Wrapped in a cotton haze, I floated in a peace-filled space. I hadn't a care in the world and that felt good--almost too good--like it was something I hadn't experienced in awhile.

Some undetermined amount of time passed. Thoughts of unfinished business parted the clouds briefly, like headlights stabbing through mist. I entertained the idea of leaving my haven, but for what? Try as I might, I couldn't remember what that business was. Yet, there didn't seem to be a reason to go back. Confused, but not really minding, I stayed...

Until an insistent voice called to me. A hand patted my face...

"Mr. Ryan, wake up. Mr. Ryan, can you hear me?"

I heard a moan and dragged open my eyes, wondering who was encouraging me to return to the real world and who had made that pitiful noise. When the blur cleared, I found myself staring at the face of an angel--blond hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin, clothed in white. Have I died and gone to heaven?

No, that didn't seem right.

"Mr. Ryan, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

My raspy response must have satisfied the angel. She smiled, offered me a drink which I sipped gratefully, then said, "Good. You rest now." She paused, turning her attention to something on my left.

I glanced up at her, catching a glimpse of a silver pole with clear tubing that my eyes traced to my hand, then I checked out the rest of my surroundings. Rolling my head along the pillow smeared the outlines of objects but I managed to recognize the stark furnishings around me. It dawned on me then that I was laying in a hospital bed, IV drip in my hand. The woman beside me had to be a nurse and not a resident of heaven. What happened? How did I get here?

I closed my eyes and tried to locate a memory that might hold the answer to the question uppermost in my mind. Pawing through the clouds that filled my head revealed nothing. Damn it!

Deciding on another way to get the information, I opened my eyes and looked for the nurse. She was gone... and that's when I felt it... the reason why I didn't want to return...

Gone. Everything was gone.

I wanted to curl around the diffuse ache I felt buried deep in my chest but when I tried to pull my left arm away from the bed's safety railing, it wouldn't budge. I stared at it. Something was wrong with this picture. I considered what I saw for about a million years before I figured it out...

The unyielding stainless steel of a handcuff secured my wrist to the railing. My heart began to pound, a prisoner inside my ribcage as I was a prisoner in this bed. Arrested? Wh-?

A surge of guilt washed over me as my conscience thoughtfully replayed the details to fill in the blanks...

Scenes flashed in the darkness behind my eyes. I saw that I'd been played by Virginia, the woman whom I was nuts about, and her partner in crime, casino owner Bernie Mundson. Blinded by my desire to love and my need to be loved, I had cheerfully purchased a one-way ticket on the express train from the top of the world to prison, only stop on the way--hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

No matter how hard I had tried, I couldn't jump off or stop that speeding train. It pulled out of the station when I chased Miles Archer, gun-toting potential psycho on the street, and accelerated with each subsequent event--being suspected of murdering Archer, being put on leave pending I.A. investigation of the shooting, Virginia walking out on me, and Cassy refusing to help me investigate. No one seemed willing to call the conductor or switch the tracks on my behalf. To most of my colleagues, I'd become an outcast, the blood of an innocent man on my hands. To others, including the detectives of record and the Commissioner, I was a pawn to be sacrificed, in the name of revenge or of saving department face.

I began my own investigation, which led to Key Nuevo, Mundson's casino on an island in international waters. There, I found Virginia, partying. She told me Archer was her husband and that she was being blackmailed by Mundson to steal insurance money. Like the love-struck idiot I'd become, I believed her explanation and accepted her offer to try and help me out of this jam. All the time she was supposedly helping me, she was still working with Mundson. I should have known. I'm a cop--wrong, was a cop--for godsake.

Cassy came to the island and found me unconscious in my room at the casino. Suspicious of her motives--probably because I was suspicious of Virginia--not to mention, angry and frustrated with a headache the size of New Jersey courtesy of a liberal application of a blackjack to my skull, I went for her jugular. I lashed out with two sentences that I must have known would drive her away--"I never loved you. I made a mistake when I married you." She cried, until 'Jane Wayne'-- the shell that protected vulnerable Cassy--re-emerged then she left, telling me to run.

I finally learned the truth from Mundson. Virginia was behind the scam. She killed him--by accident, thinking he was me--then shot me as we escaped capture by Ballard and Burmeister...

I opened my eyes and checked out my right arm. A cast from shoulder to wrist held it bent at the elbow, forearm across my stomach.

Shifting my gaze to the off-white ceiling, I remembered losing control of the car after she shot me. It rammed into a tree. Virginia was killed instantly when her head impacted on the windshield. I left the scene after taking her coat, to cover my bloody jacket, and the gun she'd used on Mundson and me. At the time, the only thing I could think of was confessing... which I did, sealing my fate, using the tape recorder I knew Harry kept in his desk drawer. 'Jane' found me doing so, turned me in then started to walk away. She would have none of the apology I offered to repair the damage done by the harsh words I'd spoken to her at the casino. I stepped away from the support offered by Harry's desk to go after her, determined to set things right...

The memories ended abruptly and the weight of my predicament settled heavily on me, crushing me.

Alone.

My love had betrayed me. My partner had turned me in. Coworkers had turned their backs. No friends or family had come to my aid.

Empty.

My heart and soul had been sucked out, leaving a black void inside my chest.

Dead.

Three people were dead because of me, two by my own hand. I'd confessed to those two deaths, like the good little Catholic altar boy I'd been so many years ago but, this time, I wouldn't get off with saying a few Hail Marys. I'd spend my last days as a number then I'd join the three in death. The good news... former cops don't last long in prison, unless...

I twisted my wrist in the cuff, anxiety fueling a desperate desire to escape this fate. The steel bit flesh, a reminder of reality. I should have put my spare gun to use and had the good grace to go straight to Morton's slab!

Since that option wasn't open to me at the moment, I closed my eyes, picked up my head and slammed it back into the pillow. All I needed was a brain-damaging injury that would finish the job Harper's bullet had started and the blackjack had continued. Unfortunately, I all got for my efforts was a rush of dizziness with a little spark of a headache.

"Why did I have to wake up?"

"Because it's about time you did so, Sergeant."

The disembodied voice scared the hell outta me. My breath caught in my throat. My eyes popped open. "What...?"

I hadn't expected an answer, or even realized that I'd spoken aloud.

Orienting in the direction the voice came from, I found my Captain--correction; former Captain since I wasn't a cop anymore--standing on my left. He smiled down at me. Caught up in my misery, and the attempt to end my life, I hadn't heard him enter the room. "Harry..." That one word held an apology and a plea for forgiveness.

Harry bent forward and unlocked the cuff on my wrist. Probably a courtesy--good cop to disgraced former cop, who wasn't going anywhere in his present condition anyway. Or, maybe, he couldn't stand seeing me like this...

Why is he smiling...?

All I know is that I couldn't handle him seeing me brought so low. Having him be disappointed in me is a whole order of magnitude worse than having him think 'typical Tom,' what I've overheard him say when I've done something to make him suspect that I have a screw or two loose. Ashamed to maintain eye contact with him, I averted my eyes, to watch his hands remove the cuff.

"I'm sorry about the cuff, Tom," he said, as it released my wrist. "You shouldn't have had to wake up to that, but-"

I cut him off, preferring to say it rather than to hear it. "But, I'd better get used to them," I said, joining him in the 'pity Tom' party his tone suggested to me.

"No need for that, Tom. You've been cleared."

I had to have heard that wrong. Quickly, I raised my eyes and zeroed in on his, searching for the truth. "Cleared?!"

"Cleared. You know, no charges filed, not guilty of murder." One side of this mouth tipped upward. "Okay, we could have gotten you on leaving the scene of an accident but we figured we'd cut you some slack. It had been a rough few days, you were injured..."

Though his eyes held the truth, this made no sense to me. There's no way... "How? I confessed. I.A. was on their way? Did Cassy go to bat for me?"

He pulled up the guest chair and sat down. "Let me fill you in. You've missed quite a bit in the last sixty hours."

Sixty hours? I'd been out of it for two and a half days?

"Ballard and Burmeister found you, the tape, a woman's trenchcoat and the gun in my office, along with what I hear was an impressive puddle of blood on the floor. Ballard got medical help for you. Burmeister collected the evidence and took it to Morton."

He hadn't mentioned the one person I really wanted an update on. "What about Cassy?" I refused to believe that she would have continued out the door, leaving me to the wolves. Even in full 'Jane Wayne' mode, I assumed she would have considered it her duty to protect her partner.

"Commissioner Welsh forced Ballard and Burmeister to file with D.A. Alexander the next morning in order to show the public quick, positive action, but without reports on the new evidence, convinced it would be damning..."

Harry avoided my question, probably trying to use my grogginess to his advantage. I wasn't about to let him get away with it. By not answering, he'd already told me indirectly that something was wrong where she was concerned. "Harry, where... is... Cassy?" This time, I spoke more forcefully, demanding he answer.

His expression changed to the one he wears when he has information but can't tell his officers--features disciplined to neutral contradicted by a slight lift of his eyebrows and a barely noticeable widening of his eyes. The last time I saw it, we were working with the Feds, Hercules and Xena, on the murder of one of their own. He shifted his gaze from my face to the wall then back. I had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say before the words left his mouth. "I don't know, Tom. No one has seen her since the night you were brought in here. Ballard said Cassy left the station right after telling them where to find you. Her resignation showed up by FedEx this morning."

I'd misread 'Jane.' The story of my life recently. She'd done what she considered her duty all right, turned me in, just like she had done with Steve Birkough. A feeling stirred deep in the void but only for a second. Was it anger? I don't know. The vacuum choked it out then I remembered the horrible way I'd treated her.

Abandoning me is probably what I deserved for my betrayal but leaving her life...all because of what I said? I shook my head. The room wavered around me. Nausea made my stomach roll... but wasit the concussion or a realization? Those words had more power than I could have imagined. Did I really know subconsciously how much damage they would do? I tried to look into the emptiness to check...

"Tom?"

A voice called to me. I followed it back to awareness before reaching the point of no return and rediscovered Harry seated at my side.

"You still with me? Do you want me to get the nurse?" he asked.

I heard a touch of worry in his tone. "No, I'm fine," I lied, to ease his mind, despite the dizziness and the sick feeling in my gut.

He raised an eyebrow at me but didn't pursue it. "Did something happen between you and Cassy that I should know about?"

I glanced away, to hide the guilt that had to be easily read in my eyes, reluctant to expose another transgression.

He prodded me. "Thomas...?"

Harry and I know each other well. By breaking eye contact, I'd already admitted an incident had occurred and that I felt responsible for it. So, if I were to look at him now, I'd see his 'stern father' expression, complete with head-tipped-down stare over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. He knows how to get the full story out of me when he thinks I'm hedging. I don't think he knows why it works though. It reminds me of Father Hyland and getting in trouble for... Well, never mind. Not important now.

Finding the door a better focal point than his face, I owned up to my vicious, heartless attack on my partner. "I said something to her when she found me on the island and she refused to believe that I didn't mean it when I tried to apologize later."

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see him wondering what I could have said that she would take so hard and why it was never simple between her and me. He should know the answer to the latter--too much emotional baggage... and I'd known exactly what suitcases to toss off the train so she'd finally leave. "I told her that I made a mistake when I married her... that I never loved her. She freaked out."

Slowly, Harry raised his head back to level, his signal that he was satisfied he'd heard the whole story.

But, he hadn't.

Again, my guilty conscience replayed footage from the hell zone I'd just lived through. The content of the pictures that scrolled in front of my mind's eye twisted my already-queasy stomach. After I'd thrown the suitcases off the train, I had nearly assaulted her, adding insult to injury, as she sat crying at the foot of the hotel bed. "Ohgod, Harry, I accused her of working with I.A. I was gonna rip open her blouse to see if she was wearing a wire." If my other actions of the past few days hadn't brought about a change in his opinion of me, this would. He cared for Cassy as he would have cared for his own daughter. I faced him, hoping for absolution, expecting condemnation.

To his credit, Harry kept his emotions off his face. "That's a tough one, Tom. Did you mean what you said to her?"

"I don't think so." I couldn't really tell. The answer lay in the void and I couldn't reach it without being sucked in. Maybe, I just didn't want to reach it. "I think I was just lashing out at her because she was telling me the truth about Virginia and I didn't want to believe it."

He nodded, accepting my defense. "Don't worry about Cassy, Tom. We'll find her and get this straightened out. I have my best detective working on it."

"Cassy is your best detective."

"Don't sell yourself short, Thomas," he scolded, shaking his index finger at me. "Anyway, I was talking about Frannie."

"Oh."

"So, shall we leave Cassy to Frannie and get back to our story?"

I nodded once, slowly.

Harry resumed his report. "As I said, Welsh forced Ballard and Burmeister to file without final reports on the gun, etc. He didn't have to arm-twist them too much, mind you. I think they had a little revenge on their minds..."

My last clear memory of Ballard and Burmeister was how much they enjoyed interrogating me after I shot Archer. They played the hard-assed cops to the hilt that evening, even withholding food and water to make sure I knew who was in control. When they thought they had nailed me, I saw Burmeister suppress a smile--the first smile either of them had directed at Cassy or me in nearly six months. All my partner and I had rated from them during that time were intense, angry glares, when Harry wasn't looking, of course. When he was around, they tried to treat us with their usual indifference.

Why were they so pissed? Because Cassy and I had proved that Tony DeFalco, Ballard's former partner and Burmeister's best friend, had committed two acts of premeditated murder. He was found mentally competent, stood trial, was convicted then sentenced to prison. It didn't matter that Tony had been guilty and had deceived them. Ballard and Burmeister continued to blame us. Their anger had grown stronger over the past couple of weeks, ever since we received word that Tony had been killed in prison.

"They didn't get very far with Alexander," Harry stated, a smug grin in place. "Craig saw it like I did--circumstantial at best-- and laughed them out of his office."

I sighed quietly. D.A. Alexander and I have had our differences but I've always respected his ability to see the forest as well as the trees. To my relief, he'd seen the trees. Now, I was wondering where Harry was during all of this. I had thought he stood between me and the lynch mob.

"Before they left his office, Craig asked why Welsh had signed off rather than me."

Harry paused for a second. In his eyes and on his face, I saw reluctance to continue. I wasn't going to like what he said next and I tried to prepare for the worst.

"Ballard told Craig that I had resigned," he confessed.

No amount of preparation would have been enough. I gave him a dumbfounded, open-mouthed stare, unable to believe my ears. "You resigned?!"

The going had gotten tough so he had left me to twist in the wind alone just like Cassy had done? Hardly what I had expected. The vacuum created by the void in my chest sucked in the only positive feelings I've had since waking--regard for the man who sat next to me. I had thought I knew him and could count on him to help me work the problem out. He'd fooled me, too. Seems like anyone can do it to 'gullible Tom.' I turned away to face the wall on my right. "Maybe you should leave." It wasn't a request.

"Hear me out, all right?" he asked, calm in the face of my anger. "It sounds worse than it is."

Remaining petulant, I continued to stare out the window at the sunny day--a direct contrast to my miserable existence. "I've heard enough." Why couldn't I have died in the car wreck? Or from blood loss, brain damage or something? Virginia and Mundson got off easy. Which deity have I pissed off?

"Thomas, aren't you jumping to conclusions?"

He didn't accuse but his question did stop me cold in mental tracks which had been edging closer to that inner dark abyss. I realized that he was correct... I wasn't doing any better at reserving judgement or punishing the actual offenders than anyone had done when I had been on the receiving end. My thoughts were in danger of being swallowed up by the darkness of the void, never to see light again. Determined to be more successful, I backtracked. Slowly, to keep the world on an even keel, I swivelled my head back to the left so I could see him. "You're right, Harry. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. Just listen up, okay?"

I nodded slightly. The room tipped a bit then stabilized.

"F.Y.I., I resigned to throw Welsh off," he stated, tapping the air between us with his finger, pleased with his tactic.

"You did?" A smile struggled against the vacuum, made it to my mouth and managed to curl up one corner before losing the fight.

"He was so hell-bent on saving public opinion that he wasn't going to listen even though we had evidence suggesting you were set up."

"What evidence? What did you do after resigning?"

"More on the evidence later," he replied. "My plan was to contact the mayor for assistance. Welsh had told me that both the mayor and the D.A. wanted quick resolution, without scandal, especially since it was *this* station."

"They were comparing me to Tony? But, you said Alexander laughed-"

Harry interrupted. "Welsh was comparing you to Tony and insisted that the mayor, the D.A. and the public were, too. I didn't believe him then found out that he hadn't spoken to the Mayor or to the D.A. but was just trying to intimidate me with his manufactured clout."

I could see the tension in Harry's jaw. Political game players, someone Harry is not, really chafe him. "How did you find out that he hadn't talked to either of them?"

"Well, Alexander beat me to the punch and contacted the mayor after his meeting with Ballard and Burmeister. After being updated by Craig, the mayor called Welsh and me in. He reprimanded the Commissioner, threatening an I.A. investigation into why Welsh was working so hard to get you convicted." Harry chuckled. "Would have served him right. Then the Mayor begged me to take my job back and see to it that a proper investigation was conducted." He shrugged then added a smile. "How could I refuse with Welsh off my back?"

The way he bared his teeth gave me a reason to wonder if I had mattered at all or if he had just pounced on the opportunity to get back at Welsh. How could you refuse when a friend might lose everything? I bit my tongue to keep that question inside my mouth. After all, I had agreed to reserve judgement. I'm suspicious of everyone now. I hate feeling this way!

"I pulled Ballard and Burmeister from the case."

"Bet they were really happy about that." Great! Another reason for them to hate me.

"They ought to be happy that I didn't bust them down to meter maids!" Harry's features crimsoned. "I won't tolerate persecution of a fellow officer or such sloppy investigating from my people!"

What could I say to that? Nothing, I decided and kept quiet, happy not to be Ballard or Burmeister--two of the three people, the third being Cassy, on the planet with whom I wouldn't switch places right now.

Harry noticed the increase in the volume of his voice, cut himself off and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his tone was more conversational. He had reined in his irritation. "I still haven't decided on how to properly reward for those two for their stellar performance but I'm sure it won't be long before some shit assignment comes up that will suit my purposes." He lifted an eyebrow at me.

I smiled in return, suddenly aware of wanting to see them get what they deserved for their harsh treatment of me and the shoddy job they did on the case. Lump Welsh in, too, for throwing his weight around. I'm not particularly proud of feeling this way but, I deserved better than I got. Down to the bitter end, Cassy and I had treated DeFalco humanely, even sympathetically. I can't say the same.

Funny, the smile had no trouble reaching my lips this time.

"Anyway, once they were off the case, I called in Miami I.A."

"You hate it when they stick their noses in," I reminded him, a reflex on my part.

"It was necessary this time. I didn't want to lose control of the investigation and had hoped the team I assigned could do their jobs without malice." He shook his head, looking disappointed. "Unfortunately, I overestimated them."

I've always admired Harry's ability to make an honest call, even if it means saying he had made an error. He does tend to think the best of his people.

"Since Ballard and Burmeister are my most experienced team after you and St. John, there was no other pair who could take this on."

"I confessed to killing both Archer and Virginia..." Just saying her name made my chest feel like it was collapsing, the void sucking in my body, not satisfied with having the heart and soul. She had taken my life, just as sure as she'd taken Mundson's but, god, I think I still love her. What the hell's wrong with me?

"Yes, I know." He nodded, agreeing, then added, "But, given the condition in which you were found and the statement you taped after the confession, it was obvious that the confession had been made under duress."

My brow furrowed. Puzzled, I asked,"What did you mean by statement I taped?"

"After your confession, you recorded the whole sequence of events."

Digging through what I could recall of that night, I found traces of my encounter with the janitor, of rummaging through Harry's desk drawer, of recording my confession, of bandaging my arm with my shirt sleeve, of trying to reason with Cassy... but nothing to indicate I'd taped anything besides the confession. I denied the possibility with a slight shake of my head that blurred my vision for a second. "No, I just recorded the confession."

"Do the doctors know that you are having problems with your memory?"

I ignored his question, repeating the scan I'd just performed. This time, the result was a feeling but no specifics. I must have been in pretty bad shape for it not to register. "All I can remember is wanting *you* to know the truth."

A fatherly smile appeared on Harry's face. "Thank you, Thomas. That means a great deal to me."

I acknowledged the sentiment with a lame half-smile, wondering just how much it could mean to him given his "reasons" for taking his job back, then significance of what he was saying hit me upside the head, so to speak. Too bad it didn't cause brain damage... "What the hell did I record, Harry? Who heard it?" A second realization struck, harder than the first, stirring some feelings in the void. I made the accusation. "You knew what happened with Cassy!"

Harry patted the air with an upraised hand, making an effort to smooth my ruffled feathers. "Take it easy, Tom. All you did was narrate the sequence of events between proposing to Virginia and the car wreck that ended her life. Only Morton, Miami I.A. and I heard the whole thing. We used relevant sections thereof as evidence and only when required."

"What did that cost you?" I asked, concern about him bargaining on my behalf smothering the stirring. At this point, I doubt I'm worth his efforts.

"Nothing I wasn't willing to pay," he stated firmly.

I started to protest. "Harry, I-"

"Subject closed, Sergeant."

I swallowed further objections. Probably the smartest thing I'd done in awhile.

"Yes, I had a pretty good idea of what went down between you and Cassy," he admitted, guilt written on his face for a change. "I wanted to know if you remembered and could provide clues on where she might be."

Here I thought he'd been wondering what I could have said to her. Duped again. Why am I so easy? Shame bubbled up from deep inside me, shame for my actions and my gullibility. I broke eye contact to study the floor. "I'll never forget what I did to her."

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I should have gone about it another way."

What's one more blow?

"Let me make amends by telling you how it worked out."

I'm not sure that will work. "Go ahead," I replied, not looking up.

Before he could start, my thoughts shifted abruptly to my ex-wife. Love... She needed to be loved, too, like I did. Where could she go for unconditional love now that she believed she no longer had mine? I raised my uninjured hand to stop Harry from speaking. "Tell Frannie to try Del Rio. Cassy probably went to her grandmother, who is still alive and living there."

"What was her grandmother's name?"

"Edith St. John.

Harry pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed...

While Harry waited for Frannie to pick up the phone, I drifted, running headlong into questions raised by the conversation to this time, questions regarding my ex-wife...

Is Cassy in Del Rio or is that just wishful thinking on my part? Will I ever see her again? If so, will she forgive me some day? Did I really mean what I said to her?

Questions basic to the structure of my life...

What the hell's wrong with me? Could I still be in love with Virginia even after all she did to me? Why did I fall so hard? So quickly? So easily? Was I driven by a need to love and be loved? If so, how do I prevent it from happening again? Will I ever be able to love again? Trust again? Suffer from selective blindness yet be a cop?

I shook my head slightly, returning to the hospital room on the crest of a small wave of dizziness. There would be no easy answers. Pressure had started to build in my chest and behind my eyes. An eruption from what had seemed to be a void threatened, revealing its true nature. Not a void but a fathomless pool haboring my feelings in its murky depths... and I knew I didn't want to disturb the deceptively quiet surface. I didn't want to think about what the events of the past few days meant for me, for my future. I didn't want to feel the pain. Too tired... Too damn tired... In an effort to keep the waters calm, I tuned into the phone conversation, or at least the half of it that I could eavesdrop on, taking place beside me.

"Yes, he's awake and doing fine," Harry reported into the phone. "He's in room 402. Any luck on finding Cassy?"

His query skipped a rock across the pool, rippling the water. He paused to listen and I watched him for a clue on what Frannie was telling him. Anticipation paralyzed my lungs as I awaited word on the search.

"Okay," he replied.

A shadow had passed over his face before the neutral expression settled on his features. He hadn't received good news. Fear washed over me, a tidal wave surging up from the pool to pound my already weakened defenses. My heart hammered. I breathed heavily. I feared what 'Jane' might force Cassy to do. Would she force Cassy to abandon life completely? God, please let her be with her grandmother.

"Did you try Amanda Shaw?" Harry asked his wife.

Amanda is Cassy's best friend. Amanda's husband, Daniel, is mine. The four of us met at the retirement dinner for Judge Pierce over eight years ago and developed a relationship strong enough to survive divorce--Cassy's and mine-- and arrest--when we arrested Daniel for murder. Harry must remember the latter, when we worked so hard to find the real killer of the Shaw's adopted son's birth mother and prove Daniel innocent.

"Tom?"

I realized Harry was speaking to me. "What?"

"Frannie said that Cassy called Amanda and asked if she would take care of her plants. Cassy said she was leaving town but not where she was going, why or how long she would be gone."

Bubbles floated to the surface of the pool. They burst, releasing hope. That she had called Amanda indicated Cassy was thinking and not just going off the deep end. It also gave me reason to believe that she would be back... My vitals began to drop back to normal.

Harry spoke to his wife. "Good. As we were talking, Tom suggested that Cassy might have gone to Del Rio to be with her grandmother. Try Edith St. John there." Pause. "I'll tell him." Pause. "Yeah, me, too."

'Yeah, me, too.' As if I don't know what you wanted to say to her, Harry... More emotions gushed from the pool, demanding their turn to abuse me. For a heartbeat, I appreciated Harry's thoughtfulness. He didn't want to rub my nose in the stinking pile that was the remnants of my love life and I was grateful.

But, why shouldn't he? It's what I deserve for being able to ignore the warning signs ten feet high and a mile wide..

Damn Virginia! She took my love then my life. I believed in her, in the two of us together, in the home, in the white picket fence, in the kids. I gave her everything. There's nothing left. For me, love is dead.

The flood swamped me. I floundered, swimming against the rush that swept me into the darkness and fighting the undertow that trapped me beneath the surface.

A losing battle...

Beneath the surface, memories attacked like voracious piranha, feeding on my will...

Virginia lay in my arms. I drowned in her eyes. As I leaned over to kiss her, I whispered, "I love you."

My apartment was dark when I entered. Virginia should have been waiting for me. I opened the note that leaned against the wine bottle on the counter. "Sorry," was all it said.

I twisted her arm behind her back and held her against me tightly. "You like to catch 'em, reel 'em in but you don't like to stick around to see them gutted," I, the helpless fish, spat at her.

She offered to help. I accepted, hope winning out over experience.

Experience had been right...

"Thomas?!"

Someone called to me, the voice a lifeline. I grabbed it and held on until the assault ended. Memories retreated into the gloom and the dark depths released me. My head broke the surface. After a couple of blinks, the hospital room materialized around me. I saw Harry. He had shifted positions from the guest chair to the bed and now, sat by my left thigh. His hand squeezed my left shoulder with a grip that spoke of distress. Fear shone in his eyes.

"Thomas?"

"Yes, Harry, I hear you," I replied, voice shaky in the aftermath of the recollections.

"I'll get the nurse." His hand slipped from my shoulder and he started to rise.

I grabbed his forearm tightly and kept him from getting too far. "No, don't, Harry," I said, too quickly, able to hear the appeal in my voice. "I'm fine," I added as calmly as I could, a contrast to the plea.

Harry gave me a critical once-over. I shifted, uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny, aware that I was acting like a child afraid of the dark--a fact too close to the truth. The movement offended the injured muscles of my right arm. Fire blazed a trail down to my fingertips. Chest muscles sizzled in sympathy. The pain must have shown on my face.

"Thomas, do you need some pain medication?"

"No." I reached over to rub out the fire. Lotta good it did with the cast in the way.

"What happened a minute ago? Where were you?"

Anxiety sharpened his questions into knives that cut through my ability to hedge. "Memories..." I admitted, unwilling to say more. The reprieve would be short-lived and I didn't want to bring about the end any sooner than it would come on its own.

"I'm sorry, Tom." Sympathy softened Harry's voice. "It was a bad situation."

Thank god, he didn't seem to be pitying me. I damned up some of the feelings of loss and betrayal in the background... leaving room for envy to seep into my awareness. I envied Harry. He had Frannie. Where is my 'Frannie'? Voice tight, I replied, "Don't be. I should have seen it coming."

"Stop blaming yourself, Tom," Harry ordered. "It could have happened to anyone."

I cast my eyes down to the blanket that covered my legs, shamed by my own stupidity. "I don't know about that, Skipper."

"I do. I've seen it happen before and so have you," he reminded me, not that it would do much good. "A skilled con artist has a knack for reading a target then using what they learn to their advantage. You're just being harder on yourself because you're a cop."

"Maybe." Not ready, or not able, to forgive myself for being vulnerable, I re-established eye contact then steered back to his phone conversation. "Tell me what else Frannie said."

"Just don't scare me like that again," he scolded with a shake of his index finger at me. "Frannie is going to check with Cassy's grandmother. She also sends you her love and says she'll be by later with chocolate chip cookies." He smiled.

He expected me to be cheered up by the message content. Pleasant emotions did trickle rise to the surface in response. I was gratified that Frannie took my suggestion seriously, as Harry had done, and the thought of the chocolate chip contraband did put a small smile on my face. Momentarily, I was touched that Frannie would go to the effort of baking them for me. She really knows her way around a chocolate chip cookie and she always puts them in that gold tin....

But, the cookies will only provide a sugar high...

'Sends her love...' Her love... her love...

Those words echoed in my mind. The smile faded from my face. My jaw tightened. A wave of negativity swamped me. Those words are meaningless, just like everything Virginia said to me. Remember that, Ryan!

All totalled, the bad associated with the message content outweighed the good, making me feel worse. I fought the rush that tried to take me under again.

Harry must have realized that the message had caused a conflict and decided to bypass further discussion of it in favor of something more positive. "Ready to hear the particulars?"

I focused on him and remained above the surface--for now. "Yes," I replied, as more memories began to tease me by swimming just outside my full awareness. Had to prove something... the insurance scam. Virginia had the key to doing so. "The insurance policy. Harry, did anyone find Archer's insurance policy? Virginia had it with her right before we left the casino."

What I asked surprised him. The minute lift of an eyebrow gave him away. "We assumed you knew but didn't have the chance to tell anyone before you passed out. The policy was tucked into an interior pocket of the trenchcoat you brought in," he replied.

I dropped my head back onto the pillow. The relieved sigh escaped before I could stop it. "Thank god." I caught a break on that one! The first in several days. The policy had been the farthest thing from my mind after the car wreck. I should have looked for it in the car or on Virginia before I left the scene.

Why did I leave the scene anyway? I wondered as I stared at the ceiling. I needed to make sense of those actions and the fire still smoldering in my right arm provided a direct link to the crash. Concentrating on it, I endeavored to unearth the reason... or lack thereof, as was the case...

I don't know how long I was out after the car plowed into the tree. Immediately after I regained consciousness, the agony in my arm and in my heart overwhelmed the ability to think rationally that had returned just before we left the casino. Ending the pain brought on by the past few days dislodged all other thoughts. I had to confess, had to turn myself in. Maybe the consequences could be mitigated if I brought in evidence.

I'd be in public so I couldn't let anyone see my blood-stained jacket. Few possibilities for concealing it came to mind until I took the gun from Virginia's unresponsive fingers and noticed her trenchcoat. My need for it was greater than hers. I contaminated the scene by dragging her out of the car and stealing the coat.

Before leaving her alone on the dirt road, I held Virginia one last time. I apologized for abandoning her as I kissed her. Her cheek had cooled... to match her heart.

"Tom?"

My attention snapped back to the hospital room. "What?" I sniffed and scrubbed the tears from my eyes before they fell onto my cheeks.

Harry spoke firmly, eyeing me closely. "I said fingerprint analysis on the policy and part of Sidney's statement corroborated your statement regarding the existence of an insurance scam."

"What did Sidney say?"

"He told us three relevant things; he'd seen Virginia and Archer as a couple at the casino, he'd seen Archer's policy in Mundson's safe then he confirmed a 'business relationship' between Mundson and Virginia."

"How did you get to Sidney?"

"We gained the cooperation of the Key Nuevo authorities in questioning him and in recovery of the car and the bodies."

I raised an eyebrow at the odd way he'd phrased that answer. "Gained...?"

"Yes, after I made amends for Ballard and Burmeister diving into someone else's pond and exercising authority without, at least, courtesy notification."

A big mistake on their part. "Amends...?"

"Don't worry about it. The fee will come out of their hides." He paused for a beat then smirked. "You know, that bust down to meter maids is sounding better all the time."

I chuckled half-heartedly while wondering what he might have planned for me, if I return to duty. Equal parts curiosity and dread forced me to pose the question. "What fee will I have to pay?"

"Hmmm." After a couple of seconds, he grinned. "Maybe you could give them some lessons on procedure and protocol..."

"As long as I don't have to partner with either of them..." I gave him a half-grin but not joking one bit. "Sidney wasn't the talkative type. What loosened his tongue?"

"Reduced charges, of course," Harry shook his head. "What else? I guess he wasn't too keen on taking the fall for his dead boss."

My sentiments exactly. Sidney and I had something in common, making me feel a little guilty for taking some of my frustration out on him.

Harry continued. "Now, about our three dead civilians and one injured cop..."

My whole body tensed, despite the knowledge that I'd been cleared. Reliving the nightmare would not be enjoyable. Knowing others had delved into that bad dream made me uneasy. What would they think of me now? I had to force myself to breathe.

"As part of our deal, Key Nuevo turned the car, Mundson and Virginia over to us. Morton performed the autopsies. Forensics combed the car. All results were verified by Miami."

Good. No one could claim bias. Breathing got a little easier.

"The autopsy on Mundson revealed the cause of death to be internal injuries resulting from a gunshot wound in the chest," Harry stated, as if he read it right from the page.

Mundson had been killed by Virginia. Even though my memories of that night are sketchy, I have no doubt that he took the bullet with my name on it. Virginia had expected me to be the first one out the side exit near Mundson's office but had no way of knowing Mundson had beaten a hasty retreat while I went another round with Sidney.

Once I had subdued Sidney, I followed Mundson. I shoved open the exit door and what I saw bore witness to Mundson's claim that Virginia had conceived the scam. Mundson was down yet I was looking into the eyes of a stone-cold con artist and killer. Those eyes belonged to the woman I loved.

The shock freed me from whatever spell she'd cast on me. I saw the train's final destination looming ahead and quickly weighed my options. The best of the limited number was to convince her to give this up, meaning I had to stay with her. I ran to the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel, hope winning out over experience one more time.

Ballard and Burmeister were closing in but we avoided capture. I confronted Virginia with the truth as we drove away and she shot me. Fair is fair. I believe I took the bullet with Mundson's name on it.

"... with me?"

Startled, I mumbled, "Huh?"

"Are you with me?" Harry asked, worry knitting his brow. "You keep drifting off. I'm going to get the nurse." He rose from the bed.

My fingers closed around his wrist. "I don't need the nurse. I'm okay. I just keep getting flashes from that night."

"Do you need to rest?"

"Can't rest until I hear it all." I shifted again, wincing at the twinge of pain that resulted

"All right." He sat back down beside me slowly, telegraphing that continuing was against his better judgement. "The autopsy results on Virginia-"

Images assaulted me. My hands caressed Virginia's unclothed body, her silky skin a treat for my fingers. Pleasured moans from deep in her throat purred in my ears... broken by the whine of the bone saw as Morton caressed her unclothed body during his examination. My gut twisted at the sickening sight ... Harry's voice spoke in my ear... I tuned into what he was saying, to loosen the hold that the pictures I'd conjured up had on me.

"... cranial trauma," he stated.

He hadn't noticed my lapse.

"Morton ruled her death accidental after we received the report from Forensics on the car and the site plus the ballistics report on the bullet removed from your arm. Her fingerprint was the last one on the trigger and the bullet in your arm matched the gun you brought in, backing up your statement that she shot you. Your blood on the driver's seat verified that she'd shot you in the car. Skid marks on the road indicated where you must have lost control of the vehicle and its path into the tree. Her blood was found on the starred windshield, giving the logical cause for the cranial trauma."

"But, I'm responsible for her death..." What the hell was I doing? Begging for them to reconsider and punish me? Probably. Shouldn't I be held accountable?

"She made the fatal error in judgement, Tom," he stated, firmly.

"I tried to talk her out of shooting me. I told her if she shot me, we'd both die..." I needed him to believe that I had made the effort. I had to remind myself that I had tried to reason with her. Maybe it would help me accept being cleared... someday.

"And, she disregarded your assessment of the situation."

It sounded like he believed me. Of course, he had some measure of faith in me, possibly misplaced. Was that why I couldn't convince her? "I should have said something else..."

"Don't go there, Thomas. She made her decision and paid the price for it."

"I'll try." I pulled out of the downward spiral, thanks to his intervention. "What about Archer?"

"Miami ruled it a 'righteous shoot'. The gun you brought in was registered to Archer and had his fingerprints on it. Those two facts plus the paraffin test of his hands for gunpowder residue, which showed more on his right than on his left, gave I.A. reason to reopen the investigation of the shooting. They sent out a different Forensics team. This time, a bullet was discovered embedded high in the wall that would have been to your right at the time. Ballistics matched it to Archer's gun.

Once it was verified that you two exchanged gunfire, the question of who fired first had to be addressed. You claimed that he had and there were no witnesses to claim otherwise. I.A. scoured your service record, especially weapons discharge, and were satisfied that you haven't used deadly force without provocation in the past. No prior association with Archer also spoke loudly in your defense."

Other questions still remained for me. "What happened to the gun after Archer dropped it off the side of the building?"

"We suspect it was placed in a fuse box down the alley."

"By?" I knew before he could reply. The knowledge swam out of the darkness and bit me, a hungry piranha from earlier waiting to attack again. She'd done it. "Virginia, right?"

Harry nodded, solemnly. "I found her thumbprint on the handle of the box."

I closed my eyes as anger coursed through me... anger at her for being who she was and not who I thought she was, at incompetent cops for bungling the investigation, but mostly, at myself for being a blind fool. Then, it struck me. Maybe I wasn't the only one who'd looked the other way... "Why wasn't the gun found during a search of the site? She took a big chance that it wouldn't be discovered in the fuse box, unless..."

"'Unless' is right. The whole thing smells and, with I.A.'s help, I'm gonna clean it up."

That was a vow I knew he would keep. Two more things plagued me. "What made them think I'd go after Archer in the first place?"

Harry lateralled the question back. "You tell me. Why did you go after Archer?"

"Because he was exhibiting behavior that gave me reason to suspect he might be a danger to himself or others..." I rattled that off like I quoted directly from the manual.

Harry nodded and I had my answer. I'd done the expected. Shit! Virginia had gotten close enough to have learned what would elicit "cop mode" in me when I was off duty then they had baited me with Archer, after tweaking him to fit the bill. God, I'm such an-

"Thomas, don't go there either."

Harry's command pulled me up short. "How did you-?"

"I can see it written all over your face and I won't have it!" Indignation sparked in his eyes. "You're a damn good cop and you were doing your job to the best of your abilities. Don't let Mundson and Virginia take that away from you!"

"My abilities weren't so damn good this time!" I countered, disgusted with myself.

"Like I said before, you're just being tougher on yourself than you would be anyone else. Virginia found your weak spots and took advantage of them."

"Mundson said she was good at that." However, saying it didn't make me feel any better. "But, why me? Virginia told me that Mundson said they needed a reliable mark so they didn't pick me at random..."

"We suspect revenge. We found a prior association between you and Mundson, a.k.a. Bernie Mundy."

"Mundy?" I searched through old case files in my head. I recognized the name...

Harry filled in the last piece of the puzzle. "You and Jim Page put him away after breaking up an illegal gambling ring when you were on loan to vice six years ago."

Old cases coming back to haunt me... Blinders firmly in place... Maybe it's time to get out of this business. I had some hard decisions coming up and I can't say that I'm looking forward to making them. "Is it really over, Harry?"

"Yes, it is and, since you look tired, so is my visit. Get some rest," he ordered, with a smile and a fatherly pat on my thigh.

The tension drained, leaving me exhausted. Before I could sleep though, I needed one more piece of information. "What's my status with the department?"

"You're off suspension and on medical leave. Now, I'm outta here." As he stood up, he added, "And, yes, I'll keep you up on the search for your A.W.O.L. partner." He turned toward the door.

"I owe you a big one, Harry," I told his retreating back, hoping he could hear the gratitude I felt.

He stopped and turned back to look at me. "That you do, Sergeant. You can repay me by getting well then getting your ass back to work."

I smiled and nodded as my eyes closed, acknowledging but not committing. How could I?

*****
I roused to the aroma of chocolate chip cookies. Frannie? A kiss was pressed onto my cheek. Dragging my eyes open this time wasn't so difficult. I heard myself whisper, "Cass?"

A warm smile greeted me from under a crop of dark auburn hair and velvet-brown eyes. "Nope, it's me."

Frannie Lipschitz stood beside my bed. I smiled, happy to see another friendly face after a host of strangers with bad intent and demons created to torture myself. "Sorry, I thought-"

"I know what you thought, Tom. There's no need to apologize."

The concern and sympathy in her eyes reeled me in, a fish on a line but I didn't fight being pulled in, secure in the knowledge that she'd never want me gutted. She cared, something I'm not sure I deserved. What prompted those emotions, I wondered, my recent situation, my injury or news regarding my ex-wife? "Did you find Cassy? Talk to her?"

She rested her hand on my uninjured shoulder and gave it a light rub. She is going to give me bad news. My muscles knotted. My lungs refused to do their job.

"Yes, I found her at her grandmother's," Frannie reported, the smile returning to her lips.

Dizzy with relief--or lack of oxygen--I released the pent-up air and sucked in a fresh supply. Cassy was safe. 'Jane' hadn't forced her to do something we'd all regret. "Thank god."

"She even listened to reason," my visitor added.

"What does *that* mean?" Just what magic had Frannie worked on Cassy?

"It means-"

The phone beside the bed rang, interrupting Frannie and startling me. Frannie picked up the receiver and handed it to me. I brought it to my ear. "Hello?"

<<Tom?>>

I stared, jaw in my lap, at my captain's wife as it dawned on me who was on the other end of the line. "Cassy?"

Frannie grinned, then waved a good-bye as she turned toward the door and exited.

<<Tom, are you there?>>

I found my voice hiding deep in my throat and coaxed it out. "Uh, yeah, I'm just... surprised." To say the least.

<<Are you okay? Frannie said->>

I could hear more animation in her voice. It wasn't the emotionless, near-monotone that 'Jane' had used as she struggled for control the last time we spoke. Cassy had been reached behind the shield that protected her. "I'm better now. Are you okay?"

<<I'm better now, too.>>

If Cassy was calling, not 'Jane', then maybe she'd believe me... forgive me. "I swear to God, Cassy, I didn't mean it."

Dead silence stretched along the tenuous connection between us. Did I screw up?

Finally, she spoke. <<I know, Tom.>>

"You do?" The second nearly-unbelievable thing since I'd been awake.

<<I think I knew it all along and just needed some help believing it.>>

"Frannie and your grandmother?"

<<Yes.>>

I sighed. Bless them. I owe them flowers or something.

Some of the weight that had crushed me against the mattress earlier lifted. She believed me. Still, the knowledge that I had hurt her rested heavily on my shoulders. All she had been trying to do was help me and I owed her an apology for my behavior toward her. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. Can you forgive me>?"

<<If you can forgive me...>>

I didn't have a clue on why she would be asking that of me. "For what?"

<<For leaving you to Ballard and Burmeister...>> She paused. I heard her take a deep breath. When she spoke again, her words seemed to carry a hint of shame. <<For sometimes acting like I never loved you and made a mistake marrying you.>>

The parallel hit me, hard. She had thrown my suitcases from the train many times but hadn't succeeded in driving me away. What did this say about her? About me? About our relationship? Was the latter also a speeding train bound for disaster?

<<If you feel any of what I felt, well...>> Her voice became quieter with each word until she let it trail off.

I did share those feelings, every time she delivered one of her verbal jabs. "I guess we have some things to iron out. Are you coming back?"

Silence again. I'd pressured her...

<<You don't think I could leave all of the 'silk stalkings' to you, do you?>> she joked.

I chuckled at her use of the term that irreverently described our cases. "No, ma'am."

<<Ma'am?!>> She was indignant, hating that form of address and I knew it, then she switched to sarcasm. <<Pretty brave since there's so much distance between us, Ryan!>>

So much distance--mental and spiritual as well as physical--that needed to be bridged. "I may be crazy but I'm not stupid. When will you be back?"

<<Soon. Frannie told me that they'd cleared you. I'm off suspension and on leave so I'm going to take a little time...>>

"How little?" I asked, disappointed that there would be a delay in mending the rift between us--however it will work out.

<<I don't know. A week? Two?>>

"Okay." I guess I could understand her need for some space. I need some to sort out my own head, as well. "We'll talk when you get back. Deal?"

<<Deal. Take care of yourself.>>

"You, too."

I stared at the receiver after taking it from my ear, hoping that I hadn't just dreamt that conversation.

As I replaced the handset in the cradle, I realized that the diffuse ache in my chest had eased. The shadows of being alone, empty and dead that had hung over me were fading in the light cast on them by loved ones...

[fin--for now]