Fantasy A Little Night Music by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

A Little Night Music Ch. 05

"Can we film the operation?
Is the head dead yet?
You know the boys in the newsroom
got a running bet.
Get the widow on the set.
We need dirty laundry."
-Don Henley, "Dirty Laundry"



The Sovereign County and Nation-State of San Finzione maintained the European tradition of the two-hour midday break. It was often said that nothing happened between 12 and 2 in San Finzione.

On this day, though, something was happening at 12:22 in the afternoon. La Contessa's Eurocopter EC 115 helicopter flying overhead was a familiar sight to the citizens below, even if it was flying much faster than usual. A second helicopter in the sky at the same time flying from the nearby army base was not. What was even more strange to the people below was that La Contessa's only flew a short distance to the city's largest hospital and the second helicopter appeared to be heading toward St. Francis de Sales park. The park and St. Francis de Sales Cathedral at the end of it were a No-Fly Zone. Cameras and phones were produced to record the strange event.

In the park, Lady Maria Louisa Francesca de San Finzione sat on a blanket spread out on the grass under a shady tree by the duck pond. Her boyfriend, Stavro, was sprawled out on the blanket with his head in her lap as Maria peeled gbangs and fed them to him, both of them laughing at how corny the sight of them must be to onlookers walking the paved paths at the bottom of the hill.

"Hey," Stavro told her between gbangs. "Remember the last time we were on a blanket in this park?" Maria smiled and blushed. She thought she heard sirens, but thought nothing of them; figuring that Great-Grandmama must be going somewhere. She didn't connect them to the sound of the helicopter growing louder as well.

"I think we might get stares if we did that again today."

Stavro opened his mouth to respond and then saw the nearby park-goers looking up in the sky and pointing. He sat up, and Maria turned as well to see a helicopter that was not La Contessa's, but a military one, and it was descending to hover about thirty feet away from them.

The two of them rose to their feet as the military and security officer vehicles whose sirens had been getting increasingly loud could be now seen driving through the park and onto the grass toward them with flashing lights. They came to a stop and Capitan Ortega and four Ultimados, all carrying Heckler & Koch UMP40 sub-machine guns, emerged from an armored transport and ran towards them. Stavro stepped in front of Maria, memories of another incident they'd had involving men with guns and helicopters still fresh in his mind months later.

"Capitan Ortega," Maria shouted over the still-running engines. "What is all this?" Three of the Ultimados stood in a semi-circle behind Maria to form a shield. The fourth reached out to take hold of Stavro's arm and try to pull him aside when Ortega shouted an order to the man to halt.

"Señor Poldouris," he said, turning to Stavro. "I need you to stand aside. No one will attempt to take Lady Maria against her will." They had explicit orders from La Contessa in matters involving Lady Maria. That was one of them; there was a sub-list about Stavro. He turned back to her.

"There has been an attempt on La Contessa's life. I can only say more once we get you to safety."

Maria nodded and hunched down amongst them. Stavro, Ortega, and the fourth soldier closed ranks around her to make the front half of her human shield as they ran her into the armored transport. Everyone piled in and the transport and its escort drove swiftly toward the castle.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Susan Bailey was driving in the good direction for 4 AM Seattle traffic, and made it to the road that her home was on in a little less than half an hour. She'd found the BBC World Service on the satellite radio before she'd left Rachel's place, and had been listening for information as she drove home.

They'd reported that the attack had come during a stop on the castle tour, that the assailant had posed as a tourist and attacked her with a knife of some kind. They then said that La Contessa had been rushed by helicopter to the nearest hospital, that the castle was in lock-down, and that Lady Maria de San Finzione had been moved to a secure location. Susan listened to them rephrase those five details in as many ways as possible before pulling into her driveway and looking at the house across the street. A light was on in the house, like always. That would be convenient.

She got out of her car and started storming across the street and up their lawn. As her heels hit grass, she realized that the shoes she was wearing weren't good for storming up to someone's door in the pre-dawn hours with the intention of pounding on it and yelling, so she took them off and stuffed them into her purse before continuing to storm.

A use for the accursed shoes came to Sue as she reached the door. She took one back out of the purse and pounded on the door with it in one hand as she rang the doorbell with the other.

"Open up, you fuckers," she shouted. Susan worried for a second that Troy & Julie might've heard that, but then remembered that they'd be in bed, and all the bedrooms in their house had been soundproofed, so the repeat was much louder.

The door opened. It was Eric. His husband Rob was coming down the stairs. Eric appeared to be dressed as if going out for a pre-dawn jog. Rob was dressed as if he were heading to work in a jean-casual office.

"Susan," Eric asked. "What???"

"Look," she said, barging in past him. "You'll want to close that fucking door." Eric nodded and did it.

"All right, you know who I am, and I figured out who you two really are some time ago, so let's cut the shit; what's going on with her?" The two of them looked confused; a fraction of a second too late for her liking.

"Who," Rob asked. "The lady on the TV? We were just watching that."

"Yeah," she replied. "The lady on the TV that isn't even fucking ON right now, but you've somehow heard about. Contessa Helena de San Finzione, your fucking boss! What's going on with her?"

"Susie, sweet..." Eric started saying before she stomped up to the taller man's face and shouted up at him.

"MY name is SUSAN, asshole! Your fucking files should have told you that! If there's another name to call me right now, it's SUE!

"You don't think I noticed that you showed up two weeks after the thing in Uongo? Yeah, I know all about that, because we talked while it was going on. The next week, the old couple across the street gets an offer on their house for enough money to retire to Florida. The week after, a really buff gay couple, calling themselves THE GREENS, for fuck's sake; moves in. A gay couple who, in four months, have shown absolutely no signs of affection toward each other," Sue emphasized each word of the rest of the sentence, making it sound like each word was a sentence on its own as she pointed out their outfits.

"Who. Don't. Even. Fucking. JOG! Together. But despite supposedly running some nebulous internet business that justifies always being home and deliveries at all hours; have the discipline to somehow maintain tri-athlete physiques. And finally, you've both been FAR too cool about the nice neighbor lady suddenly transforming into a RAGING CUNT and stomping into your house at 4:30 in the morning to hysterically accuse you of being spies NOT to be! You two are FUCKING Ultimados and Helen sent you to protect them after what happened to Maria!"

The two men remained silent. Susan sat on a stool and collected herself.

"Troy and Julie probably made you on day one and haven't said because they're worried that I'd be pissed off at her. I haven't said anything to her or them because I know she did it out of love, and I get where she got her warped understanding of love."

Susan looked down at the floor.

"And I can't say I wouldn't do the same in her position either. I'm not mad at you or her, I'm mad at the situation." She looked back up to them.

"You know how much they mean to her. I assure you that she means just as much to them. And when I leave here, I have to go home and walk in on the two people I love most in all the world in the midst of their either peaceful sleep or joyful copulation to tell them that someone just stabbed the woman that they both refer to as 'my first girlfriend.' I NEED to give them more than what the news is saying.

"You two have got to have some kind of hotline or direct link to her; you can tell me SOMETHING." She took a deep breath.

"And you have to be aware of what the four of us can do. I'm not in their league yet, but I'm pretty sure I can make you tell me if that's the way you want this to play out."

Silence hung for a few seconds. Eric broke it, dropping the Southern California accent he'd been using for months for an Italian one.

"One of the Ultimados who dispatched the assassin was a field medic. He was able to start tending to her wounds immediately. We know that she has been stabbed multiple times and lost consciousness. We have men escorting Lady Maria and Signor Poldouris to safety; our Capitan is with them. There has been no word of any other attack."

"Thank you, that's something." Susan said. They nodded.

Rob turned on the television and walked over to a rack of DVDs, grabbing one in a blank case with a blue Sharpie-drawn S on the spine. His accent became Spanish.

"La Contessa prepared a video in the event that we had to reveal ourselves to you."

Susan sighed and walked over to the couch in front of the TV.

"I have to go tell them, but I'll take any excuse I can get to put it off a little bit longer." Rob nodded and played the disc.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

The screen filled with the image of Contessa Helena de San Finzione lighting a cigarette while she sat at what Susan now recognized as the computer in her study. She looked like she'd either been awake for some time or had woken up in the middle of the night to record this and ran a hand through her hair before speaking.

"Hey, Susan. No, I'm not psychic, Troy and Julie will probably each get their own videos soon. I'm guessing that you've already met Enrique and Roberto if you're watching this. Logically, the fact that I'm not telling you this stuff face-to-face would also mean that at this time, there's some reason I can't."

She paused the recording. When it returned, Helen's hair looked a bit better and she was lighting a new cigarette before continuing.

"So first off: I'm sorry that I've had these guys watching your house. The thing I recently got back from has just... look, I can count the number of living people who are truly important to me on one hand, and most of them live in the same house. I promise you there are no bugs or cameras in your house and nobody's opening your mail or going through your trash. Just... my biggest fear is my world crashing down on your guys' door. If you're watching this, chances are that's what happened. I'm sorry. I need... needed to take steps to prevent that.

"Second, and this is important: Don't come rescuing me! Maria, sure, by all means. But whatever shit I've gotten myself into, I'm the one who did it. That's more for Troy & Julie in case they're watching this with you. Hmm... I should do one for if it's the three of you too... I'll figure this out later. But yeah, don't let them either, please."

The recording paused again. When it resumed, Helen had a glass of water in front of her and her cigarette had burned down.

"That brings me to the third thing: Maria. If she ever does call for anything, please do it. She wouldn't ask for help unless she really needs it. If Jeanne chooses to stay on and serve her, I know she'll do just as good a job for her, but there's only so much she can do. Come to think of it, Maria might not ask even then, so, you might need to keep an eye on the news. Just, watch out for her, please, is all I'm saying.

"I don't know when this will play, but I plan to start trying to teach her Our Thing once she gets to our age when I'm recording this. You get that it's a hell of a lot, at least you will be the time you see this.

"I... deprived her of an adolescence. With the money and power she was born into, it probably would've been a short, stupid life ending in a wrecked Lamborghini or Fincantieri or a needle in her arm, like her parents and grandparents. She's old enough to handle it now, and... and I want her to be a girl first before she has to be a Contessa. Troy's right, it's only blind fucking luck that they never hurt anybody with this. If... if I haven't taught her and you think she can handle it, I'll trust your judgment.

"Fourth: If you're watching this because someone's in trouble and you need somewhere to run to, that's also what Roberto and Enrique are there for. About now, one of them should be giving you a strongbox with a key. If they aren't there, it's under the bed in the master bedroom. The key will be in a hiking boot in the closet."

Enrique set the box on the coffee table in front of her; the key on top.

"Inside will be a burner phone that they should have regularly kept charged and San Finzione passports and ID already filled out in everyone's names. Everything's legal. Well, how we managed to get passport and license photos of you must remain classified, but everything else is pre-approved by order of La Contessa; you don't even need to take the oath. Just sign the papers and you'll be citizens of San Finzione, subject to our laws and my protection.

"Call the Seattle consulate at any hour; It'll be pre-programmed into the burner if you don't have it or can't use your own, and they'll send a diplomatic car and put you on a plane here. There's also $10,000 in cash to take care of anything you all need along the way. I'm not going to fuck up again by giving you another expensive gift, so this is a loan; albeit, one I won't give a fuck about if or when you repay it."

When the video resumed after the pause, Helen's hair was almost what she'd accept as "presentable," and she'd put on earrings. She also looked like she may have had a drink or two and was going on the same exhaustion bender.

"Now, if someone's after you, let's say Troy's thing about the Men In Black coming to drag us all off to... Eh, I'm sure he's given you that speech by now too!" There was a pause, but in Helen's speech rather than the recording. When she spoke next, it was in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Speaking of, here's a freebie that I've learned about men for you, hon: If you want to learn EVERYTHING you need to know about a man? And this goes DOUBLE for Our Troilus, ask him his thoughts on BATMAN! You may want to free up the rest of your day first." She attempted a lower whisper, but the best alcohol could give her was a deeper-voiced one at the same volume. "And if he says he's a Marvel Man, BONE THAT FUCKER AND WHATEVER FUCKER HE'S FUCKING!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Susan heard Alcohol's remix of a laugh that she'd only ever caught hints at before, making the corners of her own lips take an upturn as well.

She followed Helen closely in the media, which was why she got a phone alert about the attack. It wasn't out of friendly enthusiasm, nor desire to see an enemy's humiliation; simply because Helen's and Maria's were the only names the media ever mentioned that she could say that she knew outside of a convention hall setting.

She knew Contessa Helena de San Finzione's laugh; the real one as well as the fake. Despite nearly being able to smell the booze on her breath from out of the house's sound system, Susan knew that for the first time, she was hearing Helen Parker laugh.

It caused the upturn in her lips. A new tiny "thing" that she now shared with the other members of the "club" of which Troy, Julie, and Helen had been lifelong members and she'd only recently joined and moved swiftly through the ranks. It was too tinged with the fact that coming as it did made what she had to do after this all the more personal as well to be called a smile.

"Oh! We're still on four! OK. So, four was if someone's out to get you, whatever. Just stay down, or whatever they tell you; and let the Ultimados take care of any violence. That's just what Ultimados DO! They're all like, 'What's the fucking point of a License to Kill if you never get to use it?' I mean, I picked them to look out for you guys because they're nice guys, but ALSO because they're bad motherfuckers. YOU just worry about getting here, Susan. You can always just come to Sa... no, fuck that, I'm not going to say it. Just fucking get here!" Another pause in recording, and another cigarette lit when she returned.

The next jump in the recording showed Helen with a cup of black coffee in her hand and a velvet ice pack on her head.

"I kinda want to go back and re-record or edit that, but I also kinda don't." Another jump, and Susan was looking at Contessa Helena de San Finzione again; hair in place, in a satin robe and lighting a new cigarette.

"Ok, last thing. If there's some kind of crisis in progress, chances are good that you've either already met or are about to meet a man named Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez, Supreme Commander of my Armed Forces; you've probably seen him on TV with me. I flirt with him sometimes, he plays it off cool, all 'I'm married,' it's fun. But if he tells you something, do it. Or believe it, whichever. You're a Trekkie, so I know you've seen Firefly too. I don't feel like looking up the exact quote, but you remember that thing about living with a man for forty years and eating and talking to him and... damn..."

There was another pause. When she resumed, Helen was reading something from the monitor and her cigarette had burned out.

"All right, it's 'Live with a man 40 years. Share his house, his meals. Speak on every subject. Then tie him up, and hold him over the volcano's edge. And on that day, you will finally meet the man.'"

She looked back to the camera.

"In Uongo, Ramirez and I went to the edge of that volcano and held each other over it. I met him and he met me. And when we came down, he was my Generalissimo."

She paused, reached for the cigarette that had burned out, decided against another, and continued.

"I trust him. The only other living man that I can say that about is probably either watching along with you or wherever Julie is. I've had meetings with the Pope, and it's still just those two guys."

Thinking of Troy reminded Susan of the task she still had ahead of her. The video had done nothing to assuage her dread, and it was starting to get light out. She worried that if she waited much longer one of them might wake up and learn the hard way. The last time something had happened to Helen, she'd asked Susan not to tell them until the media got hold of the story. She hadn't this time.

On the screen, Helen said more.

"I'm sure there's a clock ticking somewhere, so I'll wrap this up. But before I go; I know nobody wants to think about it and hope it's not the case. However, it's me and my head; and I can't NOT have the thought 'Susan could be watching this because I've died.' So, there's a couple short things to say there too.

"If you remember our first conversation, you told me about how empty promises of 'it won't happen again' are. You were absolutely right. I've seen a man get a haircut and stick a Bible in his hand and tell a parole board how changed and reformed he is, then make me distract the cashier while he shoplifted beer on the way home. So, I know how worthless that statement can be. The thing is, I didn't promise you, I promised Troilus Equals. Are you at all able to lie to that man? If so, I want to live now, just so you can tell me the secret."

Helen sighed before continuing.

"I know that our relationship can currently be summed up by the last words we said to each other: Don't die. I hope we've had more words since then, and that they've been good ones. As things are, I feel like I'd be getting ahead of myself by using the word 'friend,' but I hope between now and whenever you see this, it's become more possible.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"And on the million-to-one chance that we've gotten to the point where 'love' becomes an acceptable word? Well..." She thought for a final puff of her cigarette. "Eh, fuck it. By then, you'll already know."

She put out the cigarette and the video ended. Susan thought for a second, then stood up and looked down at the box and back up to the two Ultimados.

"I have to go give them the news. That could take a while. And then at least one of us will be back with a pen." She looked at the TV. "I'm taking your advice, you bitch. I'm going to 'Come to San Finzione.'"

She didn't attempt a Pepé Le Pew impression, but rather, a mocking of Helen's voice.

She left the house, crossed the street, and stepped into Troy and Julie's bedroom to tell them.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

A Little Night Music Ch. 06

"From the President of the United States,
To the lowliest rock & roll star.
The doctor is in, and he'll see you now.
He don't care who you are.
Some get the awful, awful diseases,
some get the knife, some get the gun.
Some get to die in their sleep
at the age of a hundred and one."
-Warren Zevon, "Life'll Kill Ya"

The light went on in the room ahead. There was a buzzing sound, and then another door inside that room opened. Something orange moving inside and something blue moving past the wire-reinforced window in the door in front of her that hadn't opened yet. The old institutional tube light in the hallway where she stood waiting flickered overhead. There was a latching sound inside the room, and then the partial figure of a person in a blue uniform filled the window. A louder, closer buzz, and the door was opened.

Helena Medina... No. "Parker," she reminded herself, the judges wouldn't let it be Medina and make this exercise completely unnecessary; stood in the doorway. Behind her, Propappou placed a hand on the shoulder of the jacket she'd worn three years ago, tiny snags from her run through the woods now grown into large rips that had been patched with the logos of various punk and metal bands. She'd had to remove the pins and studs she'd secured or reinforced other parts of the jacket with before coming this far.

Her hand touched his, then let go. Troy stood at her side, out of view from inside the room. With her other hand, she reached out and touched his for a moment. He did the same and they smiled at each other. A second later, she stepped through alone.

Wade John Wayne Parker sat at a table in an orange jumpsuit and glared past his daughter at the old Greek man behind her. He gave the old man a look that said he wanted to jump up on the table and laugh and mock him for the courts not letting him steal her away and that the only reason he wasn't was that he was aware his ankles were chained to his chair and that the guards would surround and beat him. Byroni Medina returned it with eyes demanding that Zeus immediately blast this malaka pimple from the ass of the Earth with his thunderbolt. Their eyes remained fixed while a guard offered to get Mr. Medina some coffee until the closing of the door forced them to break contact.

Helena walked up to the chair on the other side of the plexiglass partition that bisected the table between them, and looked around, seeming not to notice the man seated three feet from her. Wade broke the silence, his voice coming through a grill in the glass that seemed to be floating in space a few inches above the table.

"One of the guys owes me a pack of smokes. I guess the fact that you're here means the judge saw reason, huh?"

Helena looked down at the seat of the chair. She flicked an imaginary bug or speck off of it. If she'd heard, she didn't react.

"How's the new foster family? Must be doing something right, even if they keep letting that old bastard bring you for Father's Day. You still letting his half-goat stick it in you?"

Helena let that go and continued looking at the red lights on the cameras in the corners. Things were actually going great with her foster family. Her case worker had proven very agreeable about her situation and always felt the compulsion to let Helena know a couple days before any visits or "surprise inspections." The foster family she was with were also more than happy to agree to Helena's proposal of cashing and handing over her entire maintenance check each month in exchange for lying to the social workers that she was home every night instead of spending all her time at the Medina house and keeping her room clean but otherwise undisturbed for when she had to be there for visits. She smiled and waved to one of the cameras, as if noticing them for the first time.

"OK," Wade said. "We're gonna be like that. Fine. I'm sorry, ok? Maybe if the cops had kept me all weekend, I wouldn't've come home so pissed, and your mom..."

Helena turned at the last two words and quick-walked over to the chair, an expression on her face that said that she was extremely interested in whatever he was going to say next.

"What," she asked. "What possible reason are you going to tell me my mother gave you that made you HAVE to beat her to death that's going to make me go 'Oh, ok?' WHAT? Let's hear it!"

Even through the glass, Wade Parker took half a jump back before responding with more anger.

"Look, I was drunk, ok!"

"I watched you kill my mother, Wade. I KNOW you were drunk! You were ALWAYS drunk! That excuses NOTHING!"

"This... look, shit happens. You shouldn't have let them call the cops on me!"

"And let you kill me and bury me in the marsh like you always say you should have?" He began to open his mouth to deny it. She shouted him down before the words left it. "Don't fucking tell me you weren't! You bought the fucking garbage bags and duct tape! Because the other guys weren't dumbfuck enough to go along with your 'my daughter can be our accomplice, she'll risk jail for us, won't ya sweetie' plan! Booze didn't tell you to be a piece of shit criminal, YOU told you to do that!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Well, those days are over, honey. I'm sobered up now, can't get a drop in prison. Got my AA chips and everything."

Helena sat and listened with a blank look on her face again, remembering playing checkers using his 3-day and 1-week coins whenever he was inside before and she could have friends over. And stories of how guys got booze smuggled in were a standard amongst the "uncles" who'd visit.

"I... I've been going to church in here too, honey. Getting right with the Lord. I know Jesus is going to show me the way." He took out a little hand-made wooden cross out from under his jumpsuit to show it'd been hanging on his neck this whole time. "I made this in the shop. There's one for you too."

Wade gestured to a small gift box on her side of the glass that separated them.

Helena lifted open the box lid and saw a cross identical to the one he was wearing. She set the lid back down on top of it.

"Maybe you can wear it to my next parole hearing. And something nicer than what you got on, and the board'll know I've got you on the outside to look after now. I'll get a real job and take care of you and we can be a family and it'll never happen again."

A look containing ten viewings of Scarface's worth of "Fuck You" appeared in Helena's eyes. A look that made Wade miss the look of infinite disgust and rage he'd gotten from Propappou a few minutes earlier.

"'It'll never happen again.' Now Julie owes ME a pack of smokes."

The look didn't leave as a big smile spread across the lower half of her face and she picked up the little box and stuck it into her inside jacket pocket, then began rooting around in it.

"I made something for you too, Wade. Something special. Spent a lot of time thinking about it."

Wade Parker leaned forward and smiled as Helena fished in the lining of the jacket, the pockets long torn into the lining, making for easier shoplifting. At last, she produced a folded-up piece of lined yellow note paper from the depths of the jacket. She stood up and looked at the guard on her side of the glass and the one on the other side.

"Leave us for a minute, please," she asked them. "And tell them to turn off the cameras too."

Both guards nodded and stepped out into the hallway. When they were gone, she sat back down and faced him.

"You wrote me a fucking poem," he asked, too upset that she didn't bring him any of the things he'd asked her to get for him on the outside and ready to mock whatever it was to question what she'd said to the guards or notice that they did so without a word upon Helena's request. She noticed the red lights on the cameras shut off and smiled.

"No. I just wrote it down because I wanted to get it right." She looked down at the paper, then fixed him with a gaze that he'd never seen from her. "Now, shut up."

He found himself no longer wanting to speak as she read.

"You've just decided to join the Aryan Brotherhood. After I leave, you're going to go out into the yard, find the biggest group of tough-looking black guys you can find, and start loudly proclaiming your new-found ideals and beliefs to them. Use the N-Word a lot. Tell them how they're inferior to the white man and ought to be rounded up and sent back to Africa, go ahead and get creative with it. Whatever they do to you after that, you're going to accept it and not fight back. This is all your own idea."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Helena folded up the paper and got up, Wade silently nodding and not understanding why he knew that was exactly what he'd made up his mind to do after she left. She knocked to let the guard know she was ready to leave. The other came into the room on his side.

"Oh, and, uh, Happy Father's Day... Daddy." Helena said before leaving.

She walked down to Visitor Reception and got the small cardboard box containing her pins and studs back. Propappou and Troy walked with her, each holding a hand, onto the ferry to leave the island and go home.

"Hey, Helena, I think, tonight, we go somewhere nice for dinner, eh," he said to her in Greek as they found seats in the back.

She looked up at the man she wished were her father, then back at the prison as the ferry pulled away from the docks. Troy turned on his phone, saw he'd missed six texts from Julie asking how it was going, and turned to text back.

"Can we just go home and have cocoa instead, Propappou?" Helen asked, also in Greek, watching the prison get smaller and hearing the sound of sirens coming from inside the walls growing distant.

She reached into her pocket and retrieved the note and the gift box.

"Sure, sure. Hey, what's that?" He asked.

Helen tore up the note and tossed the pieces and the box over the side, into the inlet.

"Something that'll never happen again," she responded.

* * *

"She's lost a lot of blood," one of the paramedics said as Contessa Helena de San Finzione's Eurocopter EC 115 helicopter descended toward the roof of the Byroni Medina Memorial Emergency Medical Center. "If your man hadn't been there, Generalissimo..."

Generalissimo Ramirez set down her purse; which, in all the chaos, had ended up in his care. He removed his jacket, now soaked with the blood she'd lost as he helped lift her onto the stretcher and into the helicopter, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Does she need more? I am O Negative."

Maisson, the Ultimado field medic who was first on the scene and rode in the helicopter with them, shook his head no and guided him down into one of the seats.

"They'll have that when we land, Mon Général. It's all ready for her."

The medic gestured for him to strap in for landing before doing the same.

Ramirez looked over her, over the EMTs doing their jobs. He should have done his job earlier, but the unconscious woman on the floor in front of him had made a mistake.

He knew what she could do, had heard tales about her back when he could have a drink with "the men" instead of "the officers." Grown men living in the 21st century spreading gossip about La Contessa the same way their ancestors in centuries past gathered to whisper tales of the demonic creatures that their rulers truly were beneath their human guise. By the time he'd met her, he'd heard too many of them to believe any. Might've told a few himself.

Now, he knew which ones to believe: the ones about her strange ability to command the wills of men. He'd seen it happen, experienced it himself. And when it happened again a few minutes before, he knew it was an accident. She was telling the assassin to stop, but everyone in the room except him did it, including the Generalissimo. If she hadn't told everyone they could move again before losing consciousness, he and the tourists would probably still be immobile in the ballroom, puzzling everyone who'd arrived after to see them all frozen in place still.

The cause was irrelevant: he couldn't do anything to help her then, and he couldn't do anything for her now. He watched the EMTs work, trying to find something they might have missed; some way to be helpful.

"Why is nothing being done about the cut on her neck," he asked Maisson. "He was cutting her throat, and then you and Velasquez fired..."

Maisson raised his right hand in reassurance as he fished for something in his left pocket.

"The neck wound was only superficial, Mon Général. The blade glanced off this and broke." Maisson held up the gold chain, one link now broken, that held the emerald pendant La Contessa had been wearing. "He missed her jugular."

Ramirez exhaled sharply. It was one good thing today. Maisson handed him the pendant and Ramirez reached for La Contessa's purse, placing it inside. But it still didn't feel like he was contributing.

"Shouldn't they be giving her morphine? What if she regains consciousness? The pain would be..."

The Ultimado figured out what was going on with Le Général and once the helicopter touched down, unbuckled himself and stood to block the Generalissimo's view.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Mon Général," Maisson said. I did all that I could for La Contessa at the time, recognized that my skill was insufficient, and sent her on to people more expert than myself; these people. And now they are going to send her on to the men who know more and they will help La Contessa."

Ramirez looked up at the man and secured La Contessa's purse inside his uniform jacket.

"And if they cannot help, her, Maisson? If they do not have the skill?"

The Ultimado stood at attention.

"Then Le Général shall find the names of the men who DO have the skill to help La Contessa! He will GIVE them to Le Ultimados, and WE will kick in their doors and drag them SCREAMING to her bedside, Mon Général!"

The Tenente saluted. The Generalissimo rose and returned it. The doors opened, and the emergency room team took over, lifting La Contessa onto a gurney.

Ramirez carried the bloody bundle of jacket and purse into the hospital, and stayed with the gurney until they told him he couldn't. As the first responder and having La Contessa's full medical history, they needed Maisson to stay with them, and he promised he'd tell the Generalissimo as soon as he knew anything.

The swinging doors closed, Ramirez realized that he was still wearing his cover and sunglasses indoors and removed them, then looked for the elevator. While he rode down to the cafeteria level, a text came in and he reached for it from his shirt pocket, and felt it there too. The blood had soaked through his jacket and there were wet, red patches on the front of his shirt. The text was from his wife. Wanting to know the same things his last forty-five missed calls and thirty-six awaiting texts did. He noticed that everyone in the elevator was looking at him and put the phone back. He'd reply soon. He needed a moment.

Hernando entered the cafeteria to no one's notice. All eyes were focused on the televisions in the corners, showing images and videos from tourist cameras. Pictures of him and Maisson kneeling in the pool of blood that surrounded her. Him lifting her onto a stretcher and Maisson maintaining pressure on the wounds. An angry look on Velazquez's face right before she kicked the tourist in the testicles for trying to get video of Maisson's ripping La Contessa's blouse open to clear it from the wounds. The Generalissimo made a mental note to give that woman his harshest, most severe three-day-pass when they returned to base.

The footage changed to his image again, loading La Contessa into the helicopter, his jacket fully red in front. Ramirez's footsteps then sounded somehow louder to him. Louder than the televisions or the cooking sounds in the kitchen. By the time he reached the coffee machine, he realized that they hadn't gotten louder, but that all the other sound had stopped. When the noise of his selection of American black coffee filled the room, he looked around. The televisions had been muted, the kitchen staff had come out front. All eyes were upon him. And the stains on his shirt.

Hernando picked up his coffee, walked to the cashier, and paid for it. The cash register ringing up his purchase seemed much louder amongst the silence in the room, and its noise was followed by his shoes again as he walked over to a table with an ash tray and sat down with his coffee and his bloody bundle.

Not a word was said as he gave his coffee an experimental sip, then reached into La Contessa's purse and saw the item he'd spotted earlier when he put the pendant in it: a pack of her cigarettes. He opened it. Only three gone. She must have opened it before the meeting. Something about the meeting floated across his mind for something to connect with. Then he realized it must be that it was a shorter meeting than it had seemed to him if she'd only smoked three.

With that many left, she'd be ok with him borrowing one. She wasn't going to need them for a while, anyway. He'd buy her a carton for it later, that's what she would do if the situation were reversed. He found her lighter and lit it.

The room remained silent, watching him smoke his cigarette and drink his coffee. He reflected upon something she'd said at the warehouse last night. It was her cigarette that he was borrowing and would pay back, therefore, in a way, she was sharing it with him.

He gave a wry smile as he thought on how right she was. They were sharing a cigarette, and once again, lives were on the line.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

A Little Night Music Ch. 07

"I am gross and perverted, I'm obsessed n' deranged.

I have existed for years, but very little has changed.

I'm the tool of the Government, and Industry, too.

For I am destined to rule and regulate you.

I might be vile and pernicious, but you can't look away.

I make you think I'm delicious with the stuff that I say.

I'm the best you can get. Have you guessed me yet?

I'm the slime oozing out from your TV set."

-Frank Zappa, "I'm The Slime"

"In five... four..."

The technician finished the countdown with his fingers and pointed at Contessa Helena de San Finzione. She sat in a Louis XV chair, completely naked except for jewelry. Emerald earrings and her tiara adorned her head. Her wedding ring, her signet ring, and the small emerald pendant she wore, dangling above her bare breasts were the only other objects on her body. Next to her, sitting on a couch that looked a lot like the one her parents had were Sally and Cara, America's Favorite Fifty-Something Early-Morning Drinkers; or rather, distorted versions of them, reminding her of pictures of Sensory Homunculi with their giant hands that held wine glasses bigger than their gargantuan ears; enormous chins with exaggerated lips and mouths. The first time Helen saw one, she'd thought it was a figurine of some racist old-time cartoon character before being informed that it was a neuroscientific research tool.

A blistering metal version of the "back from commercial" jingle that Helen thought was an improvement from the original started and the Sally and Cara-Things began animatedly pretending to be in the middle of talking about something, their exaggerated gestures of excitement about the imaginary subject causing pints-at-a-time of wine to slosh out of their glasses.

"And we're back," the Cara-Thing said to the camera. "Our guest today likes to think she's accomplished a lot, but if that's the case, why's she naked in our studio?" Helen now noticed that she was naked. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see some of the crew and members of the audience ("Hmm," she thought. "This show doesn't usually have a studio audience.") looking directly at her had started touching themselves, and she imagined a sizable portion of the home audience were gazing upon her naked form, their hands slowly starting to move down to between their legs. Helen wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed that all over the globe, people were simultaneously masturbating to the sight of her nude body on live television or more aroused that one of her deepest fantasies was currently being fulfilled.

"That's right, Cara," the Sally-Thing chimed in. "She's the offspring of a no-good piece-of-shit and his murder victim, and if her friends hadn't taught her to control minds, she'd either be dead, stripping, or streetwalking right now. After she used it to get revenge, she married a rich European noble for his money and throne, turning the true heir into her lesbian sex slave. Please welcome Helen Parker, ladies and gentlemen!"

The audience applauded. Helen frowned. Only four people in the world had her permission to use that name, and neither of these two were Troy, Julie, Susan, or Barbara Walters. Helen opened her mouth to say something before Sally spoke again.

"Now Helen, you were a COMPLETE slut in college. I mean, how many of the boys joked about 'Parking with Parker?'" The audience laughed. Helen sat up. Yes, everything they were saying was true, but she wasn't going to sit idle for it.

"This isn't the interview I was promised," she said. "But since you're clearly fishing for ratings here, yes. I found it was an easy way to keep from having to go home and deal with Wade. That joke predated me, though. It was started over someone else for the same reason."

"Oh, yes," The Cara-Thing said, stroking her chin in a gesture that took a second or two because of the size of both her chin and her hand. "The older sister that nobody talks about; who ran off before you were old enough to even pronounce her name. What was it again?"

"Persephone." Helen replied. It had been so long since she'd said it, the name felt strange on her lips; a dimly-remembered sense-memory like the taste of a candy from childhood that hasn't been made in years. "Yeah, Paneffee! Right. That's how I said it then. Oh, she didn't come to either funeral; I figure she's gotta be dead by now or she'd have shown up looking for money or something long ago."

"Wow, Mom was into Mythology, wasn't she," The Sally-Thing chimed in. "That's right, Persephone. The one who stole all Wade's guns, sold them for a quarter their value for cash to hop a plane to LA, and was never seen again. Is that right?"

Helen started laughing, her breasts seeming to jiggle lazily, like Father Time Himself was also watching and enjoying the free show, and was extending each moment of time as it applied to her tits to savor the sight of Helena's erect nipples.

"The best part... he took it out on us mercilessly for it, of course, but still, the BEST part... was HE'D stolen them first!" She continued to laugh and thrust her chest forward to give Chronos a better view. "So, he couldn't even get them back! And the fucker was on probation too! If he'd even SAID they were his, they'd have locked him back up!" Helen stopped to catch her breath, but started talking again before she'd caught it.

"He... he started taking me to pawn stuff with him... cause they gave him a better deal if he brought his little girl with him... and he'd get this sad look when he'd check out the gun racks. It took me years to figure out why! Because it was... it was the grave of his little John Dillinger 'World-Famous... Notorious Bank Robber' dreams!" Her laughter died down and a hand began snaking up to her breast.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"That's right," The Cara-Thing said, in exactly the way one might if one were slowly drawing a knife and staring at the vulnerable back of the foolish hero of a western, walking behind him along a ledge in a torchlit abandoned mine. "Now, he died of multiple shank wounds in prison brawl, which you used this power to make him provoke, and then it failed you today, and now you've been shanked too. How does that make you feel?"

Helen had to think about that for a moment, and why the memory felt so odd.

"Hmm... see the poetry there, certainly. Not sure why the thing didn't work. Oh wait! That just happened a little bit ago, didn't it? How long ago was that?"

"Oh, who can tell, "Cara-Thing said. "You passed out pretty quick there. About the time Maisson was ripping off your clothes."

“Yeah, he's good at that," Helena said wistfully, then something dawned on her. "Oh, GOD no! This is one of those fucking Near-Death Vision things, isn't it? I hoped those were all movie bullshit."

"Nope," said Sally-Thing. "it's happening, all right. Contessa Helena de San Finzione," The audience chanted along with her. "THIS! IS! YOUR! DEATH!"

"Well, maybe," Cara-Thing butted in. "I mean, you're a hot, rich, famous white chick, so they're probably trying real hard to save you up there. Out there. Down there. We don't know how this works, to be honest."

"Ok," said Helena as she tried to bring the left side of her brain into the conversation and her right hand joined her left in slowly exploring her breasts. "This isn't a concussion thing, because someone would have doped me up or brought me out of it by now, and if it was a nightmare, I'd have woken the fuck up when you two first started looking creepy. Not like Sally and Cara's usual 'too damn happy to be trying to seem relevant at 4 am' creepy; but like what anti-drug cartoons try to bullshit kids into thinking you see on drugs."

Cara-Thing answered her.

"We could be all of those catching up with you, who knows? Point is, you're stuck here and you're going to have to ride it out."

"Well, this is all in my head, right?

Do I have any control over it?" Helena asked.

Sally-Thing answered her. "The whole world is staring at your naked body and can see you're getting turned on by it while you're being interviewed by grotesque mockeries of people you detest on too visceral a level to even hate-fuck..."

Helena cut her off excitedly.

"I know this one! It's because my True Father and My Husband were both senior citizens the whole time I knew them! I have a great respect for the elderly as a result! I'm no morning person, but I've become accustomed to waking up with the sun; and you're the first people many of them see when they turn on the TV in the morning! I hold you in contempt for spoon-feeding them a steady diet of Pablum.

That's why I've been idly playing with my tits this whole time! Because that's at least a cheap thrill, and that's more than you cackling harpies have given them since trampolines were 'the latest fad!'"

"Well, bully for you, Helen. You certainly put the real us in their place. I'm sure they're really stung by that. So, try it. What do you want more than anything in the world right now?"

Helena thought. A lit cigarette appeared in her hand. She took a puff.

"All right, let's see where this goes," Contessa Helena de San Finzione said as she uncrossed her legs. She held the cigarette to her lips in her right hand, rested her left on her hip, and leaned forward to stare into the camera; thrusting her breasts deliberately now. She blew a smoke ring as she spoke to the viewers at home with a wicked grin.

"Don't touch that dial, folks."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Troy and Julie Equals sat in the back of an official limousine from the San Finzione Consulate in Seattle, gripping each other's hands tightly. Susan Bailey sat on Troy's other side, his other hand on her knee while she kept re-checking her iPad for any news or messages.

After Susan woke the pair and told them the news, the three of them returned to the house across the street and spoke to the Ultimados. Troy and Julie confirmed that they'd not only known about the two elite commandos, answerable only to Helen and the Generalissimo, who'd been posing as a gay couple across the street for the past few months. In fact, they'd asked them point blank, made them tell the truth, then made them forget the conversation by the third day.

Susan was the only one to accept Helen's offer of citizenship and sign the papers. Troy and Julie still had valid passports from their honeymoon trip, but Susan thought she'd have a couple more months to apply for one if she decided to take Troy & Julie's offer to come with them for their anniversary trip to San Finzione, so the only way for her to get onto a flight to San Finzione with them that day was to sign.

Before leaving, the three of them Did What They Do to convince the Ultimados to give Susan the login to their direct link with Castle Finzione. Maria was still in a secure location and couldn't be reached directly, but Susan's access allowed her to get someone to relay a message that they were on their way and Maria had been able to relay word via back that she'd felt better knowing that they were coming and would call them as soon as she got the chance.

Julie broke the silence in the limo as the diplomatic plates got them waved through another security checkpoint.

"I didn't even know there was an Air Finzione." She said, looking at various airlines' planes wheeling onto the tarmac.

"There isn't until next month, Mistress," Troy said back. "I mean, Helen tipped me off about it weeks ago; we've all got two-thousand shares in our portfolios. The consul got hold of Helen's business manager, told her who we were, and they arranged this 'pre-maiden flight' for us."

Troy was pursuing a doctorate in Economics. Even without being able to command the wills of others, Troy's natural financial genius that had been encouraged by Propappou, his great-grandfather, would still have allowed the two of them to afford a comfortable life.

"You remember that thing back in Africa," Susan asked. "She needed a plane, there was some kind of hassle after that... the story ends 'Helen owns an airline now.'"

"Guess I've just been out of the loop," Julie replied with a crack in her voice that made Troy sit up and take notice before she turned to him. "And YOU better not be thinking about how this'll affect our portfolios either, fucker!"

Troy recognized the warning signs of a thing that very rarely happened to his best friend. He let go of her hand and Susan's knee and wrapped his arms around Julie. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. Susan had only seen Julie like this once before; the last time they thought Helen had died, back in Uongo.

"And that fucking cunt... better not be... playing another fucking prank!" Julie said in tearful gasps. Susan got up from her seat and Troy slid over. Julie slid with him without looking up so Susan could sit on the other side and hold her as well. Troy stroked Julie's long, naturally bi-colored hair.

"I love her too, Sunflower," he said soothingly to his wife. "I love her too. We'll be there soon. Sooner than before. All the flights between Seattle and San Finzione are SST routes. Less than half the time it took before."

"Wow," Julie said, tears subsiding. "It's almost like... like Helena planned it like that or something."

Susan snickered at that. Troy followed a second later. Susan tried to hold it, but the "Of COURSE she TOTALLY planned it" look on Troy's face was too much and a second snicker soon became laughter.

It made Troy laugh harder, which made Julie give him a small "stop that" punch in the shoulder her face wasn't buried in before the sobs turned to shakes of laughter as well. By the time the car had passed the last security checkpoint to the hangars, Julie had recovered.

"I'm sorry, you had to see that, Susan." Julie said.

"You've seen me a lot worse, lady." She punctuated the statement with a kiss.

Something dawned on Julie then.

"Shit, this is your first ride in a limo, Susan, isn't it?" Susan nodded.

"Yep. Dropped out, never been to a prom or anything. About to be my first airplane trip, too."

At that moment, the limo pulled up to an aircraft hangar; out of which, a streamlined, supersonic passenger jet, painted white with Air Finzione written down the length of the fuselage in emerald green letters was rolling. Smaller letters below the logo displayed the airline's website: www.AirFinzione.snfnz. It came to a stop and a stair car drove up to the door for them. The limo rolled to a stop in front of the stairs and the driver opened the door for them. He handed Troy an envelope containing three tickets. A willowy stewardess with long, red hair descended the stairs and took the envelope from him, examining the tickets inside. Susan looked confused.

"I thought this was how people got on planes in old movies. Aren't we supposed to go through the airport and get felt up by the security guys?"

"Not for special friends of The Countess," the stewardess whose name tag identified her as Colleen replied with an Irish lilt.

The chauffeur opened the limousine's trunk and set the three overnight bags that they'd barely had time to pack in front of them. The ladies were carrying purses, so Troy picked up and shouldered two on his left arm and one on his right.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"These are all our bags," Troy told Colleen. "What seats are we in?" Colleen replied with a musical laugh.

"Why sir, these tickets are for Contessa Class. You'll be in one of the suites at the front of the plane. If you'll just follow me."

Susan raised an eyebrow.

"Suite?"

Julie leaned over and whispered in her ear as Colleen ascended the stairs, both she and Susan watching Colleen's rear wiggle as Troy followed behind her.

"Big day of firsts for you, hon. First limo ride, first plane ride, first suite, first time joining the Mile High Club, first time Doing What We Do to seduce a hot, Irish redheaded stewardess into a foursome..."

Susan's eyes widened, the smile on her girlfriend's face was too infectious to resist returning it, especially considering her recent tears. Julie continued talking as they followed a distance behind Troy and Colleen disappearing at the top of the stairs.

"I got in at 3 AM after an eight-hour drive. Troy was already asleep when I got home and I was tired too, so I crawled into bed and told that man just before we fell asleep that I expected to receive a good and proper fucking from him in the morning."

When they reached the top of the stairs, Julie turned and wrapped her arms around Susan's waist, drawing her in tighter for a deep kiss.

"And yeah, I'm scared to fucking death for Helena, so that fucking has now become a need. And with you here, I'm gonna need one from you, too. It's a 10-hour flight with just us on the plane, it would plain rude of you not to... encourage her to join us."

They both laughed, kissed again, and got on board as the craft taxied to the runway.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

A Little Night Music Ch. 08

"Make a hole with a gun perpendicular
to the name of this town in a desktop globe.
Exit wound in a foreign nation,
showing the home of the one
this was written for."
-They Might Be Giants, "Ana Ng"



The other tourists who'd witnessed the attack were still being held for questioning inside Castle Finzione when Lady Maria returned and the castle went into lock-down. La Policia seized their phones and electronic devices to examine the footage as evidence; however, it was several minutes before anyone thought to shut off the castle's complimentary Wi-Fi, and that was time enough for a few of them to upload their photos and video to social media before they were rounded up.

Within an hour, the international news outlets were broadcasting the footage. The American media outlets decided that although San Finzione was in Europe, because Contessa Helena de San Finzione was born an American citizen and was also a wealthy, young, beautiful, Caucasian female, they would go ahead and cover the story just this once.

"Critical Intra-Abdominal Trauma" was all that the media had been able to get on her current condition. The videos of the assassin's attack played on the screen as medical experts in suits pontificated about what could be seen on the video.

"She'll definitely have intestinal trauma. Probable liver damage, she may require a transplant," said one of the talking heads as the video showed La Contessa walking into the ballroom with Generalissimo Ramirez and being caught off guard by the tourists. "Kidney injury is entirely possible," he continued as the video from the tourist's phone suddenly jerked away from the image of La Contessa toward a woman in a French Maid's outfit dealing with a small electrical appliance that had shorted out. When the phone panned back to her, the assassin was charging.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione looked wide-eyed at the man, then stood fast and shouted for him not to move. The man kept coming and slipped the blade into her right side. He stuck her twice more as his momentum caused her to fall over and him to land atop her. Gasps and screams were heard, but no one on the edge of the action seemed to be moving at all as the assassin struck her right breast.

"Now, I can't see how long that blade is from this angle," the expert continued. "But depending on the length, it may have passed through her breast tissue and between the ribs to puncture the lung." The assassin's back was to the camera, and he was cutting her neck when four gunshots rang out through the Grand Ballroom and the man flailed and rolled off La Contessa. One of the two Ultimados knelt by her side and started ripping away the clothing around her injuries, and then the people were moving again. The tourist who was holding the phone tried to step closer and twist around the Ultimado tending to her. The image of a beautiful blonde soldier with a smoking gun and a furious look on her face filled the camera for a second, a Spanish obscenity was hissed, there was a yelp of pain, and then the phone tumbled to the ground.

"A punctured lung?" Julie Equals asked no one in particular as she sat on a plush sofa in front of a 120-inch television, her hand on her own breast in roughly the spot where Helen was stabbed. "They know she smokes, right?"

"Everybody knows that, hon." Susan Bailey said as she placed a tray containing a drink on top of a coaster in front of Julie.

With a deftness forged by long years' experience waiting tables, Susan had positioned herself so that the action of placing the tray had put her between Julie's reach and the remote. She was then able to combine snatching the control, straightening up, and backing away; taking herself and the remote out of Julie's reach, into one fluid motion.

"And we're doing everything that we can, which is 'get to her,'" Susan continued. "So, no more listening to dicks in suits make morbid guesses about shit we don't know. If anything really important happens, Maria or the Ultimados will let us know."

She found the off button while a famous psychiatrist was over-explaining The Bystander Effect to the show's host.

"Now, come with me, Mrs. Equals. I need a word with you and your husband."

The Contessa Class suites on Air Finzione's upcoming featured SST routes consisted of four rooms: The Gathering Room that they were leaving held the suite's full bar and enormous entertainment center. A lavish bedroom, private lavatory with full bath, and office with secure telephony for the world leader, CEO; or, like La Contessa, both; with business to conduct in flight comprised the other three.

Susan took Julie's hand and led her into the Office; where her husband, Troy Equals, was on his iPad and phone at the same time. He sat at a large, expensive-looking desk in front of a giant official portrait of Helen and alternated between speaking Greek and English while he dealt with calls and messages from relatives in Greece and friends from the old days who knew how close he and Julie were to Helen.

Susan stepped up to him and snatched the phone away, telling whoever was on the other end that he'd call back later and hanging up. Troy leaned away from her and gave a quizzical look as she tapped on his iPad.

"Troilus," she said to him, using the real, Greek name that was on his identification instead of Troy. "You have already talked to Julie's parents, your cousins in Greece, Denise, and all our friends who know Helen. Everyone else is secondary. Post to Facebook and let them read it there, then fucking unplug and help me take your distraught best friend's mind off all this."

Troy nodded his head down once, closing his eyes and turning his head slightly to the left as he did so. He then remembered that Susan wasn't Greek and nodded affirmatively the way the rest of the world did so.

Susan sat up on the desk and shoved the iPad to him, leaning to show off the cleavage of the clubbing dress she was still wearing from the night before.

All of them had been in bed when they got the news, and so the clothes they'd worn the day before were the closest at hand when they hurriedly dressed. Slightly panicked at the beginning, Troy & Julie had barely thought to throw a few things into overnight bags before departing. A habit born of Susan's troubled past, however, caused her to always keep a prepared bag where she could grab it on her way out the door. Apart from better shoes, she hadn't bothered to change, and Susan's look now could have been uncharitably described as "walk of shame" if not for the unmistakable glow of pride on her face.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"That 'good and thorough fucking' that your Mistress expected her Master to give her is now medically needed." She leaned in closer to Troy, whose attention was now divided between trying to post the update and Susan's generous cleavage.

"And I've been missing her too, Troy. Even after the night I'd had earlier with the rest of the girls; her being back home with us and the ideas that both of us, and probably you, too; have been having about Colleen? Mmm... I could definitely go again."

Julie casually leaned against a wall by her elbow and watched as Susan slid up onto her knees on the desk, then maneuvered her legs to slide back off of it, straddling his chair. Color started to return to Julie's face, and the seeds of a smile sprouted when Troy just hit send on whatever he'd typed without bothering to look at it and tossed the device aside. She loved watching this woman fuck her husband.

Julie loved women, and she loved sex with her best friend. And she loved watching her best friend give samples of the deep, intense fulfillment she received from him to other women. It always inspired her to either jump in, grab hold of the nearest convenient female body; her own if not someone else, as her hands were unconsciously starting to do now; or reach for one of the sex toys that she'd named after her husband.

If the weekend had gone as she'd planned, she and Troy would have spent Saturday in bed, trading stories about the hot chicks that both of them had Done What They Do to and fucked in each other's absence. They sometimes turned it into a mind control sex game where they'd take turns going down on each other while the other told their story, and the one who had the best story would make the loser their mindless sex slave for the rest of the day; helpless to find the winner's every suggestion anything less than the most arousing idea ever and begging to carry it out.

Julie usually played to lose. And she loved losing even more when at least one of the other women in Troy's story was Susan.

She loved Susan too. Troy and Susan had a special connection of their own, and watching how the two of them shared it aroused her on a level that was just as special.

"The other girls send their love," Susan stage-whispered into Troy's ear so Julie could hear it too, taking hold of the back of his head and pressing his face down between her breasts. "Can you still smell it on me, Troy?"

He looked up from kissing her cleavage.

"Not yet," Troy said, wrapping his arms around Susan's waist and looking over to Julie. "Perhaps if I had some help from the audience, Mistress?"

The smile that had been growing on Julie's face blossomed into a wicked grin as she walked over to the two of them. She tried to slide in behind Susan, but there was no more room on Troy's lap, so Julie sat on the edge of the desk. Troy figured out what she was going for and wheeled the swivel-backed chair closer so Julie could wrap her arms around Susan's waist and lean forward to begin kissing Susan's neck from behind.

"I've got a better idea, Master," Julie responded. "Since I went straight to bed from an eight-hour drive myself, why don't the three of us see if we CAN fit in that bathtub that looks like it might big enough and get cleaned up, then Susan can show us what she's learned with Colleen? And anything that happens in the bath in the meantime... well, happens."

"Helen picked it out," Troy said as one of his hands moved from Susan's ass to Julie's knee. "We'll all fit."

Susan interrupted the conversation with a low moan before speaking.

"Then we better get on it now, Equalses, because one way or another, these panties are coming off in a few seconds."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Contessa Helena de San Finzione reasoned she must be in surgery in the real world right now. It wasn't her first time; she'd had work done before, but nothing major. Just removal of some of the bigger old scars that comprised her sole inheritance from Wade Parker.

That had been different, though. They'd put her under, she'd wake up and cry and babble for a bit, then went back to sleep and woke up OK. This time, she'd gone from unconsciousness back at the castle to what she hoped was a somewhat lucid dream, because she really didn't want it to be the near-death experience it appeared to be.

Helena took a drag of her cigarette and turned to the strange caricatures of morning talk show hosts Sally and Cara, the set of whose show seemed to be the location her mind had picked for whatever this was. She began whatever it was naked except for her tiara and other jewels; however, the idea that this was entirely her imagination took some of the thrill out of her fantasy of masturbating on live television, so she decided to get dressed.

She had discovered that she had some measure of control over things, and had managed to create a red, knee-length Chinese qipao with two black dragons fighting an unseen opponent on the front and a slit up the length of her left thigh to clothe herself.

"Ok," Helena asked as she exhaled the smoke. "So, how's this work? Are we going the Dickens route and relive what a terrible person I've been, or some nightmare court room where everyone I've ever wronged takes the stand and recounts all the horrible things I've done or what?"

"Well, Helen," Sally-Thing replied. "We CAN do the whole 'Trial of La Contessa' thing, or you could use this time to your advantage and figure out why someone just tried to kill you."

"Jury's still out on whether or not he's succeeded." Cara-Thing piped in.

Helena nodded affirmatively.

"Why not? That sounds more like me. For myself, even if I don't live to tell anyone else. So, what do I know about the guy who attacked me?"

"Ooh," Cara-Thing spoke up. "I do believe we have a clip! Can we roll that?"

An old film projector like the ones Helen remembered from her early college days appeared, as did a screen. The projector started rolling, and she could see Generalissimo Ramirez through her own eyes as they were about to step into the Grand Ballroom.

"Hey," Helena said with a smile as she took another drag of her cigarette and picked up the mug of coffee in front of her. "This hell is finally good for something!" She thought about trying to will a bowl of popcorn into existence, but decided against it.

Helena watched as Pierre, the tour guide, played the role of having been "surprised by her sudden appearance." He'd been a good actor. If she lived, he had a raise coming.

And then, from the corner of her view on the screen's eye, she saw him. The man in the white windbreaker.

"We can pause this, right?" She asked the Sally and Cara-Things. She then shouted to whoever was in the control booth that she couldn't see. "Does this have a pause?"

"It's your memory, do what you want." Sally-Thing said.

"Ok, pause," Helena said to the air. "Back it up a couple seconds. There!"

She looked at him, beads of sweat forming on his brow that she would have written off as the noon-day heat of San Finzione even if she'd paid attention to them before. He was watching her with that look of murder that she would have recognized sooner if she had singled his face out in the crowd. Now that she was looking at him, she could see him shifting his weight from foot to foot, gauging the moment to strike.

"Don't think I've ever seen his face before," Helena thought out-loud for the viewers at home. "But that doesn't mean anything. Someone could have hired him."

"Do you think so?" Cara-Thing asked. "It was pretty sloppy work for a paid job."

"Yeah," Sally-Thing said, gigantic feet up on the couch as she sipped from a wine glass the size of a 50-gallon drum. "And if it was a political nut, wouldn't he have shouted 'death to tyrants' or something?"

"I don't usually do this with an audience. I'm speculating, ladies, and all I've got right now is 'don't know the guy.' For all I know, he's a stalker who got tired of whacking off onto tabloid pictures of me while cutting himself and decided to 'follow his dreams.' Look, I've got a process to these things, and you're not helping. Hit play, someone."

Cara-Thing turned to Sally-Thing and stage-whispered as the film resumed.

"ARE we here to help or are we just supposed to fuck with her?"

"It can be two things." Sally-Thing replied.

Helena watched the memory, returning her gaze his direction after looking away for a couple more words with Ramirez. Now she was keeping her eyes on the man who was thirty seconds away from stabbing her. She saw him reach into his right pocket as his left arm dropped to his side. Her attention went back and forth between his two hands, and while the shank was dropping down into his left sleeve, his right hand produced, with some little difficulty, a tiny, brown, glass bottle that he was unscrewing with his thumb and forefinger.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"What the fuck is that," Helena asked. "Keep rolling, but did he poison the shank? Would they even think to check for that? In this part of the Mediterranean, I'd think they would. I doubt I'd be the first San Finzione to be taken out with a poisoned blade."

The Helena whose eyes they were seeing the memory through turned to see Jeanne, pushing the beverage cart with an admiring smile at her in the background, and she remembered now that she'd seen Jeanne was about to hit the column with the cart a couple of seconds before it happened, but was too distracted by the speech she'd been practicing to shout a warning. She reminded herself not to get distracted again and focused on her assailant, who was off to the side of the memory's field of vision, but still visible.

Then came the crash. Everyone in the group jostled each other as they turned to look, and she saw someone bump the man and the vial drop from his hand and shatter on the ballroom floor. Helena saw it, then looked back to his face. Still, he kept his eyes fixed on her, and didn't look away with the others.

"Well, that's a relief," Sally-Thing said.

"Yeah, I thought this show was going to be shorter," chimed in Cara-Thing.

"I'm really getting sick of you fucks," Helen said to the Things.

Over with Jeanne and the cart, the pops and sparks then began, and Memory-Helena noticed the face that hadn't turned away. Hadn't had any reaction at all to the strangeness that drew everyone else's attention. And that's when she recognized the look. Helena called for another pause.

"The vial broke," she commented. "Half the plan shot to hell right there, so why not abort it? And I'm standing right next to Ramirez; an armed and highly-decorated combat veteran, trained in hand-to-hand combat. He can SEE the damn medals for Marksmanship right there! Any assassin with the slightest bit of survival instinct would call it off and try again another day. What was your escape plan?"

Cara-Thing tried to say something and Helena threw the coffee cup at her.

"I'm thinking here!" She calmed down, a bit more satisfied now. "And I'm thinking there WAS no escape plan. That's why you go through with it as long as you've still got the shank. This was a suicide run!"

She paused. Sally-Thing opened her mouth to speak. Helena interrupted her.

"Shut the fuck up! I'm getting close to something here. Roll the goddamn tape!"

The man stepped forward and charged her. The other tourists turned their attention and cameras back to her. She heard herself shout her command not to move. She'd been off guard and hadn't said it to him alone, but had done it to everyone in the room. Her guard was lost completely when the command didn't work on him, when he didn't even lose a step as he charged. It hit her a few seconds before the blade first pierced her flesh in the memory.

"He didn't freeze because he didn't hear it! He didn't react to Jeanne and the cart because he couldn't hear them either! Because he was deaf!"

The studio audience applauded. A lighted red sign of the sort that usually cued an audience to applaud was now flashing the word "CLUE" at them.

"Yay," said Sally-Thing. "You figured something out. Doesn't seem to have brought you out of this."

"You know," Helena said, standing up and walking over to them. The two Things stood to their full height, as if this were something they'd been waiting for. "if this really is the end, I sure as fuck don't want to spend the rest of it putting up with... hallucinations, inner demons, Anne Coulter's true form under the Human Suit; whatever the fuck you two are, I've had enough of you."

"Me too," said a familiar voice from up in the rafters with the lights. Helena looked up and saw the shapely form of a woman in green hot pants and a grey boob top with two pistol holsters strapped to her thighs.

She jumped off of a scaffold and performed a somersault in the air, drawing the twin USP Match 5 pistols from her holsters and firing multiple rounds at Sally-Thing and Cara-Thing. The slugs pierced their bodies and they collapsed in a pile in front of Helena, which the somersaulting woman landed on with her back turned.

"L... Lara Croft?" Helena asked.

"Not quite," the woman said, holstering both of her guns at the same time and turning so that Helena could now see the now familiar face.

"Hello, Helen," the woman with Susan's face said to her. "I'm Suzy-Q. Things are about to get even weirder, but I assure you that, unlike them, I'm here to help."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

A Little Night Music Ch. 09

"A tumbling through space and through time,
the concepts of space and time are combined.
Twirling, twisting, through red, blue, and green,
the stars, the planets, the nebulae seen.
Infinite outward and infinite in.
So where did Infinity all begin?
In the very same place where Infinity ends:
In the conscious minds and dreams of Shamen."
-The Shamen, "Space Time"

Contessa Helena de San Finzione was checking out Susan's ass in her form-fitting tactical shorts.

It wasn't really Susan's ass, and for that matter, didn't seem to quite be the Susan she'd talked to on Skype a few times. She seemed more like Lara Croft, but that was probably due to her being dressed as Lara Croft and having just done some kind of tomb-raiding somersault flip while gunning down the two beasts that were now being dragged off the set by stagehands. A big "Technical Difficulties, Please Stand By" notice was on the monitors that Helena could see from her angles.

"Susan?" Helena asked again.

"No," Suzy-Q said as she took Helen's coffee cup and scooped some wine out of the giant wine glass that hadn't broken and stained the carpet with a sea of red to match the blood of the Sally and Cara-Things. "I'm, Suzy-Q. That's one of those weird things happening right now. Susan's doesn't even know I'm here. She's busy getting finger-fucked by Julie and blowing Troy in a bath on one of your new planes. They're on their way here, incidentally. Racing across the globe to be by your side., like you knew damn well they would as soon as they heard."

Helena nodded. Suzy-Q continued.

"I, on the other hand, have no fucking clue what I'm doing in YOUR head. Susan wouldn't have told you about us. Troy and Julie know, but they wouldn't say anything without asking her first; which they haven't. And you specifically told the Ultimados no to breaking into Susan's therapist's office and getting her file. There's no logical reason I should be here, but I'm pretty sure logic isn't playing a big role in all this."

"Ok," Helena asked, sitting at the end of one of the couches. "Then what's the IL-logical reason?"

"Good question," Suzy-Q replied, sitting at the other end and turning to face her. "Well, I'd say the four of you know the secret of mind control, honey, so, what other things might be real? Susan's not even doing anything to make this happen; maybe telepathy's a thing too. Maybe the three of them together and trying to fuck their minds off of worrying about you is doing something to the Collective Subconscious, allowing me to come to you. We can't ignore the near-death aspect of things; maybe there are just angles to the whole Life/Death game that can't be made out from your end, or this is just something that the stars are aligned for right now. Not to belabor the dying point, but have you seen any dead people you know? Have you come across Propappou or Vincenzo yet?"

Helen considered her words, but still wasn't certain that this wasn't another trick her mind was playing on her.

"No, haven't seen anybody but the freaky things and you. And I don't think my late husband's name has ever come up in our conversations, so where do you know it?"

Suzy-Q replied to that with a shit look.

"Ever the skeptic, huh? Well, that one's much less of a mystery, Helen. Your late husband was one of the Crown Heads of Europe; it's called Wikipedia, dear. You really think Susan's never Googled you?"

With an odd shimmer, the audience and cameras vanished, leaving them alone.

"So, anyway," Suzy-Q said, clasping her hands. "You figured out that the assassin was deaf and that's why The Thing didn't work. He was also apparently suicidal. So, you've got one answer that brings with it more questions."

Helena gave it more thought.

"Yeah, like 'who'd think to send a deaf assassin after me?'"

"Well, I see you conjured a qipao for yourself to wear; lovely, by the way. Like the dragons. So maybe that's your subconscious trying to tell us something. You thinking the Elders, maybe?"

Helena puffed on her cigarette, an advantage to its having been conjured into existence within her head being that the cigarette seemed to be lasting forever.

"Thought about the Triad angle, yeah; maybe Raymond Chen set all this up before they got him?"

Suzy-Q laughed at that.

"Raymond Chen's dead. Not like you are here while they're operating to save you, real 'dead dead.' The Elders got on that one pretty quickly, didn't they?"

"Well, now I know you're not entirely Susan or whatever part of her you're supposed to be; because she had no way of knowing about all that business."

"Hey, that's right," Suzy-Q responded. "Well, I AM a guest in your head; maybe I've got some kind of guest-level access to your thoughts. I mean, Susan doesn't even know what a qipao is, I must've gotten that from you."

Helena considered that a moment.

"Plausible as the rest of this. Nonetheless, you make a good point. The thugs I sent home couldn't have been back more than two or three hours before Raymond Chen's hand appeared at the embassy. And if he'd been a Triad Brother; even one stupid enough to go behind the Elders' backs and make a move in San Finzione, that would be a personnel matter. They would have had needed to hold meetings and discuss what to do about him. They wouldn't have immediately skipped straight to execution."

Susy-Q took another drink before speaking.

"Maybe you've just got them that scared, Helen. This reputation you've established around the world as a woman to be feared? It works, people fear you. Somehow, 'The Viper That Speaks All the Tongues of Man' is angry with them about some guy named Raymond Chen. The last thing anyone wants is a war with you, so they had to give you a Raymond Chen. But if they don't even know who Raymond Chen is..."

Helena completed the thought with a sigh and a downward look.

"I see, yeah. They might just go murder some random guy; just to appease me."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

By the time the Air Finzione supersonic jet was over the Eastern Seaboard, Susan Bailey had cleaned up and put on some clothes from her bag. The clothes she'd had in the bag, however, were chosen for Western Washington weather and practicality rather than flying from Seattle to San Finzione in one of the plane's Contessa Class luxury suites.

The evening dress she'd been wearing when she boarded had been replaced by a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that said in white letters "Somewhere deep down, aren't we ALL Groot?" Although there were no other passengers, she kept the blue flannel jacket in the bag so anyone seeing her wouldn't think she was about to hit them up for change.

She walked back to First Class and saw all the empty seats. Air Finzione wouldn't exist for another month yet. In fact, the first commercials were scheduled to start airing during sporting events that weekend. The San Finzione consul in Seattle had been able to use his connections and arrange this flight for her and the Equals as personal friends of La Contessa. Susan thought better of correcting him that technically, she and Helen weren't quite friends yet and accepted.

She looked in the alcove between First and Business Classes, hoping to find Colleen or someone else, but it was devoid of people. Since their tickets were "on Helen," or at least on La Familia de San Finzione's business empire, Susan had no issues grabbing a couple of single-serving bags of Goldfish crackers and roasted almonds before continuing back to Coach and finding no one again.

On her way back to the front of the plane, she stopped and looked around the empty Business Class seats and took a deep breath.

"HEY," she shouted, repeating the last word with a soft fade, trying to simulate an echo effect. "HEY! WHERE IS EVERYBODY?"

Colleen emerged from the other Contessa Class suite.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Equals, can I help you with something?"

Susan turned to her, blushing from a combination of the yelling and someone having heard her.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, no, Colleen. She's the other one. I'm Ms. Bailey. Er, Susan, that is. Hi. I was just... old Twilight Zone bit. First time flying... thought there'd be more people. I figured everybody does the Shatner 'There's... SOMETHING ON THE WING!' one."

Susan started walking toward Colleen with her palms outstretched at her sides as if to say "Not a crazy person; well, not a dangerous one, anyway, just a little weird is all. I'm just coming over to talk."

"Oh, aye," Colleen said. "Yeah, they always go fer that episode. I like..." She got a confused look on her face and pretended to hold up a pair of invisible broken glasses. "Tha's nae fair. Tha's nae fair 'T-ALL. There was TIME now. There... there was all the time I NEEDED. S' nae fair." She started sobbing and fading as she repeated the last. "S' nae fair."

Susan stopped walking when she'd reached a decently conversational distance, applauding the bit and laughing.

"That's great! The last impression I'd expect you'd have in your repertoire is 1950s Burgess Meredith. And your accent makes it even better."

Colleen smiled and tilted her head to the right.

"Well, ye know, we DID finally get TV in Ireland this past year."

Susan smiled, liking her all the more for that response.

"I deserved that. I hope we haven't been asshole customers, Colleen. Er... passengers."

That elicited a look of surprise and another smile from the lass.

"What? Oh no, sorry, nah ya haven't. Sorry, weren't expecting that. The marketing guys say tha' Contessa Class passengers'll typically be..." Colleen stopped herself before using the word "asshole" as well. "Er, that is, not overly concerned wit' others' opinions of their behavior."

"Dickheads, huh?" Colleen nodded a little. "It's ok, Colleen, you can say it. I used to do a job a lot like yours. Except in something stationary and on the ground." Colleen looked confused. "Waitress," Susan explained as she looked out the window at the cloud layer. "Same shitty highway greasy spoon for 11 years. You probably don't get as many meth heads and drunk trucker propositions, though."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Oh, the propositions were there, an' I'm sure there's been a couple meth heads too, but most people taking drugs on a plane jes' wanna be knocked out fer the flight. Wha' 'bout the couple wit' ya?"

"Hmm? Oh, Troy & Julie aren't into drugs. I mean, like maybe every few months for fun; special occasions. And who doesn't have a little herb now and then in Washington these days? No, this is just a really bad day for them. Well, you know why we're here; Helen is a very dear old friend of theirs."

"Oh, aye," Colleen replied with a slight blush and a bow of her head. She then looked up at Susan, just catching what she said. "Theirs? She's nae yours?"

"We haven't really met, Colleen, just talked a little. They're old friends of hers, so this whole thing's just had them not themselves, you know?" Susan read the look of concern on Colleen's face.

"They go way back with her, Colleen. They love her, so they're going to her, and I love them, so I'm coming too. Well, I talk to Lady Maria sometimes too; her, I consider a friend. You know Helen personally, though, don't you? I can tell."

She stepped closer to Colleen, who swallowed and nodded.

"Oh, aye. The Countess got me this job. Can't really say how."

"I'm sorry this is happening, I hope she'll be ok. And I think I can figure out that story for myself, Colleen. You see..."

Susan stopped a foot away from the redhead. She reached out with her left hand. Colleen thought she was going to grab her by the waist, but instead, Susan pulled the tablet out of her pocket. She leaned in to whisper in Colleen's ear.

"All of us have got emerald green iPads too, Colleen. Mine was a present, but I know why she usually gives them out. Now Honestly, Colleen, you got yours the same way Troy and Julie got theirs, didn't you?"

Colleen closed her eyes and tilted her head back before answering.

"Aye. I've met The Countess. A few times. Enough to get why I'm telling you this now."

That stopped Susan cold.

"So, you know what I'm doing, Colleen?"

She took a deep breath before replying.

"Aye. Tha' thing where ye keep sayin' my name. I were wearing this uniform tha' first time she did it. 'S why I'm wearin' it now."

It was Susan's turn to cock her head quizzically.

"Huh, do tell."

* * *

A few minutes later, Susan Bailey and Colleen Sullivan sat at the bar in Colleen's suite, sipping cappuccinos and talking. Between Susan's waitressing experience and Colleen's stewardessing experience they'd been able to operate the machine that likely cost more than their first cars.

Susan had bought her first car new the year before. Letting Troy handle the negotiation, naturally.

Colleen continued her story. Her accent had gotten thicker as they spoke, like she was no longer at work and could put away her Stewardessing accent for her home one.

"An' neither of us coul' find them by the time we'd touched down, so we both said fook it an'... I think they call it 'went commando?' D'ya think that'd be offensive to the commandos she had wit' her?"

"I doubt it," Susan responded, taking a drink. "Ultimados don't get offended easily. You should hear some of the stuff I've said to them."

"Well, we never found our... erm... underwear. But one of the cleaning crew did. He tol' his boss, that guy tol' someone else, an' a few days later, I were at 'ead office in London 'explaining myself' to the Vice President of Guest Relations and being told I were fired."

"Fucker. How long were you out of work?"

"Four days. An' then I got a call from The Countess, telling me the airline were under new management and how'd I like the job 'o' the tosser tha' sacked me."

Susan smiled at that.

"Sounds like she really cares about you. So, why the uniform?"

Colleen leaned closer and whispered, despite their being alone in the suite.

"Well, I've since been invited to the castle fer a couple o' weekends, an' we've talked a little..."

Susan stopped herself from doing a spit-take, but inhaled some coffee in the process and had to stop and cough for a few seconds. She assured Colleen that she was ok and caught her breath before speaking.

"I'm ok, sorry, I'm ok. Just... we talk now and then, and what I know of Helen's personal life; coming back, staying the weekend, and 'talking' to her guests are all violations of her Prime Directive."

"I think ever'body thinks tha'," Colleen said, taking a less-choking sip than Susan's. "An' I think The Countess encourages it. But she's lonely, ye know. I mean, she's got Lady Maria an' a castle full of servants, but ever'one else in her life wants something from 'er."

"I don't want anything from her," Susan replied. "I want her to be ok and get through this, but I'm not after anything. I accepted this," she pulled out her new San Finzione passport. "Because it was the only way to get on a flight tonight and..."

Susan bowed her head, holding her face in the hand of the arm resting on the bar and squeezed her forehead as a realization struck her with a groan.

"I just became one of her fucking SUBJECTS, didn't I? And I can't even get pissed off at her, because she meant all this to be an ESCAPE plan!"

When Susan looked up from rubbing her eyes, she saw the look of confusion again on Colleen's face.

"If you talk to her, you know she's always doing that 'think of everything, plan for everything' thing."

"Oh, aye," Colleen said with a lot. "Like Batman."

Susan raised an eyebrow at that, smiled, and continued.

"So, all this: the passport, the plane, the money I didn't take; she meant it in case something so bad happened that we all needed to flee the country and never come back. She said no rescuing her, but she never stopped to consider 'Some fucker just stabbed me and despite my whole Modesty Blaise front, we all need to be together right now.' This was always meant to be a one-way trip. Like 'A NEW LIFE awaits you in SAN FINZIONE! The chance to begin anew...'"

Colleen reached out and put her hand on Susan's.

"If it helps ya, Susan, ya don't come up as often as those two; but when ya do, it's all been good things. I think she meant you too in that 'we.'"