the note carefully and stuffed it into an envelope. Pulling himself up on his crutches with considerable effort, he struggled into the living room where he placed the message in front of the picture of the three of them. Seeing it there, with just the words 'Mom and Dad' scrawled on the front, reminded him of another time he had done something very similar. He had been sure he was going to die then, too. It turned out to be a test. Whether of his resolve to continue, or simply his will to live, he didn't know. Later, he didn't even care. He passed. That was all that had mattered then. And he had found the strength and the will to continue in his mission to save the world. One life at a time.

The car keys hung on a hook by the back door, as they always had for as long as he could remember. Getting out the back door and into the garage without making a racket was a miracle all in itself, but make it he did. Opening the garage door wasn't too hard. Actually getting into the car, now that. . . Gary finally managed to get his swollen leg to bend enough to fit under the dashboard. After that, things were a lot easier. All he had to do was start the car and back it out onto the street. Riiigghht!

There was no other traffic to worry about. In a small, rural town like Hickory, most people were in bed, or at least off the street well before midnight. Gary pretty much had the roads to himself. His only real problem was that it was becoming increasingly difficult to move either leg. Gary drove carefully, just a little under the speed limit. Still, he watched the road nervously. His reaction time was dangerously slow. He ran a couple of stop signs before he learned to slow down well in advance.

Because he was concentrating so hard on the road and his driving, Gary failed to notice the police cruiser parked just off the road.

"Hey! Isn't that Bernie Hobson's car?" the officer behind the wheel asked his partner.

The older officer tried to get a better look at the slow moving car. "I think you're right, Cliff. But, that's not Bernie driving. He's being way too careful for that to be Bernie Hobson! Let's just follow him 'til I check it out." He reached for his mike and keyed the transmitter. "Chloe, this is Dave. Could you call Bernie Hobson and have him check his garage? We think someone may have taken his pride and joy for a little midnight ride."

"Roger that, Dave." A few minutes later the dispatcher came back. "His car is missing all right, Dave," Chloe told him. "But he says he knows the man who's driving. Wants to know if you can just bring him home. And to please be gentle. The guy just got out of the hospital today and has trouble walking."

"Thanks, Chloe," Dave responded. "We'll play nice." He turned to his partner. "You heard the lady, Cliff. Let's make our presence known."

With a lopsided grin, Cliff edged the cruiser up until the two vehicles were almost touching, then he gave a quick burst on the siren and flashed his lights.

Startled, Gary flicked a glance at the rear view mirror. 'No!' he thought grimly. 'Not now! I don't have time for this!' Casting caution out the window, he slammed down on the accelerator. With a squeal of tires, the car leaped forward, catching the officers by surprise. He managed to get almost half a mile ahead before they recovered and sped after him.

The next few minutes were a blur in more than one sense of the word. Streetlights flashed by as the speedometer needle climbed. He took corners faster than he ever dreamed he could, simply because he was not able to move his foot fast enough to slow down until it was almost too late. Then he had to put everything he had into maintaining control. Finally, he saw the archway that marked the entrance to the cemetery. As quickly as he saw it, he was already past. Taking the narrow lanes way too fast, Gary finally spotted his destination. 'His' grave was under that huge oak tree. Fortunately, there were no obstacles between the curb and the gravesite. He would have been reluctant to drive over someone else's resting-place.

The officer's parked their cruiser at the curb as Gary finally halted the car. They watched patiently as he struggled out of the vehicle and adjusted the crutches under his arms, falling twice in the process. Evidently, they thought to let him wear himself out, then take him without a struggle. 'Think again!'

"What is he up to?" Cliff wondered aloud. "Man, he must be on some powerful kinda drugs to do something this crazy."

"Either that," Dave agreed, "or he's just plain crazy. Let's round him up and get him home."

Gary was ready to weep with frustration. It was all he could do to drag himself one agonizing step at a time to the beckoning mound. His legs were almost useless. Had he waited too long? What if he couldn't move at all when he got . . . wherever he had to go. Fortunately, the two officers didn't seem to think he was going anywhere. As he hunched along the few feet to the grave, they took their time getting out of the cruiser, strolling almost casually to catch up with him. Just another two feet and he could fall the rest of the way! 'C'mon!' he told himself angrily. 'You can do this! One more . . .!' The right crutch snagged on a root, sending Gary sprawling . . .

. . . right on top of the grave! As Dave and Cliff watched in amazement, the man they had thought to be such an easy collar just seconds before, seemed to slowly dissolve into the small mound that covered the body of little Gary Hobson. At least . . . in this reality.

*****************

Stunned, the two officers watched as their quarry seemed to . . . vanish into the grave of the Hobson child. Cautiously they approached the last place they had seen the fleeing man. Except for a slight indentation that looked vaguely man-shaped, there was no sign that he had ever existed.

"So . . .ahm, h-how do you want to report this, Dave?" Cliff stammered nervously.

The older officer turned to give Cliff a look that seriously questioned his sanity. "It never happened," he replied. "Got that? None of this," he added, waving a hand at the car and the grave, "ever . . .happened. The guy . . . gave us the slip. We found the car here at the cemetery, but no sign of the driver. Got it?"

"B-but Dave . . .!"

"You want a psych evaluation on your record? 'Cause they'll have us talkin' to the couch jockeys for months if we even try to tell them . . . whatever it was we saw. No, we just take the car in and keep our mouths shut. Trust me, it's safer that way."

******************

It was different this time. There was the now familiar feeling of vertigo and of endlessly falling into nothingness. But, he remained aware through the whole ordeal. Aware of the tumbling, gut churning ride, the flashes of light and darkness, like day and night rolling backwards at incredible speed. Clinging desperately to the crutches, he feared that he would fall forever.

The wild ride ended with a bone jarring thump. Dazed, Gary fought to draw air into his tortured body, at the same time trying to get a sense of his surroundings. He could hear voices in the distance. Lots of excited, laughing, chattering, expectant voices. He was bathed in warmth as he lay on something soft. Running his hand over the surface upon which he lay, he felt close-cropped grass. Finally daring to open his eyes, Gary squinted up into a sun almost at its zenith. Not quite noon, he judged groggily. Slowly raising his head to look around, he found himself near the top of a grassy swathe sloping down to a paved road. There were several small groups of people between him and the road and a row of low growing bushes just above him.

As Gary struggled to sit up, he also tried to marshal his scattered wits. 'This has to be Dallas,' he thought. 'Please God, let me have made it in time!'

Trying to get his legs under him on the sloping ground was made twice as difficult by his continued dependence on the crutches he had managed to bring with him to this time. Just exactly how he had managed that, he refused to even consider thinking about. He was way past caring about the 'how' or the 'why'. It was all he could do to deal with the 'what'. Right now, that meant stopping Lucius Snow from being framed and murdered.

Pain shot up his spine as he tried to lever himself erect. Oh, God! Screaming, breath stealing pain! He looked around for something, anything, to use as a support to drag himself upright. A few yards away was a sturdy looking tree. Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he dragged himself over. Standing both crutches upright, and bracing himself against the thick trunk, he slowly pulled himself to his feet. An eternity later, actually mere minutes, he leaned upright against the rough bark, trying to catch his breath. 'God! Help me!' he silently pleaded. Finally, he felt as if he could go on. Staring down the slope to the street below, he prayed that he would make it.

Somehow, Gary finally made it to the sidewalk which ran parallel to the empty street without falling. Uniformed officers paced back and forth, eyeing the expectant crowd with, to Gary's mind, at least, not nearly enough suspicion.

Glancing down, he noticed that his shadow had all but disappeared. It must be almost noon, he judged. 'Certainly no later than eleven thirty,' he prayed. He eyed the distance to the infamous brick building with a sinking heart. Less than a hundred yards, he judged. Normally, he could have run that distance in just a little over a minute even through a crowd. Today, when his need for speed was the greatest, he would be lucky to make it before the fatal shot was fired! Gritting his teeth, Gary put all he had into moving his stubborn legs.

Many times during that painfully slow progression, Gary thought of asking for help. But, whom could he trust? What if Marley had people watching for trouble? That man with the umbrella, for instance? Why was he carrying an umbrella on such a clear, sunny day? And that man standing across and down the street, who kept glancing at the upper floors of the very building Gary was struggling so desperately to reach? Another lookout? Gary knew that he was probably just being paranoid; that only Marley and Oswald were truly involved. But, could he take that chance? In his own time, Marley had indicated that he was just a hired gun. If that was true, whom had he worked for? Who had he worked with?

Several people in the crowded street eyed his frantic, painful progress with open curiosity, but no one moved to stop, or assist him. Grunting with each agonizing step, Gary never took his eyes off his goal. The Texas Schoolbook Depository. The place where Lee Harvey Oswald was preparing to fire the fatal shot that would shock the nation. Had Marley drawn him into his web the same way he had tried to lure Gary? "Like a moth to the flame." Is that how it had been for the ex-marine? Had he been a hapless pawn, as Marley had intended for Gary to be? Or had he joined the plot willingly? Was he just another soul the rogue agent had 'borrowed' so that he could 'throw it away'? Or was he damned by his own desire?

Gary cursed his useless legs as, panting with fear and exertion, he finally reached his goal. Pausing a minute to catch his breath, Gary eyed the steps of the entryway with dismay. There weren't many, but it was still a considerable hurdle to overcome. Having to depend almost entirely on the crutches, now, just to stay upright, he would have to drag himself up one painful step at a time. Time. Something he had precious little of right now. Jaw clenched, he determinedly set to his Herculean task.

By the time he reached the top step, Gary was trembling with exhaustion. 'God! How'm I ever gonna . . .? An elevator! Thank you thank you thank you!' Pushing through the door leading into the main part of the building, Gary spotted the answer to his prayers just a few feet away. As soon as he was within reach, he steadied himself on his wooden props enough to push the call button. After that the minutes seemed to drag as the conveyance stopped at every floor above before it finally reached his. Several people stepped off the elevator carrying paper sacks or metal lunch boxes, talking and laughing excitedly about getting to see the President up close. Again, Gary was tempted to give a warning, but something held him back. Finally the car was empty. He lurched his way inside and started to punch the button. For which floor? What had the paper said? Sixth! The sixth floor! At last, he was on his way.

"I can do this," he kept telling himself as the elevator made its slow assent. "I know I can do this!"

Finally, the doors slid open. Cautiously, Gary peered around the cavernous room before he made his clumsy exit from the elevator. The doors slid closed once more and, to Gary's horror, the boxy contraption began to descend. He was stuck on the sixth floor with at least one, possibly two murderers! Desperately, he looked around for a place to hide. Stacks of boxes blocked his view of most of the storeroom, and the floor was littered with debris from where workmen had been re-laying the floor. Still, he could hear a familiar voice talking excitedly just a few feet away. Snow! He was telling someone about the coming assassination! He even mentioned the paper! A smooth, soft voice replied that he had everything under control. A voice that, even now, sent chills up Gary's spine. Marley! He was here, too? Of course, he was here! Where else would he be but at the scene of the crowning moment of his murderous career?

"Why don't you wait for me by the elevator?" the turncoat agent was saying. "It'll only take me a moment to subdue Mr. Oswald and we can all go down together."

"I'd just as soon no one knew I was even here, Agent Marley," Snow replied, relief evident in his tone. "Why don't we let you take all the credit?"

"Well, if you insist," Marley agreed, a little too quickly in Gary's opinion. "Still, I'd like for you to wait. I may have to ask you a few more questions."

Hesitantly, Snow agreed. A moment later, Gary heard slow footsteps approaching. Gary pressed his back against a stack of boxes until the figure came into view. He instantly recognized the lean, hawk-like features of the man who had led him to the abandoned carpet store. The man who had told him to 'Count the living.'

"Hsst! Snow!" he called in an urgent whisper. "Lucius Snow!"

Startled, Snow turned, spotting a younger, dark-haired man in a black leather jacket, who looked like he was literally on his last legs. His back was propped against a stack of boxes. A pair of wooden crutches were held loosely, one in each hand. The boy was sweat-stained and trembling as he strove to regain his breath. "Do I know you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Not yet," Gary replied cryptically. "B-but you will." For a moment, he was tempted to tell Snow who he was, ply him with questions about the paper. But that wasn't why he was here, and they had no time to waste. "You've got to leave. Now! Don't . . . don't wait for . . . for Marley."

"Why not?"

"Because he's setting you up!" Gary hissed. "He's not here to protect the President! He-he's here to kill him! Oswald is just a . . . a pawn he's brainwashed to . . .to do the job for him. Marley is here t-to make sure he does it right! And if they can set . . . set you up to take the blame, he can use Oswald again . . . later . . . wh-when he tries to kill an-another world leader!" Something rustled on the other side of the stack. Was Marley able to hear him as easily as he had heard Marley? "Please! T-trust me on this! If you don't leave now, you'll go down in his-history as the man . . ." he paused to get more air into his starving lungs, " the man who shot Kennedy!" Snow still didn't look convinced. "Look at the paper!" Gary pleaded desperately. "Just look at the damned paper!"

Snow looked at Gary like he had suddenly grown a new head. "How . . ."

"I get it, too," Gary finally told him. "Only . . . not for a few more years. Please, trust me!"

"It's a little late for that."

Startled Snow looked back the way he had come to see Marley aiming the business end of his silenced automatic at him. "So, he's tellin' the truth. You are the real killer."

"That has such a spiteful ring to it," Marley almost purred. "I prefer 'expeditor'. I simply hurry people on their merry way to the hereafter. Now, whom were you talking to, Mr. Snow? Please ask him to step out so we can discuss this like civilized men."

Gary had not been idle during Marley's speech. He silently leaned one crutch against the stacks, taking the other in both hands as he would his favorite hockey stick. Putting everything he had into an overhand swing, he brought the impromptu club down on the renegade agent's arm. There was a loud 'phutt!' as the gun went off, the bullet plowing into a pile of debris by the stairwell. At the same moment, Gary screamed. "Run!" Snow didn't have to be told again. He had no idea, yet, who this courageous young man was, but, if the paper had sent him, then he had better listen!

As Snow bolted down the stairs he could still hear the diminishing sounds of the struggle. It galled him to leave the young man to fight what he felt was his battle, but, the boy would not have been sent on this task if it had not been vital that he, Lucius Snow, live to fight another day. Still, he vowed to learn more about his successor as soon as it was possible. He owed the young man a huge vote of thanks. As Snow ran out the front door of the Texas Schoolbook Depository, he heard what sounded like a firecracker. Seconds later, there was another, then, in quick succession, a third. And then . . . he saw a president die.

************

Gary slammed into Marley's legs as the impetus of his swing overcame his precarious balance. The two became a tangle of arms and legs as they struggled for possession of the gun. All the while, Gary kept one ear listening for Snow's disappearing footsteps. He had to make it! Snow had to live or it was all for nothing!

As the first shot rang out on the other side of the stacks, Gary's attention was diverted enough for Marley to land a stunning blow to the side of his head. Gary slumped to the floor, struggling to remain conscious. When he was again able to open his eyes, two blurred figures were arguing in hushed tones a short distance away, their backs to him.

"He's a cripple, man! No one is gonna buy him standing on crutches and making one shot like that, let alone three!" one man was saying.

"They won't know he was a cripple if we get rid of the crutches," Marley hissed. "One shot to the head or the heart, and he certainly won't be volunteering the information!"

As the two men argued about his fate, Gary dragged himself painstakingly towards the door to the stairwell. He reached up with a trembling hand to grasp the knob and haul himself to his feet. Propping himself against the wall by the door, he was able to get it open and force a few excruciating steps out of his almost totally useless appendages before they finally gave out entirely, sending him tumbling headlong down the steps. For a moment, he lay there, flat of his back on the next landing, left leg once again bent under him. This time, he was aware of nothing as his body did a slow dissolve into oblivion.

When Marley and Oswald heard the noise, they looked around and noticed that the stranger was gone. They rushed to the stairwell, but saw nothing. Not even a bloodstain. Puzzled and alarmed, both men were forced to flee the building before they were discovered. Marley paused only long enough to retrieve his lost gun and sift through the pile of debris to recover his spent slug. As a Secret Service Agent, his own presence would be easy enough to explain, if he was discovered. He was, after all, trying to find the President's assassin.

The crutches were nowhere to be found.

******************

"Gary!"

Bernie Hobson tumbled from the bed at his wife's panicked cry. Dazed, still half-asleep, he hauled himself onto the edge of the bed. He saw Lois sitting bolt upright, bathed in the glow of a distant streetlight. Her eyes were wide open, as if in shock, and her hands were clutched to her breast. Her breath was coming in short little gasps.

"Honey? What's wrong?" Bernie asked with concern. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"The worst!" she confirmed. "The cat was in it, and Gary . . . He's hurt, Bernie! I think he's dying! We have to go to him! Now!"

"Now?" He looked at the alarm clock. "Lois, it's two in the morning!"

"Good!" she snapped, throwing aside the covers. "We'll pretty much have the road to ourselves. I'm going, Bernie. With or without you. And the speed limits be damned!"

**********************

Marissa arrived home feeling bone tired. She couldn't remember the last time McGinty's had been that busy! And it wasn't even a 'game' night! Even though she'd not had to wait tables or serve drinks, she was kept busy enough to leave her feeling totally drained. She wondered if Gary, who had worked like a horse all night, felt the same way? Probably worse. He had seemed so determined to bring that table up from the basement. She sincerely hoped she had managed to talk him out of it! She was so afraid that he might fall down the basement stairs while trying to maneuver that heavy table up to the first floor on his own, and injure himself.

In the end, he had agreed to enlist Vadim, one of their bartenders, to help him with it in the morning. Still, it bothered her that he might try to do it alone, anyway. 'Well,' she thought, 'I'll just have to trust Gary to use his head and keep his word.'

She was way too tired to think about it anymore, or to do any of the little 'chores' she usually did around the apartment. All she could think of was a hot bath and a soft bed. Preferably in that order. With that in mind, Marissa unhitched Reilly's harness and put thought into action.

'Finally,' she sighed as she climbed into bed. 'I can get some sleep. God, what a day!' As she sank deeply into her warm mattress and fluffy soft pillows, she pulled the covers up with a contented little smile. 'Oh, this feels sooo good,' she almost purred to herself as she drifted off to sleep.

Minutes later, she was sitting straight up in bed, her heart pounding fit to burst! Dear God! What a horrible nightmare! She sat there, gasping for breath as she tried to still the pounding in her chest and ears. Gary! That terrible dream had been about her dearest friend! He had been falling. Endlessly falling into a swirling vortex, like a black hole. His mouth was moving, as if he was calling to her, begging for her to save him! But, she couldn't hear him! She could still feel the sense of vertigo that had pervaded the horrible vision.

"I must be really tired," she sighed. "That or my mother hen complex is working overtime." Deciding that she was just worked up over nothing, she lay back and snuggled deeper under the covers. Surely Gary was not so careless as to risk his health over a table! Still, she hoped that particular dream would not revisit her tonight.

Tossing and turning restlessly, she tried to put the dream out of her mind. But, the image of Gary falling helplessly into nothingness was hard to dispel. Finally, it gave way to exhaustion, and she drifted off to sleep once more. For a while, it seemed she would not be disturbed any more that night.

'Help! Marissa, help me!'

Gary was again being pulled down into a swirling vortex. But, it was different, this time. Before, it had been merely a sense of black on black, spinning endlessly into eternity. Now, Gary was bathed in red. A deep, bright red. Marissa had lost her sight as a small child, and many things, like colors, were just a vague memory. But, this shade of red she remembered clearly from her many visits to the hospital as she was losing her sight. It was blood. Gary was totally awash in the color of blood!

She bolted upright once more, her heart pounding so hard, she was afraid it would burst! Gary was hurt! No. Gary was dying! She knew it! Could feel the life draining from him! No! It was just a dream! A horribly vivid dream, but a dream all the same. Gradually, her heart slowed to a less frantic rhythm. Gary was most likely safe in bed, snoring loudly enough to rattle the windows. So, why was she still so frightened?

"Mrowwr?"

'What the . . . ?'

She felt, more than heard, something land on the foot of her bed. There was a soft rustling as tiny feet scampered across the top of her comforter.

"Mroowwrr!"

"Cat? Is that you?" she asked nervously, her skin beginning a slow crawl. A soft, furry head butted up against her hand, demanding attention. Cautiously, Marissa ran a trembling hand along the sleek back. It felt like Gary's cat. She slid a hand under the small body, pulling it close to her face. It even smelled like Gary's . . . "Oh, my God!" she gasped. "Something's wrong . . .Gary's hurt, isn't he? Why else . . .!"

Frantic now, Marissa threw the covers aside and scrambled from the bed. Momentarily disoriented in her haste, she at last found the phone. First, she tried the number to Gary's loft, praying that she was wrong. After a few rings, his answering machine picked up.

"Hello. You've reached Gary Hobson's phone. Unfortunately, Mr. Hobson is unable to answer it. Leave a message and he'll get right back to you." The message was followed by a series of beeps.

"Gary? Gary, pick up the phone!" she pleaded into the recorder. No answer. "If you can hear me, pick up the damned phone! Please!" she sobbed. Still no answer. Almost breathless with an overwhelming sense of dread, Marissa hung up. 'Oh, dear God, let him be all right!' she prayed. What could she do? Who could she . . . Crumb! She still had his home and pager numbers! He would help! As she dialed the first number, she had to smile. Crumb always complained about how Gary seemed to be a 'trouble magnet.' Yet, he had, at times, expressed a grudging admiration for the young man who was so willing to put his life at risk for complete strangers. The phone rang for what seemed like forever. 'If that's what it takes,' Marissa decided grimly.

"This better be important," a sleepy voice growled without preamble.

"Zeke! Thank God you're home!"

"Marissa?" The retired cop was instantly alert. He knew Marissa to be a levelheaded young woman, and not likely to be disturbing his sleep over nothing. "It's . . .three in the morning! Where else would I be? What's wrong?"

"I need you to meet me at McGinty's," she told him quickly. "Something is wrong. I . . . I had this nightmare . . . about Gary." Crumb made an exasperated noise on the other end of the line. "Please listen! I tried to call him, but he doesn't answer! He was too exhausted to have gone off somewhere after closing, and he had been talking about bringing a table upstairs from the basement by himself. He promised to let it wait 'til morning, but . . . I just have this . . .this terrible feeling that something has happened. Please! I know Gary is in trouble and needs our help!"

*******************

On the other end of the line, Crumb ran a hand over his sleep-swollen face with a sigh. Now Hobson was messing up his life by proxy. Still, this was Marissa asking for help. And, he still owed the kid for all the times he had pulled the Crumb fat out of various fires.

"Awright, awright," he sighed. "Get dressed and I'll pick you up in . . .twenty minutes. It'll be quicker than callin' a cab this time of night. And, don't worry so much about Hobson. We'll probably wake him out of a sound sleep, too."

**********************

"Oh, Lord! I hope so, Zeke," Marissa prayed as she lay the phone back in it's cradle. "I truly hope so!"

Twenty minutes later, she heard a knock on her door. Zeke Crumb was as good as his word.

"Reilly, forward," she commanded her dog. Seconds later, they were all loaded up in Crumb's car and on their way to McGinty's.

As they drove the few blocks to their destination, Crumb tried once more to allay her fears. But, Marissa could not shake the pervasive feeling of dread that threatened to overwhelm her. She prayed that it was a premonition, not something that had already happened. The moment they arrived at the popular restaurant/bar, Marissa pulled out her keys. Their loud jingling betrayed her nervousness. What would they find on the other side of that door? Were they too late?

Crumb plucked the keys out of her trembling hand, quickly unlocking the doors. Then he gently guided her inside. He tried the light switch. Nothing.

"I'm afraid he may have tried to carry that table up by himself," Marissa was saying as she released Reilly. She knew the inside of the bar as well as she did her own home. "You try the basement first, and I'll find my way to the loft"

"Good idea. You'll probably hear 'im snoring before we're halfway up the stairs," the ex-cop replied with a gruff laugh, as he turned towards the stairwell.

The young blind woman gave her friend's arm an affectionate squeeze before releasing it. For all his talk of how miserable Gary had made his life, Marissa knew that Zeke had a real 'soft spot' for the younger man.

"You're probably right," she agreed. "But, I'll feel a lot better when I hear his voice."

"Just be careful," Crumb admonished.

She shot him a nervous smile. "I'm always careful, Zeke. It's Gary we have to worry about."

Crumb mumbled something that sounded like, "You got that right." He opened the door leading to the stairwell, reaching in to flick the light switch. Nothing happened. "Hunh! Fuse musta blown. That flashlight still under the main bar?"

"Y-yes it should be," Marissa told him, her sense of foreboding kicking in big time. What was that smell? A kind of sweet, metallic odor. "Hurry!"

"I'm hurrying already!" Crumb grumbled. "Sheesh! Don't wanna end up fallin' down these steps myself. That'll do 'im a fat lotta good!"

Marissa made her hesitant way into the office. That smell. It was stronger here. A lot stronger. Where had she smelled it before? Why did it remind her of . . . hospitals?

"Nothin' downstairs," Crumb's voice assured her from the other room. "He left the table at the foot of the stairs, like he promised you."

Choosing not to reply, she took a few hesitant steps forward, sweeping her cane before her. She stopped as she encountered an obstacle at the foot of the stairs. Fearfully, she reached out a trembling hand, dreading what she would find. Her questing fingers felt rough, denim-like cloth, and a sneaker clad foot. Stunned, she put her hand on the step to brace herself, only to find it covered with a sticky wetness. Heart pounding, she brought her shaking hand up, took a tentative sniff. 'Oh, God!' "Crumb!"

"Hold your horses, little la . . ." He shone the flashlight on the still form sprawled half across the first floor landing just a few steps from where they stood. Hobson lay on his back with his head in a pool of blood. His back was arched upward where it lay across the top of a short stepstool. His left leg was bent under him at an unnatural angle, an even larger crimson puddle still gathering beneath the twisted appendage. Crumb spun Marissa around and quickly pushed her out the door. "Call 911," was all he told her.

Marissa wasted no time arguing. The feel of Gary's blood on her hand was all the urging she needed.

************************

Bernie stopped the truck with a squeal of brakes. Lois had her door open and hit the pavement running. Bernie was no more than a step behind her. She grabbed the front door knob without thinking, startled to find that it turned easily in her hand.

"I told you something was wrong!" Lois cried. "Gary is never open this late!" Pushing through the open alcove door, she tried the light switch. Nothing. But there was a dim glow from the other side of the office door. "Go back and get the lantern, Bernie," she told her husband. "And hurry. I have a really bad feeling about this."

As Bernie doubled back for the lantern, Lois rushed through the darkened bar and into the office just in time to spy Marissa coming out of the stairwell. The panicked look on the blind woman's face told Lois all she needed to know. Something had happened to her son!

She found Crumb kneeling over Gary's motionless body, trying to find a pulse. His explosive sigh of relief said that he had found one. The look on his face, however, was less than reassuring. Lois tried to push her way past the big detective. Crumb moved to bar her way, only to back down when she gave him a look that spoke louder than words. 'Do not get between me and my son!' Tearfully, Lois Hobson knelt by her son's head, unmindful of the pool of blood now soaking into her slacks. She shakily brushed the hair from his clammy forehead, as she murmured words of comfort, begging him to "please wake up!" That was the scene that greeted Bernie as he shone his big lantern on the grisly tableau.

"Don't try to move him," Crumb warned. "If he wakes up, try to keep him still." As he spoke, he was pulling off his belt and strapping it just a few inches above the gaping wound in Gary's thigh. He then used the smaller flashlight he held to twist his makeshift tourniquet as tight as he dared. Gary's right hand gave a small upward twitch, then became ominously still.

"He's not breathing!" Lois cried. Her hand shot down to his throat, just below the jaw. Frightened, she looked at the two men and shook her head wordlessly, tears welling in her eyes.

"We need room to work," Crumb snapped, all business. "Bernie, set that light on the desk. We'll need it to see. Lois, you support his shoulders, and keep his head straight. Bernie, grab his shirt here and the pocket of his jeans like this." He quickly demonstrated what he meant. "We have to keep his back straight. All together, now. On three. One. Two. Three!" Careful not to put any pressure on his spine where it lay across the stool, they lifted Gary's inert form to carry him into the larger area of the office floor. They had one bad moment when it was discovered that Gary's left foot was caught on one of the rungs, but it slipped right out as they lifted him a little higher. The instant they had him safely on the floor, Lois began to breathe for her son. Crumb began compressions as soon as she was clear. And that was how Marissa found them when she returned to say the ambulance was on its way.

"Please, Gary," she quietly begged. "Please don't die!"

Lois fought back tears of dread as she tried to breathe life into the empty shell that she feared might be all that was left of her only child. Tired of standing by helplessly, Bernie was about to relieve Crumb, when he saw Gary's right hand twitch again.

"He moved! Check his pulse again!"

Lois already had her fingers to her son's throat once more. The tears that she had been fighting back won the battle and spilled down her cheeks in a torrent of relief. He was still alive!

"M'm?"

"I'm here, sweetie," she replied in a choked voice. "Momma's right here."

"S'kay," he told her in a breathy whisper. "S-stopped 'im. Stopped M-Marley. Snow . . . Snow's 'kay."

Puzzled, Lois looked at her husband, as she absently stroked Gary's forehead. Bernie just shrugged, equally at a loss, and turned to the other two.

Marissa and Crumb looked like they had seen a ghost. Shaken, Marissa was only distantly aware of the approaching sirens. Marley! What could the renegade Secret Service agent have to do with this? He had been dead for more than three years!

**************************

Gary was only dimly aware of the frenzied activity going on around him. Muffled voices, blurs of light and darkness. Pain. Distant echoes of pain. In his head, his hands . . . his back. It was like it was happening to someone else.

************************

The EMTs worked quickly to immobilize Gary's leg and spine, and stem the sluggish flow of blood from his wounds. As one man checked Gary's vital signs and placed monitor patches on his now exposed chest, another spoke with his rescuers. After getting as much information as Marissa and Crumb were able to provide, ascertaining whether or not Gary was currently on any medications, and what he might be allergic to, they relayed everything to Cook County in terse, efficient sentences.

"We have a thirty-five year old white male," the EMT reported. "Fell approximately twenty feet down a flight of stairs. Burns on both hands, and debris in the stairwell suggest electrocution. Compound fracture of left thigh and laceration occipital region only other obvious injuries. Evidence of major blood loss. Witnesses state that patient has arrested once, but regained consciousness briefly after they performed CPR. Request permission to start IV Ringer's Lactate." The young paramedic nodded once at the response, then set to work once more.

****************

What was going on? Who were all these people? Gary couldn't concentrate long enough to catch what was being said around him. Ringer's what? Ouch! That hurt! But only a low moan escaped his dry lips. He was so tired. Couldn't they just let him sleep? Then, he was being lifted on some hard surface. A board of some kind. Where were they taking him? He just wanted to sleep!

******************

"Flat line! Full arrest! County, we have a full arrest! Administering one unit of Epi. Roger, defibrillating now."

"Clear!"

Whumph!

"Again! Clear!"

Whumph!

"We have normal sinus rhythm."

*********************

'Please let me sleep,' Gary silently begged. 'I'm just so tired! Please let me sleep. Just a little while?'

*****************

The EMTs hit the ER doors just short of a dead run.

"What have we got?"

"White male in his mid-thirties," the lead man reported in a clipped, verbal shorthand. "Fell down a flight of stairs, two, possibly three hours ago. No witnesses. Possible electrocution. Compound fracture left femur. Deep laceration in the occipital region. Second degree burns of both hands. Arrested at the scene, and twice enroute. Major blood loss. We began bolusing fluids at the scene"

"Room three," the young resident snapped. Without turning his head or breaking his stride, he began issuing orders to the nurse. "Tell lab we need a type and cross for six units whole blood, and cardiac enzymes. And I need it yesterday. Get x-rays for skull, cervical, lumbar, and femur. And we'll probably need a CT and MRI once he's stabilized. Alert neurology and orthopedics. Do we have a name?"

"Hobson. Gary Hobson," the EMT reported. "Family's right behind us."

"I'll need his records."

******************

Lois and Bernie watched helplessly as their only child was whisked behind closed doors. Crumb had taken Marissa to the waiting room, but Lois flatly refused to be led away. No matter what happened, she would be the first to know.

"Fight, Gary," she whispered tearfully. "I know you can make it if you'll just fight!"

***********************

The inert form was quickly moved onto the stretcher and his clothes cut away, revealing his slim, yet muscular torso. Monitor leads were swiftly attached to his chest, a pulse oximeter clamped onto the middle finger of his right hand, and a blood pressure cuff slapped around his right upper arm. The heart monitor gave a steady, and reassuring beep . . .beep . . .beep. Blood pressure and oxygen levels, however, were dangerously low.

********************

'Tired. So tired. Please let me sleep.' It was like a whole crowd of people shouting at him through a muffling wall. They kept calling his name, poking things into his body, and his flesh. 'Please,' he wanted to tell them, 'just let me sleep.'

********************

"I want that blood work STAT!" Dr. Carter snapped as the lab tech made her escape. To the x-ray tech, he added, "We'll need a chest on this guy, too. I think he may have some rib fractures."

"Gotcha," the tech, whose ID badge carried the odd name of Polly Gannon, replied. She quickly slid a film into the tray beneath the table and positioned her machine. "Everybody covered? I'm ready to shoot! Last warning!" Buzzzz, BEEP! "Too late now if you weren't." A few minutes later, she quickly gathered the exposed films and rushed out.

******************

'Leave me alone,' Gary begged. 'I just want to sleep. Why can't you let me sleep?'

******************

The heart monitor gave a single mournful tone as the image went to a flat line.

"We're losing 'im! Get me a unit of epi and sodium bicarb! . . . No good. Defibrillate, two fifty. Ready . . . clear!"

Whumph!

"Again . . . Clear!"

Whumph!

"Take it to three hundred! Again . . . Clear!"

Whumph!

******************

Gary looked down on the frantic scene with a feeling of infinite sadness. It was over. He was finally free. Free of the paper, the cat, all of it. That was what he had wanted, wasn't it? To be free? So, why did he feel so . . . lost? With a sigh, he turned his back on the frenzied scene. And there she was, in the hallway. His mom. Dad was saying something to her, his arms around her shoulders, trying to comfort her. But, she would not allow herself to be comforted so long as her child was in danger. She clung desperately to her husband's sleeve as she stared at the door, tears of grief steaming down her cheeks.

"It's all right, Mom," he said, as though she could hear. "I'm not hurting anymore. Everything's okay, now."

Or was it? Without moving, he could see Marissa and Crumb in the waiting room. Marissa was crying on the big detective's shoulder. Great, heart wrenching sobs. Gary hated that he was the source of so much pain and grief, but, what could he do?

"You have to go back," a very young, soft, familiar voice told him.

Gary spun around to see two luminous figures standing between him and the room where they still worked over his lifeless body. The taller of the two he recognized right away. He could never mistake, now, the hawk-like features of his predecessor, Lucius Snow. The other was a slender, blonde haired, teenaged girl. She looked so fam . . .

"Rachel?

The slender girl shook her head sadly. "Rachel still lives," she told him. "I have only borrowed her semblance as I did once before. It is not yet your time, Gary Hobson. You still have much work left to do. All that has gone before is just a prelude to even greater tasks, and challenges, yet to come."

"What if I don't want to go back?" Gary asked stubbornly. "What if I'm tired of all these 'tasks and challenges'? What if I really want to die, this time?"

"Do you?" Snow asked calmly. "Are you truly ready to say good-bye to all your loved ones? And all those who will perish because you weren't there to make a difference? As I almost wasn't there for you?"

Turning, Gary watched his mother bury her tear-streaked face against his father's chest, whose own face was also twisted in grief. In the waiting room, Marissa still wept uncontrollably. Even Crumb seemed overwhelmed with sorrow. Unbidden, the faces of Toni Brigatti and Paul Armstrong came to mind. Miguel Diaz, Meredith Carson, Mollie Greene. All grief-stricken. For him. Faces floated across the surface of his mind that he knew he had never seen. Some wore expressions of terror and pain. Others wept openly in despair, or sorrow. And the cavalcade of images seemed to stretch into infinity. What tore at him the hardest were . . . the children. 'So many!' he thought incredulously. 'Am I really responsible for so much pain?'

"Why me?" he asked plaintively. "Why was I chosen for all these . . .tasks? What's so special about me?"

"I've asked those same questions myself," Snow replied with a sad smile. "The answers were not given to me until my own tasks were done. I can only say this, Gary, of all who have gone before, and all who will come after, in all the world, your light shines the brightest. It's by your own strength, will, and compassion that you are able to cross the boundaries of time itself. I am honored to have been the one to guide your first steps into the great Unknown."

Gary turned to 'Rachel'. "My 'light' . . .? What does that mean?"

"I cannot tell you at this time, Gary Hobson," the image of Rachel replied with a sad little smile. "Suffice it to say that you are a rarity among mortals. You possess a purity of heart, soul, and spirit that is in short supply in your fellow man. You have offered up your life and happiness many times for those in distress, many of whom you have never even met. It is said that there is no greater sacrifice than to offer up ones life for a friend. You have successfully met this challenge many times over. So, I will give you a hint as to what it is that awaits you once your final challenge has been met and your tasks completed. Look to the hymn 'Blest Are They.' I can say no more . . ."

"And, if I don't meet these . . . 'challenges'?"

"That's also not for us to say," Lucius told him. "But, can you truly condemn others to the whims of fate, when you have the power to save them?"

Again, that sea of faces surged through his mind. Then he heard them. Two familiar voices calling for him. "Fight, Gary!" they pleaded as one. "You have to fight your way back to us! Please!"

"No," he sighed wearily. "I guess I'm not . . . finished, yet. So. What do I do?"

*****************

The young resident wearily stripped off his latex gloves as he looked at the clock.

"Call it," he sighed. "Time of death, four forty-two AM." He leaned back against the counter, emotionally drained. Damn, what a waste! Hobson was no older than he was. Way too young to just die like this! "Let's clear out and give his family a few minutes before . . ."

"Sure," the nurse replied in a hushed tone, pausing in the act of removing the monitor leads. "His parents are right outside. I'll-I'll get them."

"No," Dr. Carter almost moaned as he rubbed tired eyes. "No, I'll tell them. Just . . . clean him up a little. They shouldn't have to see him like this." As he headed for the door, he added to himself, "No parent should."

*******************
The look on the young doctor's face told Lois Hobson all she needed to know. They had been too late. She barely heard his voice saying how sorry he was. That they had done all they could. Gary had simply lost too much blood. His voice sounded as if it were coming from a thousand miles away. He was wrong. He had to be wrong! Gary couldn't . . .! Not her baby!

Where did they come from? Marissa was suddenly at her side, tearfully saying over and over again, "I'm so sorry! I should have awakened sooner! Should 've listened to that damned dream! I'm . . ."

The two women sank to the floor in a heap of raging emotion. The two men looked on helplessly, Crumb with one arm around the shoulders of a clearly distraught Bernie Hobson. 'What can you do in a situation like this?' he wondered. 'What do you say to someone who's just had their whole world yanked out from under them?'

****************

Tearfully, Lois looked down at the pale, motionless form of her son. She felt . . . weak, tired. The only things keeping her on her feet were the strong arms of her husband. It hurt. Oh, God, it hurt! To see him like this! So still, when he was so full of life just hours before! How, when he had given so much for so many, could his life be cut short like this? He was too young! His successor was not even close to being old enough to handle the responsibility that came with the Paper! Gary should have had years before the torch had to be passed!

"It's not fair!" she wailed, turning into Bernie's broad chest. "It's just not fair! After everything he's done . . . all that he's given up . . . to help others, why couldn't someone be there when he needed help?"

"No one ever promised life would be fair," Bernie Hobson replied, his own voice husky with unshed tears. "From what you told me the other day, we should be thankful to've had as much time as we did. If not for Snow and the paper, this would've happened a long time ago. Thanks to him, we at least got to see our boy become one hell of a man."

Tearfully, the bereft couple turned to the gurney that held all that remained of their only child. Lois reached out with a trembling hand to brush the hair from his forehead, as she had so many times in the past. When he was still her little boy. She stroked his pale cheek, amazed that it still felt so warm when it should be cold as death. Wordlessly, she took his left hand in hers, pressing his lax fingers against her cheek in a gentle caress. For just a moment, she thought she felt those fingers move. Imagined them curling around hers in a last embrace. With a choked sob, she lay the hand back by his side. As she bent down to place a tender kiss on his cheek, a tear fell from her eyes and ran down the corner of his mouth. Did she imagine it, or did his lips tremble?

Bernie moved around to the other side of the gurney, his eyes wandering over the still form of his son. Sadly, he recalled playing catch with Gary as a kid, of teaching him how to play football, and basketball. He recalled all the fun they'd had fishing and camping. Those were joyous times that would live now only in his memories.

At first, Bernie thought it was a trick of the light. Was his broken heart playing games with his mind? Then, it happened again. Gary's right thumb twitched. "Lois," he said in a breathy whisper, "get the doc." His eyes were glued to that one, pale hand. Slowly . . . so painfully slow . . . the first two fingers curled inwards.

Still fighting shock, her hand once more stroking her son's soft locks, Lois looked up into her husband's incredulous face in puzzlement.

"He just moved,' Bernie told her, hope and awe mixed in his voice. "I swear it, honey. His right hand moved, just now! He's still . . ."

Gary chose, at that moment, to cough, causing his entire body to jerk with the effort of trying to expel air through his dry throat. The sound was like a shot that galvanized Lois to action. She sprang to the door and screamed for the doctor to "get your butt back in here! He's moving! He's alive!"

As the ER staff practically stampeded past her, Lois pulled Bernie out the door. "Let them work," she told him, tears of joy and dread flowing freely. "They can't let him slip away again. They can't!"

"They won't," Bernie assured her. "Gary won't give up that easy. And, now, neither will they."

An eternity later, actually less than fifteen minutes, the doctor approached them as the stretcher bearing Gary's now restlessly stirring form was whisked down the hall.

"Gary is stable for the moment." Dr. Carter told them. "We're sending him up to radiology for more x-rays to determine the extent of his injuries. The most obvious one, of course, is that leg. His neck seems to be okay, and I believe his skull is intact. However, that doesn't rule out intra-cranial inj. . . I'm sorry. We want to rule out any serious brain damage. Also, and I'm going to be blunt here, there's the possibility of some spinal cord damage. We won't know until he comes to."

"Spinal damage," Bernie repeated, his blood turning to ice water. "As in . . .paralysis? You mean he'll . . . he'll spend the rest of his life . . ."

"That's only a possibility, Mr. Hobson," Carter reminded him. "It's also possible that he'll beat the odds. Again."

********************

Polly looked at the young man on her table as she set to work. Where the hell were guys like him when she was that young? With a flick of her hand she pulled the sheet back up so that it again covered his slender hips. Blushing, she couldn't decide if that gesture was for his modesty or her own. He obviously kept himself fit! A small sigh escaped her lips as she silently prayed to find nothing more serious than a broken leg.

*********************

Exhausted, Lois Hobson slid into the chair by Gary's bedside. They said she could only have a few minutes, but she defied anyone to move her from this spot. The sight before her tore at her heart like nothing ever had since the moment she first held him in her arms. But, that had been a pain born of infinite joy. To at last hold the life she had nurtured in her body for nine long months, cradled in her arms. To see his face for the first time. That had been the happiest moment of her life. Now, to see him lying here, one machine standing by to help him breathe, if necessary, others monitoring his heart, his pulse rate, and blood pressure, tubes running into each arm providing life sustaining blood, fluids and medication. More tubes to drain urine, and to remove drainage from where they had repaired his broken leg. Bandages covered the burns on his hands and his injured leg, as well as the stitches on the back of his head. At least they had not had to shave his head much, just a modest area around the surprisingly small laceration.

Reaching through the railing, Lois tenderly took his bandaged hand in both of hers. It hurt to see her normally energetic son so still and . . . lifeless. The warmth she felt under the bandages reassured her somewhat. Still, if he would just open his eyes!

"Lois. Honey?" Bernie lay a calloused hand gently on her shoulder. "You need to get some rest," he told her quietly. "They'll let us know it there's any change."

"I can't." she sniffled. "What if he wakes up and . . . and there's no one here? He . . . he'll be all alone. In a strange place. So lost and confused!" The tears that had been threatening to fall since she first saw him hooked up to so many . . . machines, finally broke through. She pressed his bandaged hand gently against her cheek and wept. "It's . . . it's only been a few hours since they said he was d-dead! Wh-what if . . .?"

"What if nothing," Bernie murmured, bending down to take her in his arms. "Gary's a fighter. Like you. He might get discouraged from time to time, but he never quits until the job's done. Have you ever known him to back down from a fight? All those black eyes and bloody noses he came home with as a kid? Even in college?"

"But, that was him fighting for someone else," Lois reminded him. "He almost never stood up for himself! What if . . . if he's just too tired to go on? Or what if . . . oh, God, he's been living on borrowed time since that awful essay contest! What if-if it's time for him to . . . to pay up?"

"It's not," her husband assured her. "That Snow character lived another twenty years before he passed the baton to Gary. Now, Gary has to stick around at least that long until this other kid is old enough to take over! Now, how's about you dry your eyes and I take you to this nice room they got set aside for us. You can shower and change, maybe have a little nap, and be all bright-eyed and smiling when he wakes up. And he will wake up!" he added with more assurance than he felt.

For the first time Lois looked down at her blood stained slacks. Dear Lord, so much blood!

"Oh! Oh, you're right!" she exclaimed, standing so fast she almost knocked the chair over. Bernie barely got clear in time to avoid a collision! "I can't let Gary see me like this! He-he'll panic! He'll think I'm the one that belongs in a hospital!"

Bernie smiled at the sudden change in her demeanor. As long as Lois could stay focused, she would be alright.

"Besides," he added, "Gary won't be alone. There's a whole slew of people waiting to see him." At Lois' puzzled look, he explained. "Remember when we threw that surprise party for him? We complained that he hardly had any friends? We were wrong. There's about twenty people out in the waiting room. All drawing straws to see who gets to come in next. I don't know how the word got out, but each and every one has a story to tell about our boy. I promised Marissa that she and Crumb could take the next shift, though. I figure . . . everyone getting . . .oh , ten, fifteen minutes each, our boy'll be covered for the next six hours at least. So, could you lie down for, say, three?"

"An hour and a half," Lois countered. "And that includes the shower. Oh! Oh, my! What'll I change into? We left in such a hurry, we didn't bring any clothes!"

"Two hours and I'll show you where I put the things I had one of the candy-stripers get for you," Bernie haggled, taking her back into his arms. "I'm not gonna tell you to stop worrying, Lois. I just want you to close your eyes for a little while so's not to scare Gary back into cardiac arrest for worrying about you!"

"You are a cruel, evil man, Bernard Hobson," Lois growled, leaning into his embrace. "Deal. Two hours and I'm right back here. No matter what."

"No matter what," Bernie agreed.

***********************

Winslow rushed up the stairs of the 27th Precinct, running a hand nervously through his thick blonde hair. 'God! I hope she already knows!' His partner, Toni Brigatti, was one who would definitely shoot the bearer of bad news! He scanned the squad room as he entered, hoping she had already heard and was on her way to the hospital. All teasing aside, Winslow knew she had, at the very least, a deep regard for the man, and a load of regrets over certain incidents. Whoops! So much for the power of prayer. Brigatti stood over by the copier, talking to Armstrong. Wonderful! Armstrong also had a history with the poor guy. He could kill two birds with one stone. Or be stoned. Gathering his rapidly failing courage, Winslow strode briskly over to his fellow officers.

"Toni! Paul! I thought you two would be over at County General," he commented in his best casual/puzzled tone.

Toni turned a suspicious eye on her partner. "And what would we be doing at County General?"

Putting on a 'surprised' face, the blonde detective plunged on. "You don't . . . you haven't heard?" he asked, all innocence.

Brigatti was having none of it. "Spill it, Ken," she ordered. "Who's at County we'd be interested in?"

Winslow turned a 'confused' gaze on Armstrong. "You really don't know?"

"No," the big cop replied icily. "We don't. Suppose you tell us?"

"It's Hobson," he finally admitted, serious now. "I saw him being wheeled into intensive care about an hour and a half ago. He'd taken a header down some stairs, they said. Lay there for hours before anyone found him. Toni, he's in pretty bad shape. A broken leg, head injury, maybe even some spinal damage. And, he lost a lot of blood. So much that . . . he died. I'm serious, guys! I heard a coupla nurses talkin' about how eerie it was. They'd called the time and everything! But, he came back while his folks were . . . were saying their . . . I'm tellin' you, it sent chills up my spine just hearing about it! That reporter, Miguel Diaz was there, trying to get an interview with that Clark woman and Zeke Crumb. They were the ones that first found him. Just before his folks came rushing in. They knew, Toni! They knew he was hurt before he was even found! Mrs. Hobson said that she'd dreamed about it!"

"That explains a lot," Armstrong muttered as he grabbed his coat.

"Explains what?" Winslow asked, truly puzzled this time.

"About Hobson," Brigatti explained, as she too, headed for the door. "Weirdness must run in the family."

*******************

Marissa slid carefully into the chair that Lois Hobson had so reluctantly abandoned. She heard Zeke Crumb pull up a chair next to her. Except for the gentle, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, the room was silent. She reached a hand through the railing and felt around until she held the same hand that was still moist with a mother's tears.

'Come back to me, Gary,' she prayed in the silence of her heart. 'A friendship like ours is too rare and wonderful to end like this! Where else will I find someone who won't laugh or scold me when I take foolish chances? Who'll help me try to make sense of things that seem to have no meaning? Who won't treat me like less of a person, just because I can't see as they do? You loved and protected me. Yet you gave me the space I needed to be me. Where do I find another man like you, Gary Hobson, who feels that love is more than just a physical act? You're my best friend, Gary! Please don't leave me!'

The silence was suddenly shattered by the explosive sound of a throat being cleared. Marissa smiled as she pictured Crumb's discomfort.

"You, ah, you two have known each other a long time, haven't you," he commented.

"Since he first walked into the door of Strauss and Associates," Marissa confirmed, in a sad voice.

"That's right. He was a stockbroker. What was he like, then? First startin' out like that?"

"Nervous," Marissa recalled fondly. "Bless his heart, he was so nervous coming in to apply for a job straight out of college, and a newlywed on top of that. I could hear him constantly tugging at that tie like it was about to strangle him! Anyone could tell that he really didn't want to be there. Later, once we'd gotten to know each other better, he confided that he had only taken the job to put his new wife through law school. He was so much in love with her; he would have done anything she asked of him. And, outwardly, it seemed like she loved him, too. Anyway, that first day, he was so jittery. Stuttering so bad I was afraid he might choke."

"Yeah," Crumb chuckled. "He gets really tongue-tied when he's nervous."

"And he was scared to death!" Marissa smiled at the memory. "You could tell that he hadn't had much experience with blind people. He wasn't sure what to say or do, how much help I might need or what I would find offensive. He walked on eggshells around me for weeks! Finally, he asked me out to dinner. I was a little surprised at first. After all he was supposed to be a happily married man! Still, you know, why not? So I agreed, and he took me out to this really nice restaurant. Not elegant, but nice. We had a lovely dinner, polite conversation, then, over desert, he finally got to the point. He said, 'Marissa, you're a wonderful, beautiful, intelligent woman. And I think you and I could be real good friends, b-but I don't know the rules here. And I'm tired of trying to treat you with kid gloves when you obviously don't want that. I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . h-how 'equal' is 'equal'? How should I behave a-around you so as not to offend you, yet not give the idea that I 'want' something from you? If-if you, um, know what I mean.' And I could actually feel him blush! Gary's the only one that has ever happened with. "

Crumb couldn't suppress a chuckle. He could almost see it! "So, what did you say?"

"Well, at first, I took it exactly the way he was afraid I would take it," she said with a giggle. "I was indignant, and accused him of trying to proposition me. And you should have heard him! I had thought he was nervous before, but I could practically hear the blood drain from his face! Talk about stuttering! He was almost incoherent! 'N-no! God, no! N-nothing . . .Oh, man. I knew I'd screw this up!' I could hear his hands raking through his hair. He does that a lot when he's nervous, too. 'I just . . . I love Marcia very much. But sometimes . . . sometimes I just need to get a different slant on wh-what might be going on with her. A second opinion, sorta. I mean, Chuck is a great guy, but he's a guy! I'm not talking about . . .no! God, not even if she was . . . which she isn't! I'm sorry. This was a bad idea. Just let me get the check and I'll take you home . . .' By that time, I finally understood what he had been getting at. He didn't want a lover. He was an only child, and he wanted a sister! Someone whom he could come to with his troubles, share secrets with and give him the female perspective. He couldn't get that from Marcia. He had tried. He told me that she listened to him talk, but not always to what he had to say. Suddenly, I felt . . . honored. This . . . young, healthy man saw me as something other than a blind woman. He saw me as more than just a woman. He wanted to be my friend in the truest sense of the word. I told him to sit back down and we would talk about it. We were there until they kicked us out. Just . . . talking. We've been the best of friends ever since."

"You got off to a better start with 'im than I did," Crumb laughed. "I arrested him! And he was the hostage!"

"A willing hostage, don't forget," Marissa reminded him. "He didn't have to run into that elevator behind the gunman."

"Does he still get letters from that guy?"

"No," she sighed. "Frank got a new job not long after that. Not having a bank robbery charge on his record helped. Gary still gets Christmas cards from him and his family, though." They sat in silence for a moment. "What do you think he meant? When he was . . . when he said he had 'stopped Marley'? Was he just . . .delirious?"

"Who knows with Hobson," the big detective growled. "Something strange is always goin' on around him. It always bugged me, though the way they hushed it up, and threatened the kid to keep his mouth shut. He deserved some recognition for his part in saving the President's life! After we'd chased him all over the city, thinkin' he'd killed Harry Hawkes. I still can't believe I let that smooth talkin' creep pull the wool over my eyes like that. Hobson could'a been killed! Then, when it's all over, the department gets a pat on the back, and he gets a slap in the kisser. They didn't even offer to let him shake the hand of the man who's life he'd helped save! Bugged the crap outta me for months. Then Hobson tells me he preferred it that way. That he was only doing what needed to be done. If I live to see the next millennium, I'll never understand him."

"What's to understand?" Marissa shrugged. "He's a good man who's just trying to do the right thing."

"Yeah, but that 'right thing' always seems to land him up to his ears in trouble," the ex-cop said with a snorting laugh. "Like when he found out the DA was out to blackmail my own partner into framing me. Or when that Rose, or Lilly, broad got under his skin. First it almost cost him a bundle of cash, then it almost cost him his life when Rose's old boyfriend showed up. He's always landing feet first in stuff like that. And let's not forget that Hernandez/Stone business. Almost got his head blown off. And the time he came barging in and saved me from that falling light fixture. The time we did that Shakespeare thing. Still, I have to admit he did great in that play."

"You all did," Marissa reminded him with a warm smile. "You got a standing ovation, remember?"

They sat in companionable silence for a time. Occasionally, they were sure they had heard a moaning sound, but Gary never stirred.

"You want to know what still haunts me about that Marley/Dobbs fiasco?" Crumb finally spoke up, unable to stand the silence any longer.

"What?"

"The look on the kid's face," he sighed. "We were taking Fishman in for questioning, and who should come trotting up but the Boy Wonder, here. He called my name, Marissa! And one of my men pulls a gun and aims it right at him. I'll never forget how he looked in that moment just before the car got between him and us. He looked . . .frightened, confused . . . and betrayed. He was coming to the police, to me, for help . . . and we almost killed him right there. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so . . . so lost in my entire life."

********************

Half an hour later, Marissa had to give in to her own weariness. After the exhausting day they'd had yesterday, the tragic events of early that morning, she was almost ready to drop. Finally, Crumb convinced her to surrender her place to the next pair of visitors. He gently took her arm and led her to the door. She needed to stop by the bar and pick up Reilly, she reminded him. The poor dog was probably still in his corner.

On the way out, they encountered an unexpected pair. Detectives Toni Brigatti and Paul Armstrong were waiting right outside the door.

"Does anyone know what happened?" Armstrong asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

"Best we can figure," Crumb sighed tiredly, "he was tryin' to change a light bulb at the head of the stairs goin' up to his room. One of the legs on the stepstool he used either slipped or broke, and he ended up on top of it at the bottom of the stairs. He may have gotten a shock from the light fixture, too. Between the EMTs, the docs', and us, we've jump-started his heart four times." His voice took on a sad, distracted tone. "The last time, they . . . um, they gave up on 'im. Declared him dead. Called the time, even. 4:42. Oh! He's okay, now," he hastened to add as Toni's face went six shades of pale. "He came back on his own. Gave us a hell of a scare, though. Now, we're just waitin' and watchin', hoping he'll wake up soon."

"Can we . . .?"

"Of course," Marissa replied with a wan smile. "In fact, the doctor we talked to awhile ago encourages it. He thinks that even patients in comas can hear, and are likely to come around more quickly if they have a familiar voice to guide them." She turned her sightless eyes directly on Toni. "I'm sure he'll be happy to hear . . . both of you." With that parting comment, she allowed Crumb to guide her down the hall.

******************

Toni went immediately to Gary's bedside. The sight of him lying there, so pale, almost bloodless, tore at her heart. He drove her crazy most of the time, mainly because she was never sure where she stood with him. It was like . . . he wanted to get closer to her, but something always held him back. Maybe this 'secret' that Paul was so obsessed about?

"Marissa said we should . . . talk," Armstrong reminded her. "Got any ideas? Something besides 'shop' talk?"

"Not a clue," Toni sighed as she unknowingly took the same chair that had held the other two women who were so important to Gary Hobson. "Outside of work, you and I don't exactly pal around much." She reached a slender hand over the rail and gently stroked the hair back from Gary's forehead. "At least now we know Ken wasn't yankin' our chains."

For several minutes, they sat there; just watching the rise and fall of his chest under the thin hospital gown. From what Crumb had said, it was a miracle that he was alive at all.

"So, um, how did you two meet?" Paul asked, un-nerved more than he cared to say by the silence.

"Back when I was with the US Marshall's Office," Toni replied with a smile. "He was tryin' to date this little blonde at the time. Anyway, he plowed his way into the steam room where the Treasury had an agent about to get his cover, and his brains, blown all over the wall. Gary saves the guy's life by pushing him out of the way, but now, he's a material witness to attempted murder! So, what does he get instead of us saying 'Thank you, Mr. Hobson, for saving his life? You deserve a commendation for you're heroic act?' We haul him downtown for questioning. Then we threaten to charge him with obstruction of justice if he doesn't co-operate. Put him in protective custody. When he refused a safe house, insisting that he had to stay at his own place, they assigned me to baby-sit him. So, I moved in with him. As his bodyguard, Armstrong!" she added as he failed to conceal a smirk. "The next morning, while I'm taking a shower, he sneaks downstairs. As soon as I realized what had happened, I ran down to the bar, in a towel, gun drawn, just in time for him to save my life when his bar was shot up. There we were, me in nothing but a large bath towel, and him right on top of me! Of course, that's when Blondie walks in. Poor guy, she let him have it with both barrels. So did his partner. See, he couldn't tell anybody why I was there! So he had to let them think whatever they wanted! And there wasn't a thing he could do. Later, he talked me into letting him keep a lunch date with the blonde."

Smiling, eyes closed, she absently stroked Gary's bandaged hand. She could still picture him as he had stood before her making his impassioned plea.

"How did he win you over?"

"By being honest," she told him evenly. "He said that he didn't want to suddenly find himself staring at the mirror when he's sixty-five and having to say, 'You've done a great job, but you forgot one thing,'" Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered his exact words. In a choked voice, she continued. "He s-said . . . 'You forgot to get a life!' He wanted a normal life, Paul. I don't think he asked for any of the strange things that keep happening to him. He's just a good man who can't seem to stay out of trouble." She paused to wipe the tears from her eyes. "Later," she continued in a steadier voice, "after I'd transferred to the force, he showed up at an undercover operation I was running. My partner was hung up in traffic and couldn't get to the ship in time to pose as my husband. Then, who should show up just in the nick of time, wearing the 'wrong' nametag? Three guesses. And the first two don't count."

Paul just shook his head with a quiet chuckle. This was sounding so familiar.

"So he had to pose as my husband, instead. I hog-tied him into it with more threats." She leaned over to brush a stray lock of hair from his sweat-beaded brow. "You know, it never even occurred to me to ask him nicely. But, we had a jewel thief to catch."

"Oh, yeah," Armstrong recalled. "The 'Iceman' business. I remember that case. Weren't you almost . . .?"

"Almost cost the department a huge chunk of change!" she confirmed with a shudder. "If Gary hadn't figured it out and retrieved the necklace, I'd be walking a beat until I retired." Wordlessly, she turned over Gary's right hand to show a faint scar on the inside of his wrist. "You know how he got that?" Paul just shook his head. "You wouldn't. It wasn't in my report. I had been making the rounds, checking out the security in the ballroom, the exits, and so on. Eventually I ended up on the roof. I heard a noise, and went to check it out. This door, I dunno, maybe the latch was broken. Anyway, it flies open and . . . I go flying over the railing."

"Christ, Toni!" Paul exclaimed, stunned. "You could've been killed! Why wasn't it in your report?"

"Cause he asked me not to," she replied quietly, stroking the motionless arm. "There I was, hanging on by my fingernails, absolutely sure this was it. I was going to die. Then, I hear this voice calling my name. It was Hobson, and he sounded so . . . desperate. I yelled to let him know where I was. A moment later, he was climbing over the railing, onto a ledge that was only a few inches wide. And . . . he pulled me up. That sounds a lot easier than it was, believe me. While we caught our breathe, still on that tiny ledge, I asked him what he was doing up there. Not that I wasn't thrilled to see him. He just said, 'Well, the view's nice.'" Toni gave a tiny laugh, shaking her head. "The view's nice! His partner told me later that heights make him nervous. Can you imagine the courage it took for him to climb out on that ledge?"

Or to crawl across from one roof top to another on a narrow ladder, Armstrong mused. That put a lot of things in a whole new perspective for him.

"That was when I noticed the cut on his wrist," the tiny detective continued. "I took him back to the suite to clean it up. We talked, and . . . he finally agreed to pose as my husband for the ball that night." She certainly was not going to tell him what else almost happened. "He's really a very good dancer." She smiled wickedly as another image surfaced. "We had to switch partners so I could talk with the guy we had pegged as the 'Iceman.' Hobson had to dance with that Amber chick, or look stupid just standing there. A few minutes later, I'm looking over and he gives this huge . . .kinda . . .gulp! She'd grabbed his butt! Then she smiled and said something like, 'nice glutes.' I thought Hobson was gonna die! I didn't know whether to laugh or barge over and tell the hussy to get her mitts off 'my husband'!"

"And Hobson was the only one to figure her for the 'Iceman'?" Paul asked, barely suppressing a grin at the image Brigatti had painted. God! He would have paid to see that!

"The only one," she agreed. "She had that 'dumb bimbo' routine down to a tee. She had everyone dazzled with her good looks and wide-eyed innocence. Everyone but him. He told me later that she just seemed too . . . predatory was the term he used. That she came across, to him, as not being as dumb as she looked. And he was right. When he showed up later with the Lermontov diamond, they almost threw the book at him! But, I was able to convince the chief to back off until we'd fingerprinted the necklace. They found my prints, Gary's, and a third print that had been found at the scene of more than a dozen thefts across the country. Add that to the fact that Gary was nowhere near any of the other cities in the last three years, at least, and they had to believe him."

"Did you ever catch up with 'Amber'?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "Didn't you know? She got a presidential pardon for some work she did for the State Department, don't ask me what, and married his best friend."

"What?"

"Her name is now Jade Fishman," Brigatti continued in an off hand tone. "She's happily married and living in LA. That's a whole 'nother story I don't want to go into right now." She sat back and leveled a challenging stare at him. "Your turn. Where did you first run into our 'Man Of Mystery'?"

Armstrong sat back with a sigh. This was not going to be pretty. "There was an apartment fire. Hobson turned in the alarm five minutes before the fire actually started. He goes around, pounding on doors, getting everyone out. Then, when everyone is clear, the witnesses said he got this funny, panicked look, and rushed back in. It turns out there was a homeless man sleeping on the roof. Hobson said later than he had 'heard a noise' and decided to check it out. He tried to get the man to cross over to the next roof with him by crawling on this narrow ladder." He nodded at Toni's pained look. "Yeah. Heights again. For someone who doesn't like heights, he sure seems to spend a lot of time in them. Anyway, the old man slipped. Hobson grabbed him and tried to hold on. Or so he said. Just looking at it from both sides, Brigatti! Keep that gun holstered! The man slipped from Hobson's grip and fell. Died instantly. To tell the truth, I never believed he was at fault. God! If you had been there to see his face! The man was in shock. Just totally . . .numb. When I questioned him later at his place, he was still sort of . . . distant. Like he was just going through the motions of being alive. It stirred my suspicions, and at the same time it . . . sent a chill up my spine. It was like talking to a dead man. The next day, he almost was. He had chased these two kids out of an abandoned carpet store. They got out, but the stairs collapsed under him. The kids started to go back to help, but he told them to leave while they could. So they did. Just before the building started caving in."

"Well, obviously he survived." Brigatti remarked with a visible shudder.

"It was hours before we knew that for sure," the tall detective sighed. "His partner, Marissa Clark, and that blonde you were talking about earlier, kept insisting that he was alive. Finally, after the rescue squad was ready to pack it up and send for the body retrieval team, they heard him calling for help. He must have been unconscious up until then. I was surprised to see him walk out on his own. And he didn't look so . . . numb as he had the last time I'd seen him. Tired, yes. But, like he had found a renewed purpose in life. It was weird."

He paused to study the subject of their conversation. He could have sworn he'd seen an eyelid flicker.

"The next time was right here, in the emergency room. He wasn't hurt," he hastened to add. "He had just rescued Meredith, my wife, from drowning. She'd passed out in the pool at her health club. That was when we first learned she was expecting our little girl. First thing I did was thank him . . . then I started grilling him. I wanted to know what he was doing at a women's health club. So he tells me he was checking it out for his girlfriend. My wife insists on meeting her, so he's trapped into bringing her over for dinner. She was the same blonde from the carpet store incident. If she was really his girlfriend, it was just before they broke up. You could tell things were really strained between them. He was nervous as a cat; barely touched his dinner. A day later, I see him and he still looks edgy. Asks me what I know about bombs, then says he saw something under this TV news reporter's car while looking for a contact lens. Sure enough, there was a bomb. But . . . I don't know . . . something just didn't ring true with Hobson. He was too evasive. Besides, he has 20/20 vision. Then, the next day, he's calling me up, saying that someone has planted a bomb at the 'Sun-Times'. I ask him how he knows, but he again avoids having to answer. Later, after we find the bomb, and give chase to the terrorists who planted it, we end up on the EL train. Meredith was also on that train. To make a long story short, Hobson saved the day again. Only, in doing so, he wasn't able to get to the train station in time to stop his girlfriend and her son from boarding the next train out of town."

"And, after all that," Brigatti remarked acidly, "you still believed he was capable of killing Scanlon in cold blood. Or, what was it you said? Delusional? A menace to himself and everyone around him? What does the guy have to do to get your trust, Paul? Die for you?"

"Nothing that drastic," Armstrong sighed. "Just tell me the truth."

*******************

Dee-dee-dee!

Armstrong looked down at his pager, cursing as he recognized Winslow's cell phone number.

"They probably want us back at the station," he sighed. "Time to alert the next shift."

Brigatti was on her feet first, gesturing for him to keep his seat. "I'll check in," she told him. "You watch over Sleeping Beauty for a few more minutes."

Her hand was inches from the door when she heard a hesitant knock. Perhaps the next shift was getting impatient. She pulled open the door to see a man in a dark uniform. A slender, dark haired woman stood at his side, holding the hand of a pretty little girl of about nine or ten.

"I'm sorry," the man said. "We don't mean to intrude, but is this Gary Hobson's room?"

"Yes it is," Brigatti assured them. "Are you friends of his?"

The man and woman exchanged uneasy glances. "Not exactly," she replied. "But, my daughter claims she knows him. She recognized his picture on the news this morning." The woman shifted uncomfortably as she continued. "It's not the first time. Not long ago, when the police were hunting that man who was accused of murdering that reporter, Frank Scanlon, she was positive he was the same man who saved her life when she was six."

"We tried to tell her that wasn't possible," the uniformed man added. "That a man capable of such an act wouldn't take the time to . . . to help a stranger, even a child. But, she was insistent. Then, when he was cleared, we thought, what if she's right? See, the man who rushed her to the hospital disappeared right after we got there, and we never got to thank him for taking care of our little girl. All anyone could tell us about him was that he'd said his name was Gary."

"Amanda said he never left her for more than a few minutes," the woman continued. "Even held her hand while she was in surgery. The doctor told us that, if not for that man's tenacity, they might have overlooked a serious head injury that . . .that would've killed our baby."

"Mo-om!" the little girl pouted. "I'm not a baby! Can I go look at him? Please? I'll know him if you just let me get a better look!"

Brigatti and Armstrong exchanged puzzled looks, then Toni shrugged as if to say: 'They came this far. Why not?'

"Sure," Paul replied with a smile. "Just try not to bump anything. They have him wired."

The little girl had already mastered the 'duh!' glare. Which she turned on the big detective as she walked past. She circled around the bed until she had a clear view of the unconscious man's face. He looked older than she remembered, and his hair was all mussed up. But, it was him. The one she had once described as 'an angel' in a black jacket. Tentatively, she reached over the rail to stroke his cheek.

"You need to wake up now," she murmured. "How can you hear me if you won't wake up?"

"He can hear you," Toni commented softly. "Just tell him what you want him to know."

"I want him to know I was here!" she replied tearfully. "Like he was for me! I want him to know that I remember what he did, and how he took care of me when no one else wanted to. They were all too busy! I-I want him to know th-that Amanda Bailey remembers Gary H-Hobson!"

Mr. Bailey walked around the bed and gathered the weeping child into his arms. Tenderly, he picked her up and carried her towards the door. "I guess that answers our question," he commented with a strained smile. He shifted the little girl's weight to one side and dug into his jacket pocket with his free hand. The card he handed Brigatti had his work and home numbers in fine print below the logo of a national airline. "Please let us know when he's able to talk," he requested. "We have a lot to thank him for. And a lot of questions." Turning to his wife, he said quietly, "Let's go, honey."

As the Bailey family made their exit, Toni Brigatti turned to her partner, her jaw clenched as she fought to keep her own emotions under control.

"Kinda puts a new perspective on the man, doesn't it," she said in a tight voice. "Makes you wonder if his 'secret' is all that big a deal. Maybe he's just a man who cares . . . so . . . much, that he can't just stand by and let bad things happen if he can stop them. Does that make him crazy, Paul, or just compassionate?"

"You still don't get it, Toni," Paul sighed wearily. "It's not what he knows or does that's got me on his case. It's how does he know?"

**********************

Bernie Hobson rubbed at his tired eyes, giving vent to a cavernous yawn. He and Lois had been camped out in Gary's room since just after supper the night before. The nurse had tried to get them to go home several times, but Lois had been adamant. She was not leaving Gary's side. Even the offer of a room just down the hall had not swayed her. She was not leaving this room again until their son woke up. And Bernie was not about to leave her alone.

He reached over and pulled the wrap back up where it had slid off one shoulder. Lois had finally given in to her exhaustion a couple of hours ago, laying her head on the mattress, her cheek resting on Gary's right arm. His hand rested loosely on top of hers. It was a scene that tore at Bernie's heart. If Gary didn't wake up soon, he was going to be a basket case.

He leaned over and brushed a lock of hair back from Lois' ear. "Sweetheart, I'm gonna go find some coffee," he whispered. "You want some?"

"Um hmm," was her drowsy response. "Sounds good."

"Be right back," he promised. A moment later, there was the quiet whoosh of the door swinging shut.

"Um, hmm," Lois mumbled. She started to pull her hand out from under Gary's to rub the sleep out of her own eyes, thinking that maybe she should have taken them up on the offer of a bed. Her hand wouldn't move. Puzzled, she raised her head, prying open her sleep-glazed eyes. At the same moment, she felt a slight increase in the pressure on her hand as Gary's fingers curled around hers. Suddenly, Lois wasn't sleepy at all. Heart racing with renewed hope, she gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. With an agonizing slowness, his hand closed around hers. "Gary?" she asked in a hopeful whisper. "Sweetie, can you hear me? If you can hear, Gary, open your eyes. I need you to open your eyes, baby. Please!"

"M'm? Wh-where . . .?"

"You're in the hospital, Gary," she told him gently, hitting the call button at the same time. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I-I fell?" he stammered drowsily, his voice barely above a whisper. "Th-the stool . . . stool slipped, I think. Hurts."

"Where, Honey? Where does it hurt? Do you need something for pain?"

Gary slowly shook his head, wincing at the pain which that ill-advised motion elicited. His eyelids fluttered as he tried rouse himself. "Jus' sore," he mumbled. "Headache. Ribs . . . sore." His brow wrinkled as he tried to think. "My leg. I . . . I broke . . . broke my leg. I f-felt it break! Why can't . . .? M'm, why . . . why can't I feel it n-now?"

"Sshhh." Lois smoothed the hair from his too pale forehead. "The doctors said you might not be able to feel anything right away. You go back to sleep now. I'll be here when you wake up."

"N-no." Gary turned dark, pleading eyes to meet her anguished blue ones. "T-tell me, Mom. The t-truth. I know . . . know my b-back . . . How b-bad?"

"We don't know, sweetie," she told him, her voice cracking. "We just don't know."

********************

Bernie and Lois sat in the waiting room of the radiology department. Or, at least, Bernie sat. Lois was wearing a track in the carpet. After Gary had finally drifted back to sleep, she had decided to find him some answers. Finally, his doctor had arranged for them to talk with the consulting neurologist. For about the fourth time in as many minutes, Lois glanced at her watch.
"You're just gonna wear yourself out, Lois," Bernie sighed. "The man will be here as soon as he can. Gary may not be his only patient."

"That's not helping, Bernie," Lois grumbled. "Gary may not be his only patient, but he's the one I'm concerned about right now." Her face twisted in misery as she finally took a seat next to her husband. "You didn't see his eyes, Bernie. He knew. He knew that his back was injured, and . . . I think he's afraid he'll . . . he'll never . . ." She took Bernie's hand in both of hers and leaned her head on his shoulder as she fought back another up-welling of tears. "It's just not fair for him to suffer like this! He's done everything that blasted . . . paper . . . has asked of him. He's gone way beyond anything Lucius Snow had to do. I've had Crumb check. Snow never had a police record. He was never hunted like an animal! But, Gary . . . he's had to run for his life twice! No, three times! And been held hostage, shot at, beaten, almost blown up . . . Why him? Why does he have to suffer so much to help others? Why . . . Why couldn't 'they' let him delegate a little? Just to lighten the load."

"We don't know that the paper had anything to do with this, Honey," Bernie reminded her. "He was just changing a light bulb! Coulda happened to anyone." He put a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "Anyone."

"Bernie Hobson," she said, "if you believe that, I have a bridge we need to talk about. In Brooklyn. Small deposit, easy payments, and no closing costs."

"Mr. and Mrs. Hobson?"

They looked up to see a slender, balding man of about average height, wearing a white lab coat. He had a wide mouth that looked as if he smiled a lot. He wasn't smiling, now, however. In one hand, he held a chart that he was studying with a concerned frown. Lois just knew it had to be Gary's. She suddenly felt a chill, as if a cold hand had wrapped itself around her heart.

*********************

"Gary, talk to me." Marissa pleaded. "I know you're awake and can hear me. You have to at least tell me to go away or I'll sit here until you do."

Gary gave no reply. Truthfully, he didn't trust himself to speak just yet. His emotions were still all over the place. He was overjoyed to be alive. Especially after being told how close he had come to dying. Yet, that lack of sensation below his hips . . . He knew his left leg was broken, could remember very clearly the pain as it had twisted under him on the stairs. He could still hear the crack of the bone. Over the past couple of hours, everything had come back to him. Which his doctor had been quick to point to as a good sign that he had suffered very little damage from his head injury. Still, the mind usually blocked out such memories. It was like . . . like he was hanging on to something he would never have again. And, if he had any doubts, there the damned thing was, immobilized by a splint, elevated in a sling, a drainage tube leading from the surgical dressings to a receptacle hanging from the bed frame.

"Please, Gary. At least let me know how you're feeling!"

"Numb," he told her in a raspy monotone. "I'm feeling . . . numb. How am I supposed to feel?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch, but not volume. "My legs . . . How can I help others, if I can't help myself? How do I stop a bomb or . . . or a fire from a wheelchair? How . . . how do I stop someone else from . . . from taking their own life if I want to die so bad it hurts?"

"You'll do whatever it takes, Gary," Marissa told him sternly. "You've never been a quitter. Somehow, you always manage to find an answer to every problem that's been thrown at you since . . .this . . . business began. Remember when you couldn't see? You were given a glimpse into a world I've lived in since I was a child. It happened for a reason, Gary. Everything that happens to you is for a reason. We just don't know what it is yet. Don't ask me why, but I think that, as soon as you've accomplished some . . .task, you will walk again."

"Yeah?" Gary grunted. "And what was my task then? To save Nate from burning to death? I could've done that a lot easier if I was able to see!"

"I don't think so," she replied. "I think it was so you could be saved by Cameron. Don't you remember how different he was later? You brought out a side of him he didn't know existed. By him saving you, you saved his soul. That's a rare and wonderful thing, Gary. But, it's something you've done many times. And you learned something about yourself as well. You were able to put your trust in a stranger. More than that, he was one of the same people who had caused you to be blinded in the first place. That took more than faith. You had to forgive him before you could trust him."

Gary turned his head to stare out the window in silence. He didn't want to hear this. Not right now, anyway. The memory of that time was still sharp and clear in his mind. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the heat of the flames, feel the acrid smoke eating at his lungs, taste the bitterness of it as it filled his mouth and nostrils. But, he couldn't see the flames. And, now he felt that same feeling of helplessness, of having to depend on others for his well-being. It ate away at the very core of his soul. Would he be depending on the welfare of others for the rest of his life?

"Well, this is a cheery sight!"

Slowly, Gary turned back toward the door. More memories came rushing back. A dark night on a lonely bridge, a speeding car. Pain! Without conscious thought, he brought his free hand up to gingerly massage the back of his head. "Doc Zimmerman?"

"Ah, you remember me! Good, saves time," the genial physician smile. Lois and Bernie just a few steps behind, wearing carefully neutral faces. "Now, what's this I hear of you trying to fly down some stairs? Last I recall, you hadn't sprouted wings . . . yet." he held up Gary's chart as he crossed the room. "Good afternoon, Miss Clark. Well, Mr. Hobson, the results of your tests are promising," he told his patient. "But, I still need a little 'hands on' before I draw any conclusions." He pulled a little rubber hammer from his pocket. "Actually, I'd have preferred to do this prior to your tests, but it's hard to do this to someone who's unconscious. Look at the ceiling and tell me what you feel."

He took Gary's right foot in one hand and, pressing the metal handle of the hammer deeply into the tender flesh, he drew it slowly upwards. Inwardly, he was pleased to feel a slight . . .twitch as the toes tried to curl. Keeping his face neutral, he looked to his patient. "Well? Anything?"

Eyes fixed on the ceiling, Gary frowned in concentration. "It almost . . .no," he sighed. "It was almost like I felt something for a moment, but it could've been just wishful thinking"

Zimmerman switched his attention to the other foot. He again placed his hand on top of the foot, and brought the instrument up to the instep. This time, however, he only went through the motions without actually touching metal to flesh.

Gary shook his head dejectedly. "Nothing."

The doctor quickly jabbed the metal handle into his instep and raked it upwards. Again the toes twitched.

Gary's forehead creased in puzzlement. There had been . . . something. Just a distant, fleeting . . . impression of sensation. But, nothing he could pin down as true feeling.

"Did you do something just then?" he asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

"I did, indeed," Zimmerman smiled. "What did you feel?"

"I-it was kinda like . . ." Painfully Gary wracked his brain for a way to describe what he had . . . felt. "It was a tickle . . . kinda. Only real . . . distant. Like there was this thick layer of something in the way. O-or like it was happening to someone else. Does that . . . ? I mean . . . could I . . .?"

Zimmerman pulled a stool close to Gary's bed, his face arranged in a carefully neutral smile. "It means that we are not without hope," he told his patient. "The MRI shows some swelling just below the area where the spinal cord branches out into the nerve bundles that serve the lower extremities. Your legs. So long as the swelling persists, your sensory and motor functions will be impaired. But, once the swelling subsides, you should start getting some feeling back. If it doesn't persist too long."

"And . . .and because I can feel a little . . .?" Gary asked, all too aware that everyone in the room was waiting breathlessly for the answer.

"It's a little too early to say just yet," the doctor hesitated, "but . . . the swelling may be starting to ease up a bit. I'd like to wait a few weeks and repeat the MRI. That should give us an idea of how fast it's subsiding, and what kind of time frame we may be looking at."

"Time frame," Lois Hobson repeated. "What sort of 'time frame' are we looking for?"

"As to how long before we can get him back on his feet," was the welcome reply. "Now, don't break out the champagne just yet," he cautioned. "We could be looking at weeks, months, or even years. It depends on more than just the spinal damage. There's also the broken femur to deal with. Not to mention the electrocution, and the fact that you tried to check out on us a few times. Plus, they tell me you're still a few pints low. The most important factor, however, is you, Mr. Hobson. How determined you are to walk again, and how much co-operation you're willing to give."

Gary stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts in turmoil, his heart racing. He could walk again? That was great, wonderful! But, what about . . .? No, he couldn't think about that now. Whatever 'task' Marissa felt might be in store, he would deal with as soon as it presented itself. It was all connected somehow, he believed. He had to believe. Otherwise, none of this made any sense. He suddenly realized that the doctor had said something.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "What . . .?"

"I said," Zimmerman repeated, "that you could be upgraded from 'critical' to 'guarded' condition by this time tomorrow if everything remains stable. And if you continue to co-operate with the nurses. Your doctor tells me that you've been a little . . . difficult."

Gary's pale features took on a pinkish glow as the doctor's meaning sank in. He held up his bandaged hands.

"I can understand the need to . . . the personal hygiene, and such," he replied. "And I'm not exactly . . . I mean . . . it's kinda hard to . . . with these." He shot an uncomfortable glance towards his parents and Marissa.

"Perhaps we should wait outside," Marissa suggested, rising from her seat. She tried hard to suppress a tiny smile, but it slipped through. Poor Gary! He embarrassed so easily! She herded his parents out the door ahead of her.

"Just a second, Doc," Bernie quickly spoke up. "I'd like to know if he can still . . ."

Marissa and Lois each grabbed an arm and dragged a loudly protesting Bernie out the door.

"Wait! I wanna ask if he's gonna be able to . . ." Bernie protested.

"This is hard enough on him as it is," Lois hissed to her husband. "Let's not make it any worse!"

"Thank God," Gary sighed as soon as the door closed. "I was sort of afraid Dad was gonna ask about . . . He's almost as fixated on grandkids as Mom is. Only he gets a little bit more . . . graphic."

"Ah, I see." Zimmerman nodded in understanding, a quick grin flickering across his generous mouth. "He would be the one to ask if you could still . . ."

"Exactly," Gary interjected hurriedly. "Anyway, um, I pretty much have to lay here and let them do what . . .whatever they want to me. How am I being difficult?"

"You refused your medication this morning."

"I didn't refuse," Gary protested. "I wanted to know what they were about to give me, that's all. And what it was for. The nurse just smiled and started to give me the damned shot anyway. I told her . . . told her I knew my rights and didn't have to take any drugs if I chose not to. Then I said for her not to bring anymore needles around me until she could tell me what was in them. I still have that right, don't I, Doc?"

The doctor sat back as he comprehended Gary's situation. He needed at least some . . . control over what was being done to him.

"The medication was a mild painkiller," he informed his patient. "I don't know if you were told, but you received some pretty deep second-degree burns on your hands, plus some cracked ribs. They can be extremely painful. Your doctor probably wants to spare you that."

"I've been burned before, Doc," Gary responded evenly. "I've had worse than cracks, too. I already know how bad it can get. And, I can't feel my legs at all. So, could you please ask them not to bring any more painkillers? I need . . . I need to feel . . .something. You know what I mean? I need to . . . to feel!"

He could see how important this was to his patient. The pleading, desperate look Gary turned his way spoke more loudly than his tone. And this was possibly the only ounce of real control he had over his situation.

"I'll talk with your doctor," he conceded. "But, on only one condition. If the pain interferes with your recovery . . ."

"If I need it, I'll ask for it," Hobson quickly agreed, relief filling his voice. "Thanks. So, um, you heard from Dr. Marks, lately? Doing well in her new job?"

"Doing quite well," Zimmerman smiled. "She asked about you recently. Wanted to know if you were still having those 'premonitions.' Are you?" At Gary's uncomfortable silence, he nodded. "I see. Still having to make some really tough decisions, I'll bet. So why didn't you know about . . .this?"

Gary chewed on his lower lip as he considered how to answer. He trusted Dr. Zimmerman, to a certain extent. More than anyone else outside his family and a tight circle of friends. The neurologist had been very sympathetic to his situation the last time they had met. He had offered to listen to whatever Gary was willing, or needed, to talk about.

"It's . . . it's kinda complicated, Doc," he stammered. "Sometimes things . . . they have to happen so I can be someplace I need to be. Like . . . like with Rachel. I needed to meet her. To stop that first surgery, I think. And to . . . I don't know how to explain any of this so it makes sense," he sighed, frustrated. "And I don't know why this had to happen," he added, waving a hand at his legs. "I just have to keep believing that there is a reason. Otherwise, I'll end up just as crazy as everyone thinks I am. When . . . no, if that happens, if I start seriously doubting myself . . . I won't have any hope left at all."

********************

It was snowing. Big, fluffy, lazy drifts of whiteness. It was a magical time when anything could happen. Even miracles. Gary was a child again, running and laughing as the snow fell in feathery softness all around him. The silence rang with his joyful exuberance. In the distance, he heard a voice calling his name. 'Mom?' He ran in great leaps and bounds towards the voice.

Suddenly, the snow wasn't just drifting anymore, and he was no longer a child. A strong wind began to blow, pushing him back the way he had come. The familiar voice began to recede, growing fainter and fainter with each struggling step. He could no longer tell which direction the voice was coming from! Gary fought hard, pushing himself against the almost solid wall of freezing white, only to have it dance around him in a dizzying swirl! The wind blew faster and harder, the once fluffy softness now a stinging, biting force! It was getting harder to move. His legs had become mired in a deep drift of icy crystals. Stubbornly, he tried to claw his way out, but the snow just kept piling higher and higher!

"Gary? Gary, wake up, sweetie. You're having a bad dream, sweetheart."

Gary snapped awake with a violent shudder. For a moment, all he could do was lay there, his eyes wide and fearful, as he stared, unseeing, at the white ceiling! His breath came in ragged, panting gasps, forcing air into tortured lungs! Gradually, though, his racing heart slowed to a less frantic pace, his pulse no longer pounding like fierce jungle drums in an old Tarzan movie. It was just a dream. He wasn't being buried alive in a frozen wasteland.

Memory came back in a rush. The light, the stairs, falling . . . The rest came back in a horrifying wave. Waking up, lying on his own grave. Dad. The ghost of himself as a child. The hospital, and Mom . . . The wild, frantic ride back to . . . to his grave. And . . . the rest.

Trembling, Gary squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of images. It was no use. It had all been too real to ignore or dismiss. He knew he could never explain it to anyone else. There was no way he could even hope, let alone expect, anyone to believe what he knew to be true, when he had such a hard time believing it himself. All he knew was, during the hour or two he had been laying there, bleeding to death on his own stairway, he had once again been sent on a sojourn back in time. A journey that, for him, had lasted several days. All the pain, physical and emotional, all the bitter frustration, desperation and despair hit him like a physical blow. Tears flowed from the corners of his eyes as his body shook in a silent reaction to the turmoil in his mind.

Something soft touched his face, wiping away the moisture that flowed so freely from his eyes. With a shuddering sigh, Gary finally pried them open to see his mother and Nurse Corso leaning over him. His Mom still had a tissue in her hand, and a look of concern on her tired face. Next to her stood a little girl, whose heart-shaped face mirrored her concern. Something about her tugged at Gary's memory, but, his mind was too full of frustration and terror to grasp who she was. Then it hit him. Another time when he faced seeming impossibilities. A choice between one life . . . and almost two hundred.

"'Manda?" he murmured. The child's face split into a huge smile when he said her name. "Amanda B-Bailey?"

"You do remember!" she almost crowed with delight. Amanda turned to look over Gary to someone just beyond his sight. "I told you it was him!"

Slowly, Gary turned his head to see a man and woman standing by the door. At their daughter's joyous announcement, they approached the bed. He remembered them, also. The woman had asked directions to Recovery, and the man had come rushing in less than a minute later, an airline pilot's cap in one hand.

Assured that her patient wasn't having a heart attack, Nurse Corso smiled at the little girl and turned to go. "Let me know when you're ready for your next shot," she told Gary.

"Hunh? Oh, sure." He turned back to the couple by the door. "C-captain Bailey?" Gary stammered, still caught halfway between dream and memory. He closed his eyes again as a violent shudder coursed through his body. God! He was so cold! "S-sorry," he said, giving them a weak smile of apology. He reached for the bed controls, only to be reminded of his injured hands.

"What do you need , Hon," his mom asked.

"To get these . . .bandages off," he grumbled, casting a sheepish look Amanda's way. "But, I'll settle for being able to sit up a little." Fighting the urge to grin at his embarrassment, Lois worked the controls until Gary indicated he was comfortable. "Thanks, Mom. How ya been, Amanda?"

"I'm fine," she replied. "Why'd you go away so fast? I wanted you to meet my Mom and Dad, to tell 'em what you did, but you'd already gone. Where'd you go? And why didn't you come visit me? I was in that place a long time!"

Gary had to pause before answering to swallow the ice chips his mom had shoveled into his mouth the moment he had opened it. Not that he didn't appreciate the relief to his dry, raspy throat, but a little warning would've been nice!

"Sowwy," he mumbled around a second mouthful, shooting Lois a reproachful look. "Shanks, Mom," he repeated. He swallowed before continuing. "That's plenty." Gary waved a bandaged hand towards her. "Have you guys met, yet?"

"We've spent the last half-hour getting to know each other, Dear," Lois told her son. "Captain and Mrs. Bailey have been telling me all you did for Amanda. Why didn't you ever mention it?" Her voice held a slight edge that said, 'Secrets? Again?'

Gary squirmed uncomfortably under the four penetrating gazes. Why did he always have to undergo a third degree, just for doing the right thing?

"I, um, I did visit, Amanda," he finally replied to her second question. "But, you were either asleep or had a lot of other . . . I didn't want to intrude on you and your friends, since they could only stay a short time."

"But, why did you disappear?" Mrs. Bailey asked. "Amanda and that surgeon told us all that you did for her, even after they threw you out and threatened to call the police. About how you shamed him into looking at her as a person, instead of just notes on a chart. My baby almost died, Mr. Hobson," she added in a voice choked with emotion. "She would have died if not for you. And we never got to thank you!"

"Until today," Captain Bailey added, putting a supporting arm around his wife's shoulders. "I don't know how you knew what to look for. Or, for that matter, that I'm a captain." He glanced down at his civilian attire. "And I really don't care. You saved something very precious to me. There aren't enough words . . ."

"It was my pleasure," Gary told them, giving Amanda a quick, shy smile. "Just glad everything turned out okay."

Captain Bailey looked at his watch. "We've got to go," he said. "I've just enough time to change before my next flight." He held out one hand to his daughter.

"But, he just woke up!" she pleaded. "Can't I stay? Just a little longer? Please?"

"No, Amanda," her mom replied firmly. "I'll bring you back after school tomorrow. Now, say goodbye and let's go."

Pouting, Amanda turned towards Gary. Then, her eyes took on a mischievous gleam and a slow grin spread across her face. She threw her arms around Gary's neck and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "I won't tell them," she whispered.

Surprised, Gary whispered back, "Tell 'em what?"

"That you're an angel." Then she just as quickly let go and scooted around the bed to her parents. With a last wave and a smile, she was gone.

Gary stared at the empty doorway in puzzlement. "Did you hear what she said?" he asked his mom. "She thinks I'm an angel!"

"Well, aren't you?"

******************

Gary found himself sleeping a lot. There just wasn't that much else to do. Amanda was able to come around only after school. Daytime TV pretty much left him cold, except for some of the talk shows. Plus, he was finding it difficult to even channel surf. The bandages on his hands made it hard to hold the remote. And, until his hands were healed enough to take the abuse, he could not start rehab.

Rehab. Just the sound of the word set his teeth on edge. It just wasn't the same as 'therapy.' Therapy, to him, was someone helping him keep up his muscle tone through massage and exercises. Rehab was . . .giving up. It was learning how to deal with what could still turn out to be a permanent condition. Still, he was determined to give it his best shot. It didn't matter, really, if it was only for a few months, a few years or, God forbid, the rest of his life. He would have to know his strengths as well as his limitations if he was to continue to receive the Paper. So far, his parents had dealt with it admirably. Ultimately, however, he knew it was still his responsibility. No matter what.

"Gar! I can't believe this! Go away for a coupla months and what happens?"

Startled out of his reverie, Gary looked up at the, oh, so familiar voice. "Chuck? When . . . How? I mean . . ."

"A light bulb, Gar?" his best friend asked with a pained look. "You yank people from in front of moving cars everyday. Walk out on ledges to stop suicides about once a week. And hang off the sides of speeding trucks like one of those stupid dolls with the suction cups on their feet. Then you get laid up changing a light bulb?"

Gary had to fight down a sheepish grin. It did sound a little absurd when put in those terms. "I was out-numbered," he tried to excuse himself. "There were three of them. The light, the stairs, and the stool was in on it, too."

"And the stairs just reached up and grabbed you?"

"Exactly!" Gary exclaimed, waving his hands in emphasis. "Swatted me like a fly!"

Chuck reached out and took one of the bandaged appendages, giving a sideways look at the injured leg. His usually jovial face was creased with concern.

"Crumb said you . . .that they couldn't . . ." he swallowed convulsively, his voice suddenly low and solemn. "What was it like? I mean . . .what did you see?"

Gary looked up at the ceiling as he tried to find words to describe the experience. "I don't remember much," he finally said. "It was like . . . floating. Like I was somewhere near the ceiling looking down on . . .on myself. I could see everything that was going on. Hear the doctors and nurses calling out for one thing or another. It was like . . . like I was there . . . and not there, if you know what I mean. I could hear Mom and Marissa. They were crying, and calling my name. Then . . .there was . . . There was this light, a brightness sorta. And . . .then I was back in my body and someone, Mom, I think, was screaming for the doctor. The rest is kinda hazy. I don't remember much about the next coupla days. I could hear . . . I could hear people talking about me, sometimes. Like they were remembering stuff. I guess they weren't sure I was gonna make it. But . . . mostly I just had this . . . feeling. Like . . . like a warm blanket being spread over me. I don't think I've ever felt so safe, or so . . . loved in my life.

"No angels offering ya a lift in a cosmic caddy?" Chuck asked in a disappointed voice. "Cheez, what a rip off! If anyone rated an escort, I'd think it'd be you."

"I don't think it works that way," Gary chuckled. "For some reason, I got the impression that I was being sent back, that I still had a lot of work to do."

"You were rejected?"

"No, just postponed," Gary explained with a wry grin. "It seems the Paper doesn't choose just anybody to do its dirty work. I was chosen twenty-four years ago. And my replacement is only ten. So I have to stick around at least 'til she's out of high school."

"That sucks. Don't get me wrong, Gar," Chuck hastily added when Gary gave him a pained look. "I just mean, that Sam guy from New York was able to retire and pass on his Paper. It would be nice if you could look forward to a few years to kick back and relax in your old age."

"Seems like Chicago plays by a different set of rules," Gary sighed wistfully.

"Well, that leg won't be broke forever," Chuck tried to console his friend. "And you'll need to kick back and chill for a while 'til you're back up to snuff. Why don't you come out to the Coast, stay with Jade and me for a few weeks.? We can show you the sights, laze on the beach, go water skiing, surfing. All the things we always wanted to do and never got to. Horseback riding. Remember how much you used to love to ride? Stables everywhere. I can set you up with this guy who trains Arabians for show!"

"Chuck."

"Or we could go to the mountains, do some hiking," Chuck went on, not catching the change in his friend's tone. "Or rock climbing. Jade's big on rock climbing for some reason. Must've come in handy in her old line of work."

"Chuck!"

"Mountain bikes! Get us a couple of those dirt bikes and hit the back trails! That'll be great! Go fishing on one of those little lakes you can't reach by road!"

"Chuck! I can't!" Gary finally shouted. "I can't walk, Chuck!" he continued in a quieter voice. "I can't . . .feel my-my legs. Not much anyway." Seeing his best friend's stunned expression, he asked, "Didn't anyone tell you?"

"No" Chuck replied in a near whisper. "We . . . Jade and I, we just came straight here from the airport. She stopped to talk with . . . Your mom didn't have a chance . . .God, Gar, I'm so sorry! I never . . . I mean . . . this is terrible! How could this . . . to you of all people! It's just . . . No way this can be happening!"

Gary made little hushing gestures with one hand while he awkwardly raised the head of the bed with the other. Chuck either didn't see them or chose to ignore the attempt to calm his rambling speech. Gary tried to get the distraught little man to stop pacing, and look at him, but Chuck was on a roll.

"This isn't fair," he was saying as he frantically paced the length of the room. "No way this can be happening to you! Not over a stupid light bulb! I mean, when you got hit by that car, I could see it happening then. Worried the hell out of me 'til you woke up. Or when you fell off that scaffolding and broke your leg. Coulda happened then. But it didn't! No, you had to go and change a freakin' light bulb!"

"Chuck!" Gary snapped, exasperated. "Would you please shut up and come here? You're making me dizzy with all that . . . Could you at least stand in one place? Thank you! Now, before you go off on another rant . . ."

"I wasn't ranting!" Chuck protested, his back to Gary.

"Yes you were, now shut up. It's my turn to talk," he replied. "Where was . . . Oh, yeah. It's not hopeless. But, it may be . . . it may be a long time before I'm back on my feet. A long time. Months, at least. M-maybe years. We just won't know until . . .until it happens. In the meantime . . ."

"In the meantime, what happens with the Paper?" Chuck asked in a choked voice. "Are your folks gonna have to take over for the duration?"

"No," Gary assured him. "I'll have to learn to navigate on wheels for a while. But, there's still plenty I can do. I might even get around faster."

"How do you figure that?" Chuck sniffled, wiping his eyes. Was he crying? Gary wondered.

"Well, I can park in the handicapped zones," he offered. "And, for the short haul, at least, wheels are faster than feet. I've seen one guy get up to sixty, and I swear he takes corners at fifty-five." Yep, there came the handkerchief. "Could you at least look at me, Chuck? I didn't turn into a wart faced troll, did I? Does . . . does this . . . ch-change things between us? Do . . . do you think I'm . . . I'm less of . . . less of a man . . . be-because of . . . of this?"

That got his attention! Chuck spun around to face his friend at last, to reveal tears streaming down his startled face.

"Gar! How could you even think . . .?" He rushed over to sit on the edge of Gary's bed, pulling his friend into a tight embrace. "God, no!" he sniffed. "I never. . .You're the best friend a guy like me could ever hope to have! And more man, in or out of a chair, than Chuck Norris and Arnold Schwarzenegger put together. If you say you can do this, then God help whoever tries to stand in your way!"

Gary awkwardly wrapped his arms around his quietly sobbing friend, gently patting him on the back and making soothing 'there there' noises as he finally released his own tears.

That was the way Bernie and Lois found them, just moments later, as they escorted Jade into the room. Then it was Gary's turn for a surprise when he got a good look at the ex-jewel thief.

"Wow, Jade!" he exclaimed, letting go of Chuck and wiping the moisture from his reddened eyes. "Congratulations! Both of you! Chuck, why didn't you tell me you're about to be a dad? When's the baby due?"

"Any day now," Jade sighed as she carefully lowered herself into a chair. "And not a moment too soon." She placed one hand on her swollen abdomen. "These two take turns pummeling my kidneys."

"Twins?" Gary's face split into a broad grin. "Chuck! You dog! That . . . that's incredible! Do you know what they are yet? Boys, girls, one of each?"

"One of each," Chuck told his friend, drying his own face. It was just like Gary to shift focus away from himself as soon as possible. The man could not bear to be the center of attention. It gave him hives, or something. "And, no, I will not be in the delivery room! I love Jade very much, and I intend to be the best father I can be, but I have to draw the line at the door on this one."

"Chuck's got this thing about . . . body fluids," Gary told his parents with a chuckle. "Freaked him out big time to be stuck in an elevator with a woman who, coincidentally, was also expecting twins!"

"Freaked out! I passed out!" his friend reminded him. "If Gar hadn't showed up when he did, that lady would've had to deliver those kids herself!" 'There!' Chuck thought. 'Get out of that one!'

"You delivered twins?" Bernie exclaimed. "Way to go, son! Why didn't you ever tell us?"

"All I did was catch 'em as they came out," Gary mumbled self-consciously, ducking his head to hide the color he felt burning in his cheeks. "And tie off the, um, you know. Anyway, it was Chuck's big moment. I just pinch-hit for him."

"Don't worry, Gary," Jade said with a laugh. "I'm not going to put you in that position," she promised. "Gary and Alexandria will be born in a hospital with a qualified doctor in attendance."

"Wh-what did you call them?" Gary asked, uncertain he had heard right.

"My daughter is Alexandria," Chuck told him, "because Jade likes names that are also precious stones. And, somehow, I just can't get my teeth into 'Ruby' or 'Pearl Fishman'."

"B-but the boy?"

"After you of course," Jade smiled. "Who'd you think we'd name our first-born after? After all, we need someone to look after our children if something should happen to us! Feel up to the job?"

Gary was speechless. Godfather. Chuck and Jade wanted him to be like a godfather or an 'uncle' to their twins. Suddenly his heart felt so full, it could burst at any moment! Choking back a fresh flow of tears, Gary tried to change the subject.

"You, um, you plan to . . . to have 'em here? In Chicago, I mean," he stammered. "W-will you be in town that long?"

"Probably," Jade told him. "We intend to be here until you're able to go home."

"That long?" he said with a grimace. He shook his head sadly, holding up his burned hands. "It'll be a few more days before these are uncovered. And another month at least before this leg is healed enough for anything but massage therapy. But, I can start . . . can start rehab as soon as they put the cast, or splint, or whatever on in a coupla days."

"What kinda . . . well, 'social' life will you have?"

"Chuck!" Lois exclaimed, her face scarlet. "What kind of question is that?"

"An honest one," Bernie spoke up. "I'm wondering the same thing."

A voice from the door asked, "Wondering what?"

'Saved!' Gary sent a heartfelt 'thank you!' heavenward, as he turned to face this new distraction. "Chuck," he squeaked. "Um, Chuck, you remember Dr. Zimmerman."

"The guy who unscrambled Gar's brain a coupla years ago," Chuck explained to his wife. "How's it been, doc?"

"Reasonably well," the doctor smiled. He eyed Jade's condition with an air of concern. "Obstetrics is up one floor," he commented dryly. He turned to Chuck. "You're a lucky man, Mr. Fishman. Now, what were you wanting to know?"

"If Gary can . . . you know."

"C'mon, Chuck!" Gary pleaded. "Have a heart! Ignore 'im, doc. He's . . ."

"I wanna know, too," Bernie insisted. "Your mother and I have a right to know if . . ."

"Please! Mom, make him stop!"

"Don't you want to know, Gary?" Jade asked with a mischievous grin.

"No!" Gary practically shouted. "I don't want to know!"

"If he's still able to 'get lucky'," Chuck blurted.

Zimmerman never batted an eye. "Depends," he replied.

"On what?" Lois asked, as Gary slid the blanket over his head. 'No!' he thought. 'She had to ask!'

"Was he 'lucky' before?"

*****************

"You can come out now, Gary," Zimmerman told him, perching on the side of the bed. "Everyone's gone. I promise."

"No," Gary said in a small, petulant voice.

"It's alright to be embarrassed," the doctor tried again. "It is, after all, a very personal question. And, I'm sorry I made light of it. But, it was still one that needed to be asked. Don't you want to know?"

"Not anymore," Gary grumbled from under the covers. "Go away. Please." The covers shifted as if he were trying to get comfortable.

"The issue can't be put off forever," Zimmerman tried to reason with him.

"Oh, yes it can."

"Why?"

Frustrated, Gary flung the covers down. "Because . . . because it's something that should only matter to me and . . . and one other person," he explained angrily. "The m . . . m-mother of my children. I've never just . . . It's got to mean something besides . . . If I . . . we . . . the two of us, aren't . . . then we have no business . . . God! Why am I even talking about this?" He jerked the covers over his head once again and flopped back in the bed. "Just tell everyone I'm fine and to please . . . go . . . home."

"There's a simple, easy way to find out," Zimmerman offered. He was rewarded with a pair of dark eyes peering cautiously over the covers.

"There is?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure! With a little visual aid from the sperm bank . . ." The eyes vanished.

"Go . . . away!"

*******************

Dr. Zimmerman emerged from Gary's room, his expression grim. He strolled over to the small group standing a few feet away. Lois and Bernie Hobson were arguing heatedly in whispers. Chuck stood next to the chair he had found for Jade. The pregnant woman just sat with her head leaning against the wall, her eyes closed.

"That is a scene that I think we should avoid in the future," he told them. "Right now, his self esteem is extremely fragile. It would be very easy for him to slip into depression. We . . . meaning all of us, need to avoid that. Before, if a subject became too embarrassing for him, he could leave the room. At this time, he has no option but to stay. What the five of us just did to him was cruel. We didn't mean for it to be, but it was. In the future, I suggest that we give a little more consideration to Gary's sensibilities. For his sake."

Lois looked up at her husband. "We should go back in there and apologize," she told him.

"No. You shouldn't," the physician advised. "Let it drop. Give him time to get his feelings sorted out. All of you, just go home, out to dinner, whatever. Let Gary have a little space. For the next several months, he's going to be moody, frustrated, angry. It's going to take time for him to sort out his feelings. He's also going to be pushing the limits of what he can, and cannot do. You'll find him trying things you're afraid to let him do. Unless it's something almost suicidal, don't get in his way. He needs to have some control over his life. Especially now."

Chuck and Bernie exchanged glances, both trying very hard to keep a straight face.

"C-control," Chuck repeated in a strangled voice. "Gary's whole life has been out of control for the last four years!"

"Well, you'd better find some way to help him get a grip on things," Zimmerman told them grimly. "His life could depend on it."

**************

It was several days before Gary would speak in more than grunts and monosyllables to either of his parents. Chuck and Jade he wouldn't even look at. He ducked under the covers every time they came to visit, at first. Then he graduated to just sitting with his arms crossed and staring miserably out the window. Finally, he relented and forgave everyone. The forbidden subject, however, was never brought up again.

Eventually, the bandages on his hands were replaced by soft cotton gloves and he was able to start rehab.

Amanda came in one day to find Gary with a bright yellow tennis ball in each hand. She watched him squeeze and release them over and over again for several minutes.

"Whacha doin'?"

"Building up my arm muscles," Gary told her with a tiny smile. "It's part of what I have to do before they can teach me how to handle a . . . a wheelchair. They start me on this, then I move up to heavier stuff. I've been in this bed so long, I'm getting flabby."

"That's not what I heard the nurses say," Amanda told him in a sing-song voice. She wore an evil little grin.

Gary stopped what he was doing and gave her a suspicious look. "What did you hear?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to know. "You haven't been eavesdropping again, have you?"

"Just a little," she confessed with a giggle. "The nurses all think you're cute. What's a 'stud'?"

Gary's face went bright red as he tried to formulate an answer that would not come back to bite him later. "Um, shouldn't you be in school?" he asked in a strangled voice, stalling for time.

"Nope," she replied as she scooted onto the bed. "Summer vacation isn't over for another eight weeks. You didn't answer my question. Why did the nurses say you were a stud?"

"Th-that's one of those things you'd better ask your mother," he finally told her. God! How could he ever face any of the nurses with a straight face after that?

"Wise answer," observed a voice from the door. Dr. Zimmerman came in, followed by Diane, the therapist overseeing his rehab. "I've just been looking at your latest x-rays," the doctor told him. "Your leg is healing at a remarkable rate. Diane and I think we can start the more aggressive part of your rehab next week."

"Does that mean he gets a wheelchair of his own?" the little girl asked guilelessly.

Zimmerman was watching Gary, so he was unable to miss the effect her innocent question had on his patient. "Yes," he replied levelly. "That's exactly what it means, Amanda. Gary, you need to look on this as a step up, so to speak. At least, you'll finally be out of this bed."

"Sure," Gary agreed, his voice as flat and wooden as his expression. "I'm thrilled." He seemed suddenly fascinated by the bright yellow ball in his right hand. "Um, how . . . how long before we can work on getting me out of it, Doc?"

"I still don't have an answer for you, Gary," the doctor told him honestly. "If your back were healing as fast as your leg, I'd say a few months. But, it's not. And, I have no explanation for either. You are a living, breathing enigma, Gary."

Gary had his own theories about that, and they all centered around a newspaper and a certain orange tabby. Evidently, he had yet to find his 'task.'

"We need to go over what you can expect to be doing in rehab, Gary," Diane told him. "You've already been started on the upper body exercises, and doing quite well, so far. We start you on free weights tomorrow. If you can maintain your present rate of progress, you'll be ready for the parallel bars by the time that splint comes off next week."

Gary's head snapped up to meet her gaze. "Next week? Hang on, I thought bones took at least six weeks to get strong enough to bear weight. It's only been . . . three since the accident!"

"As I said," the doctor reminded him, "your leg is almost completely healed. Both the bone and the exit wound. Also, your leg won't be required to bear weight until feeling returns. Now, let Diane finish."

"Thank you," the therapist smiled. "Once I'm satisfied with your performance on the parallel bars, we'll teach you how to get in and out of your chair under various conditions and circumstances. Also how to maneuver in and out of various types of vehicles, whether equipped for the handicapped or not. Getting in and out of a shower or tub. Various tools to make life a little easier. Even various recreational activities you can participate in to keep fit. We can even teach you to drive with special manual controls."

"Cool!" Amanda exclaimed. "Can I watch?"

"No, Sweetie," Gary replied automatically. His mind was careening like a 'Tilt-a-Whirl.' "Um, would you mind if I talk with the doc and Diane alone, Hon? I've got some . . . some kinda embarrassing questions to ask."

"Those are the best kind!" the little girl pouted as she slid off the bed, heading for the door. "I have to go anyway. Mom is taking me to see Gram and Gramps for the weekend. Can I come back next week?"

"Sure, Amanda. But, don't I get a kiss before you go?" Gary asked, giving her a sad smile. "You know I can't sleep without my goodnight kiss."

The little girl practically flew across the room and climbed onto Gary's bed. She planted several wet kisses on each cheek before giving him an enthusiastic hug. "There! That's until I get back. I want you to get lots of rest so you can get better."

"Thanks, Amanda," Gary smiled. "I feel better already." He gave her a quick peck on the forehead and let her go. As soon as she was out the door, he turned to his other two visitors, his face grim.

"You talk as if I'm never gonna walk again," he said. "Like I should be happy just to get out of this damned bed. That's not good enough. I want to walk again. I want to be ready to walk again! What kind of therapy will . . .can I receive towards that goal?"

"Until you actually have feeling and movement in both legs there's not much we can do," Diane replied truthfully. "There are exercises we can perform to keep the muscles from atrophy, but little that you can do on your own. Sorry."

"Then teach me what you can."

*****************

Gary was half asleep when Chuck and Jade came by that afternoon. They were still a little unsure of their welcome. On their last visit Gary had spoken very little, an then only in clipped, sullen tones. So they were pleasantly surprised when he greeted them with a drowsy little grin.

"Still expecting, I see."

"They're going to induce labor tomorrow," Jade sighed wearily. "And it's a good thing we'll have one of each, because I will never go through this again!" She eased down into the chair with a groan.

"You okay, Gar?" Chuck asked. "You seem a little . . . out of it."

"Hmm? Yeah, 'm okay," Gary mumbled. "Got a little sick a while ago. They, um, they gave me somethin' an' it's . . . got a kick to it. Gonna be a dad tomorrow, huh? Wish I could be there." He closed his eyes for a moment.

"So do we, Hon," Jade whispered. She loved Chuck with all her heart, but she had harbored a soft spot for Gary since the first day they had met. He had been posing as Brigatti's husband in a sting that had been set up to catch a jewel thief, her! She had been on the arm of the man she was setting up to be her fall guy and Gary Hobson had been the only one to see through her 'dumb blonde' act. Poor guy! It had been so easy to embarrass him, keeping him off base. Where did he learn to be such a boy scout?

"We'll bring pictures by later," Chuck promised. "Give you a good look at your godchildren."

"Preciate that," Gary murmured around a cavernous yawn. "Sorry, guys. Not much company right now. Rainch'ck?"

"Sure, Gar," Chuck sighed. "We'll check in on ya later. Get some sleep. C'mon, Sweetheart.," he added, holding a hand out to his wife.

"No," Gary protested, rousing sluggishly. "She's tired. You can jus . . . jus' rest a li'l while." His voice faded as the medication took effect. Less than a minute later, Gary was making soft little snoring noises.

Chuck bent down to give his wife a tender kiss on the cheek. "You stay here, love," he said. "I need to go talk to the nurse." Jade just nodded wearily. The twins were taking a lot out of her.

A moment later, Chuck was at the nurses station, talking with Nurse Corso. He wanted to know what had happened to make Gary so sick.

"I'm afraid it's my fault," she confessed. "I was giving him his sponge bath, and he got his first good look at his leg. He's lucky. It looks a lot better today than it has been. I think . . . I think his mind filled in too many blanks, if you know what I mean. Dr. Zimmerman has arranged a consult with the cosmetic surgeon to see what can be done to reduce the scarring."

"That bad?"

"Mr. Fishman, your friend had six inches of his femur sticking out through a very ragged hole," she told him grimly. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm gonna need some of whatever you gave him," Chuck replied in a very small voice.

**************

Lois and Bernie sat anxiously by as the doctor examined the latest set of x-rays. "Normally," he was saying, "the orthopedic surgeon would have used a metal plate to stabilize the fracture. Due to Gary's special circumstances, however, I was able to persuade him to go with a biodegradable alternative. Something that would allow him to withstand an MRI. Looks like it worked beautifully. We'll be taking the splint off in the morning, and he should be able to get out of bed almost immediately."

"Out of bed," Bernie repeated. "But, not on his feet."

With a resigned sigh, the doctor turned to face his patient's family. "No," he told them honestly. "Your son has presented me with a number of medical puzzles, Mr. Hobson. Not the least of which is why he is still alive in the first place. He should have bled to death from a torn femoral artery long before any of you found him. Then to come back after more than ten minutes without vital signs . . . And with full brain function . . . Your son would be considered by some to be a living, breathing miracle. As to why his leg is healing so fast, and his spinal cord so slowly . . . I have no answer for that." He crossed the room and sat behind his desk, facing them. "Your son told me something soon after he woke from his coma. He said that, sometimes, things had to happen to him so that he would be where he needed to be. Now, I know that he has unusual . . . insight into . . . things that I won't even pretend to understand, and he seems sure that he will, indeed, walk again. We'll do everything we can to help him achieve that goal. But, we also have to face the possibility that he has simply . . . run out of miracles."

"Not Gary," Lois told him flatly. "If he says he'll walk, then he will walk. He may have to go through Hell in a handcart first, but he will walk. I won't pretend to understand any of this. Even Gary doesn't understand. He stopped trying a long time ago. About the second time he found himself being hunted like an animal throughout the tri-state area. All he can do is the best he can to ride it out and accomplish whatever it is he's being called upon to do."

"Then we'll do what we can to make the ride as smooth as possible," Zimmerman promised.

***************

With obvious effort Gary pulled himself onto the parallel bars. Shifting his weight from side to side, he managed to slide his hands, and his body, a few inches forward before his strength gave out and he hit the floor. Frustrated, he slammed his fist against the mat with a muffled curse.

"It's okay, Gary," Diane said by way of encouragement. "This is the first time you've been on the bars in years, I'll bet."

"You'd win that bet," Gary grumbled as he pushed himself erect. "I don't remember it being this hard, though."

"You've also been stuck flat on your back for the past month," she reminded him. "Cut yourself a little slack. Now, let's get you back in the chair and try this again."

"And how do I get back in that thing from here?" he sighed.

"Slide your body around until you have your back against the seat of the chair," she directed him. She waited until he had done as she instructed. "All the way back, until you're as upright as possible. That's good. Now, we'll help you this time, but, eventually you'll be doing this on your own. We're going to lift on your belt while you push up with your arms. That's good! Now slide your hips back. Excellent! As you get more strength in your arms, shoulders, and upper back, you'll find this gets much easier. Now, let's try this again."

****************

Gary 'walked' the length of the bars and back in less time than it had taken him to move a few feet just two weeks before. He repeated the journey one more time before settling back in the chair with a sigh. The rings were next, he recalled. Thirty reps, then a session on the free weights. It was a routine that was becoming old in a hurry. Whatever it was he had to do, whatever 'task' he had to complete, it wasn't here. To find it, he had to get out of this place. To do that he had to prove he could handle himself, and his situation.

He was just finishing up when Diane re-appeared pushing a different wheelchair than the one he had been using. It was a little more low slung than the regular hospital variety, with lower, detachable arm rests and wheels that flared outward at the bottom. Just looking at it gave Gary a chill. This chair was built for the streets. It was meant for one person to use on an hourly . . . daily basis. It was meant for him.

Gary sat up, toweling the sweat off his face and shoulders as he eyed the contraption. He had mixed feelings at the sight of it. On the one hand, it represented a step up, freedom of a sort. On the other . . . Just looking at it tied Gary's stomach in a knot. 'How long will I be stuck in the damned thing?' he wondered. If he had been able, he would have run from the room screaming. But then, if he were able to run, he wouldn't need the blasted thing.

"That's it, huh? My new . . . my new wheels?" It was all he could do not to choke on the question. "Looks . . looks okay."

Watching his face, Diane could almost read his mind. Her heart went out to this man who tried so hard to keep his hopes up, only to be reminded at every turn just what he faced. She could see the pain in his eyes that he refused to let show on his face as he stared at the chair in morbid fascination.

"It's the deluxe sports model," she quipped in an effort to lighten his mood. She was rewarded with the barest flicker of a smile. "The wider wheel base gives it more stability for tighter turns at high speed. The detachable arms and lower height make it easier to get into from various positions."

"Such as the floor," Gary returned. "I've seen guys play basketball in these. Pretty impressive." He tore his eyes away with a shuddering sigh. "Well, let's try this baby on for size." He draped the towel around his neck as Diane locked the wheels and moved the pedals out of the way. Gary gripped the arms and pulled himself up, just as on the parallel bars. Then, he switched hands as he turned, lowering himself into his new ride. He took a moment to get himself adjusted, then lifted his legs one at a time onto the pedals. Once he was situated, he unlocked the wheels and backed it away from the bench. He executed a few tight turns, then stopped in the middle of the room. He sat there, absolutely still, staring at nothing, his jaw clenching and unclenching as various emotions played across his features. Finally he turned to face her once more.

Diane watched as Gary tried to put on a brave face, giving her a quick, encouraging smile, mouth trembling at the corners. Then, his handsome, boyish features twisted with the pain and anger he could no longer hide, a single tear sliding down his cheek, his arms clutching his abdomen as if to forcibly hold in the heart-breaking sobs that refused to stay silent anymore. He was doubling over as if in physical, rather than spiritual pain. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around his shuddering frame, pushing his head down onto her shoulder as he finally let flow tears of grief, anger, bitterness, and despair. He returned the embrace, clinging to her like a drowning man to a life preserver.

"It's okay," she told him gently. "It hits everyone like this, sooner or later. Usually sooner. You've handled this a lot better than most. Just go ahead and let it out, Gary. It's okay."

They sat like that for several minutes, until Gary's emotional turmoil had run it's course. Then, with a visible effort, and a loud, stuttering sigh, he pushed back from her comforting embrace. "No," he sniffed, speaking in a low, raspy monotone. "It's not okay. Not yet. But, it will be." He used the sweat soaked towel to dry his face before favoring Diane with one of his boyish grins, although he found it difficult to look her in the eye. "Now, um, show me . . . show me how to drive this and dribble at the same time. I don't want to get called for traveling the first time I play."

*****************

Gary was alone in the therapy room when Crumb finally found him. The younger man was practicing a lay-up one of the other patients, a veteran wheelchair jockey, had shown him. Although only a couple of weeks had passed since he had received the chair, Crumb was impressed with how well Hobson was handling it. He executed turns so tight, he courted whiplash, dribbled the ball the length of the room and back. Even popped a few wheelies when the ball threatened to get away from him. Then he spied Crumb standing by the double doors. Gary bounced the ball into a box near the back wall, and propelled his chair to meet his visitor.

"Hey, Zeke!" he greeted him enthusiastically. "Where ya been? It's been . . . what . . . three weeks since your last visit?"

"Been up to my eyeballs in divorce cases," the ex-cop grumbled. "You wouldn't believe some of the stuff people fight over. How ya been, Hobson?"

"Okay, I guess," Gary shrugged. "They say I might be able to go home next week. Maybe. Possibly." His earlier good mood slipped as he remembered his last conversation with the doctor. "So! You seen the twins, yet? They brought 'em to see me yesterday. 'Course, they couldn't bring 'em past the first floor lobby, but I got to . . . to hold 'em and all. That . . . that little Gary, isn't he . . . isn't he the spitting image of . . ." Gary's voice trailed off as he realized he was babbling. "So, um, h-how've you been?"

"Hobson," Crumb sighed, "aside from Fishman and family, how many visitors have you had since I was here last?"

Gary looked away, rubbing his hands on his sweat pants nervously. "Amanda comes almost every day," he replied defensively. "Chuck and Jade are still adjusting to parenthood. They're really great kids, Zeke. You should see 'em. Um, Mom and Dad have been . . . busy. But, they check up on me when they can. Toni had a family emergency that took her to Sicily or . . . or someplace like that. And Paul seems . . . uncomfortable around me for some . . . some reason. He doesn't come unless he's with someone. Winslow's been in a coupla times, but he seems . . . nervous around me, too. Keeps asking me . . . asking what it w-was like . . . to die. He's, ahm, he's a little strange."

"I think you mean rude and insensitive," Crumb grumbled menacingly. He made himself a promise to have a stern talk with the young detective. "So you're fine, the twins are swell, Amanda's a peach, and your folks are too busy to bother with ya. So what are ya leaving out?"

Gary scowled at the brusque comment about his parents, until he realized that Crumb was trying to goad him. "They keep talking like it's not a lost cause," he sighed, still not meeting his friend's steady gaze. "But . . . there hasn't been any improvement since I . . . since I woke up. And now . . . and now I'm supposed to get 'adjusted' to this thing," he added, indicating the chair. "I don't know what to hope for anymore. I mean, what's it gonna be like? Not just rollin' up and down the streets, but just getting around in my own home! It's gonna take months of remodeling before I can get to take a bath by myself! Or even use the . . . the blasted toilet! When I broke my leg that time, I could at least hop on the good one. What do I do now? Crawl?"

"Why didn't you mention all this to your folks months ago?" Crumb asked. "You could've had it all finished by now."

Rubbing his hands up and down his legs, Gary confessed with a shuddering sigh. "I guess I kept hoping for a miracle," he replied honestly. "That something would happen, and I'd walk out of here like it was all a bad dream."

"Speakin' of dreams," Crumb remarked a little too casually. "That night, when we brought you back the first time, you mentioned something about . . . stopping Marley. What did you mean? And who's Snow?"

Startled, Gary had to think for a moment before he could answer. "I . . . it was so weird," he finally replied. "Lucius Snow was a guy who worked for the 'Sun-Times' years ago. He died about the time I first moved into the 'Blackstone', after Marcia kicked me out. He was also the same guy who saved me from getting run over when I was ten." At Crumb's startled look, Gary quickly explained about the events of twenty-four years before coming back to him just before Judge Romick was murdered. Although, he left out any mention of the paper. "Wh-while I was unconscious . . . I guess it was all a dream. But, and this is where it gets weird, I had to go back in time to stop Marley from framing Snow for the Kennedy assassination, so that Snow could be there to save me from that truck. What was even weirder, I was losing the . . . the feeling in m-my legs . . . even in the dr-dream." Gary suddenly realized that he was still rubbing his legs as he spoke. He stopped, laying his hands in his lap, fingers intertwined as if to forcibly stop his nervous fidgeting. "When . . . when I . . . woke up, Mom was crying, I could f-feel her tears on my face. Dad was praying, and you . . . you were telling me to . . . to fight. To breathe. And M-Marissa, I could hear her praying and . . . and pleading with me to just . . . come back."

Crumb recalled the scene as if it had happened yesterday. He had, indeed, been telling the kid to 'fight', but only in the silence of his own mind. More as a silent prayer, than actual words. And the others had been equally silent, putting all of their energy into just keeping the young man alive. He had no doubts, however, that Hobson had just accurately described exactly what had been going through their minds.

"You've had nightmares about him before, haven't you?" It wasn't really a question.

Gary ducked his head, nodding as he chewed his lower lip. "Every night, at first," he quietly confessed. "Then, after a month or so, not as often. They finally quit entirely about a year ago. Then . . . they started up all over again."

"Want to talk about it?" Crumb asked. The answer he got was pretty much what he was expecting.

"I wish I could," the younger man sighed. "It was just a . . . a chance comment by some one I don't even know. Marissa thinks I should talk to someone about it, but . . .I can't. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. Not without the . . . the nightmares starting up again." He spun the chair around so that he was no longer directly facing Crumb. "I'll probably have one tonight. Every time someone uses the words 'visions' and 'voices' in the same sentence, I get this . . . chill . . . crawling up my spine. He was trying to . . .to make me doubt myself. And he succeeded. Almost had me convinced I was . . . delusional. There's another word that . . . that gets to me," he added with a wry chuckle. "Paul used it a lot when we first met. And again during that . . . the Savalas/Scanlon deal. I guess it makes people sleep better at night to be able to . . . to make me into some kinda nut case. Well, they may not have to worry about me anymore. There's not a lot of trouble I can get into from here." He slapped the arm of the wheelchair for emphasis.

Crumb could see his young friend was fighting hard to hold back the bitterness that threatened to overwhelm him. They had been warned that his emotions would be riding very close to the surface. That he would have a hard time controlling them. Maybe this had been a bad idea, after all.

"You know that I don't know how you do . . . whatever it is you do. And I don't want to," Crumb hastened to say. "But, I got this feeling that just being in that contraption isn't gonna stop you for long. As for that . . . that other thing, I still think you got a raw deal there. You should've gotten a medal instead. I'll never understand why you let them shut you up so easy. 'Specially as you had such a bad time of it after. They didn't even offer counseling?"

"I was as eager to bury it as they were," Gary admitted. "Probably more so. The quicker I could put it out of my mind, the better. Only, it refuses to stay buried. There's always . . . someone, or something to remind me. Always someone who wants to know what I've said, and to whom. I never even discuss it with Chuck and Marissa, and they were there. For most of it, anyway. This . . . this is the most I've spoken of it since it happened. And, if I never talk of it again, it'll be too soon."

The big ex-cop placed a comforting hand on the kid's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It'll get better, kid," he promised. "So long as you keep pluggin' away, things'll get easier to handle. Now, why don't you go and get cleaned up. Your folks said they'd be here in time for lunch. And the Doc has signed a pass for you to get outta this place for a few hours. " Surprisingly, Crumb found that the way the poor kid's face lit up at that revelation was almost enough to make him want to cry himself. Hobson had been cooped up in here way too long.

**********************

Crumb pleaded a prior commitment, mostly, Gary was sure, to give him time alone with his family. Uninterrupted privacy was something they had sorely lacked at the hospital. There was always someone coming in to check on him for one reason or another. To Gary, it was a gift beyond price just to get off the hospital grounds and out into the summer sun.

His parents took him first to his favorite restaurant, where they spent a good hour just exchanging small talk. Next, they took him to Lakeshore Park, where Gary was able to stop a mugging by simply running into the would-be assailants with his wheelchair. He acted totally innocent, of course, apologizing as he watched the intended victim out of the corner of his eye. As soon as she was safely out of sight, he apologized once more, then made his exit.

His parents were waiting with expectant looks on their faces.

"It felt good," he admitted quietly, barely suppressing a grin. "Thanks."

"You just needed to see if you could get back into harness," Bernie told his son. "You did great. The saps never knew what hit 'em."

"Better than that," Lois snorted. "They never even knew they'd been hit! It was inspired, son, the way you used your weakness against them! And you thought you were helpless!"

"I guess I just had to find out for myself," Gary sighed. "There's still a lot I probably can't do, but I won't know 'til I try. Maybe . . . maybe I could try a few more easy ones each day?" he asked hopefully.

"It's your paper, Gar," his father reminded him. "And your responsibility. Ultimately, all decisions are yours. Your Mom and I have had 'fun' pinch-hitting, but it'll be a relief to hand it back over."

"We just don't feel as if we're handling it as well as you did, dear," Lois admitted. "You always seemed to get so . . . so personally involved with some of them. In ways that we can't. There's just something about you, Gary. Even we can't pin down exactly what it is. I just don't believe that wheelchair is going to be as big an obstacle as you think. I mean, yes, there are some things that you just can't do anymore. But, there's so much more that you still can."

Gary chewed over their comments as he considered his options. He was not helpless. Not in every situation, anyway. All he had to do was learn to work around his limitations. He looked at his watch, realizing it was time to go back.

"Do you think you can spring me again tomorrow?" he asked hopefully. "In time to try one or two more?"

"Count on it," Bernie replied with a huge grin. "You'll be terrorizing the bad guys again before you know it, Kiddo!"

"Just so long as I can help people," Gary told him earnestly. "If I can't do that, then I'm no good to myself, or anyone else."

*******************

Lois and Bernie were only able to get him out a few more times over the next few weeks, each time giving Gary a chance to change a few more headlines. As the summer drew to a close, however, the younger Hobson began to fear he would never be allowed out on a permanent basis. It had been the last week in May when he had taken that disastrous tumble. It was mid September when Dr. Zimmerman announced that he would soon be released.

"You've made excellent progress," he reported cheerfully. "Diane tells me you've given her a hundred and twenty percent in therapy. She wants to hold you up as a 'shining example' of what can be accomplished in a wheelchair."

"I'd rather be a shining example of how to get out of a wheelchair," Gary sighed. "So, if all my tests are coming back so great, and I'm the 'wunderkind' of physical therapy, why hasn't the feeling come back? Why am I still in this chair?"

Zimmerman lay down the latest set of MRI films with a sigh, before taking a seat facing his patient.

"I'm afraid I don't have any answers for you there, Gary," he replied truthfully. He had learned to never try to sugar-coat information with this patient. "The swelling has been down for quite some time, now. If you were going to get full use of your legs back, it should have occurred over the last few weeks. As of right now, there is nothing structurally wrong with your spine. No narrowing of the disc spaces, no swelling, no displacement, not so much as a minute tear in the nerve bundle or the fascia. According to all the tests we, or anyone else can run, you should be able to get out of that chair and start learning how to walk again. You . . . should . . . feel . . . your . . . legs!" Frustrated, he pulled out Gary's chart again and began to flip through it. "Bottom line, without some kind of progress in that regard, we have no more reason to keep you here. I don't look for this to happen any time soon, but there is still the possibility that you could walk again. I just can't tell you when."

"Wonderful," his patient grumbled. "I'm in great shape, except that I can't walk. Ah, don't worry, Doc," he added at the physician's concerned look. "I'm not gonna do anything stupid, and I do understand everything that you're saying. It's just . . . I guess I'm getting kinda . . ."

"Stir crazy?"

"Pretty much," Gary admitted with a tiny grin as he rocked back and forth on his elbows. "Ya'll have been great and everything . . ."

" 'Ya'll?'" The doctor returned his grin. "We've got to get you out of here! You're spending way to much time in x-ray! Polly's starting to rub off on you."

*****************