SATURDAY FEB 23 0700 HRS - CHICAGO, ILLINOIS  

“It’s definitely a homing device,” Kermit told them.  “And a very sophisticated one.  You can track this baby by satellite, if you need to.  A hand held unit can pick it up at better than twenty miles.  Where did you get it?  They’re not exactly field issue, yet.”

“Someone planted it on our boy, here,” Peter said, clamping a hand on Gary’s shoulder.  An action that had Gary biting his lip to keep from crying out.  He had yet to tell his over-protective friends about his injuries.  “Seems he’s starting to attract some unwanted attention.”

“Any attention is unwanted,” Gary murmured.  He held his hand out for the disc.  “Let’s put it back  where we found it,” he said.  “I’m pretty sure the guys who placed these have my best interest at heart.  For the moment, anyway.  And we know for sure that I’m gonna run into trouble on this one.”

“Then let me go with you,” Peter insisted.  “Or, better yet, let me take this one and you stay here.”

“I wish I could,” Gary sighed, his expression troubled.  “I honestly wish I could, but I can’t.  Don’t ask me for an explanation, guys, ‘cause I don’t know if there is one.  I just . . . I just know that this is one of those that I absolutely have to be personally involved in.”

Peter and Lt Kermit Griffin exchanged knowing glances, although it was hard to tell with Kermit since he never took off his dark glasses.

“Is this another one of those ‘hunches’ you get?” the detective asked dryly.  “The ones that aren’t psychic?”

Gary ran a hand through his thick, dark hair with a sigh as he began to pace the narrow strip of floor.

“I honestly don’t know about that anymore,” he replied.  “Until I got thrown into this mess, I was batting below average at the stock exchange.  I was lucky to clear a margin of seven percent.  Now . . . i-it’s like I can see details the articles never mention.  Or notice things that have no obvious connection to what’s going on.  A-and . . . sometimes . . . sometimes I just know that I can’t take care of something through a third party.  You remember that incident in the park last year?  When we first met Dusty Wyatt?  If we hadn’t ‘ve met him, I never would’ve thought of using his concert to lay a trap for Sung after he kidnapped Marissa.  He and Buddy never would’ve made their peace, and I would’ve had to ‘ve come up with some other way to trap Chaste and Rossellini. Hell, I never would’ve met Buddy and Clay in the first place!  I’d be dead!  But, it was all started by something that I could’ve called the police about.  J-just report a bunch of kids harassing people in the park.  O-or later, when I was shot.  I could’ve told you what the article said, but I knew that would only make matters worse.  The damned headline changed every time I even thought of anything but what I finally did.  A-and I thought I was going crazy with that Greco fella running around in my head!  Then, just recently, that business w-with one of my own ancestors.  Th-that was incredible, but it still scared the hell out of me.”

“Come again?” Kermit asked, not sure he was hearing right.  “Are you telling me that you’ve started channeling?”

Gary shot the detective a startled, thoughtful look, then turned that same gaze on Peter.  

“Is that what it’s called?” he asked the priest.  When Peter nodded silently, Gary went back to pacing.  “Then I guess that’s what I’m telling you.  And in ‘Vegas, before those thugs tried to rearrange my anatomy, I couldn’t lose to save my life.  In just two nights, I turned two hundred bucks into three quarters of a million.  Then, just before they caught up with me in Texas, Clay’s sister was taking me on a picnic.  When she told me the story of that ambush, I could see it happening!  Only, it wasn’t happening the way she said.  Then, when I-I saw that truck and knew who it was . . .!  L-later, when we compared notes with that Taggart guy, my . . . ‘vision’ ended up being right on the money!”  He paused, covering his face with both hands as he strove to get himself under control.  “Sorry,” he finally said.  “I’ve been a little freaked out since all this started.”

“Ya think?” Peter snorted.

“A-anyway,” Gary continued, ignoring the comment, “that’s one of the reasons I know that I have to handle this one, not you.  Another is . . . it’s not the wreck that’s gonna kill me.  The article has it wrong.  I am not, at this time, nor will I ever be, on either of those trains.”  He tapped the picture showing Parker cradling his battered body.  “That man is here in town, right now.  Hold onto your skepticism, guys, ‘cause this is where Dorothy and Toto started wigging out.  They have an . . . an autopsy report.  Mine.  Dated for tomorrow!  Does that qualify as weird in your book?”

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

Frank watched as Gary and the man they had identified as Peter Cain drove out of the police parking garage.  He had found it amusing that Gary had found the listening device that Craig had been so careful to conceal.  It was even more ironic that Hobson had never spoken anywhere near the device until just before it had been discovered.  Now, he watched as they drove off in the direction of the small airfield where Hobson had already chartered a private plane.  With a sigh, he turned to the man beside him.

“We’d better hurry if we want to beat him there,” he told Craig.  “Did you remember to call the base?”

“Of course,” Donovan murmured.  “There’s a F-15 fueled and ready, just waiting for us.  Are you sure, after what we showed him, that he’s still going to D.C.?”

Sliding into the passenger seat, Frank flashed his friend a grim smile. “I think the only way we could stop him is to lock him up.”

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

Gary sank back into the passenger seat of the small private jet with a wince and a sigh.  He still felt as if he had been hit by a truck, but now it was down to an SUV rather than a semi.  The more he was able to move around, the better he would feel.  Which was why he had insisted on flying out so early, to give himself a chance to limber up after the long flight.  

It had been a tough decision, telling Peter why he was going.  Was it one he had made in the other timeline, he wondered?  Had anyone known where he was going, and why?  If the photos of his grisly death had been in there, how had he found the courage to step out his front door?  Had they been there?  He would never know.  For the first time since he had started reading the portentous tabloid, he had made the decision before it even arrived.  How did that affect things?

The pilot finished his pre-flight check, settled into his seat, and radioed the tower that he was ready for departure.  The tower radioed back that there would be a slight delay.

“You going to D.C. for business or pleasure?” he asked his grim looking passenger.

“Business, sorta,” Gary murmured distractedly.  He suddenly felt almost too tired to talk.  Maybe he could get some more coffee when they landed.  “Believe me, this is no pleasure trip.”

“Didn’t think so,” the pilot shrugged.  “You look like you just lost your best friend.  Is that it?  A death in the family?  Just tell me to mind my own business if I get too personal.”

“That’s okay,” Gary sighed as the tower radioed back that they were clear for take off.  “Nobody’s died.  Not yet, anyway,” he added, too low to be heard over the whine of the small jet’s engines.  “Not yet.”

***********

It had been their intention to land before Hobson, with enough time to be waiting near one of the hangars when he arrived.  Such was not to be the case.  The jet, which was supposed to be ready and in position, was still in the process of being fueled when they arrived.  They were then forced to wait through a safety check.  

“Sorry about this, guys,” the flight mechanic sighed.  “We just got the word ten minutes before you drove up.  Somebody’s dragging their feet on this one.”

“Or throwing up stumbling blocks,” Frank grumbled.  He looked at his watch for the third time.  It would be another thirty minutes before the slender ‘bird’ was ready to fly.  “It may be time to do a little ‘house cleaning,’ Craig,” he told his partner.

By the time they finally landed at an airbase near D.C. and called the airfield where Gary was scheduled to arrive, Hobson had been on the ground for more than fifty minutes.  

No one had seen him for at least forty-five.

**********

The last thing Gary remembered was heading toward the field office with nothing more strenuous in mind than pouring a cup of hot coffee.  The stronger the better.  It had been warmer than Chicago, and he had taken his jacket off, draping it over one arm.  As he passed the corner of the hangar, he dimly recalled hearing a noise in the shadows.  Then had come a blinding pain and a sickly sweet smell as a damp cloth was clamped over his mouth and nose.  After that, nothing, until he woke up with a throbbing at the base of his skull, pain radiating through his arms and into his shoulders, and an all too familiar feeling in his stomach that made him glad he had missed out on the coffee.  

“Open your eyes, dear boy.”

Summoning all his strength, Gary fought to obey, blinking his eyes open only to squeeze them shut again as bright lights sent shafts of pain, like knives, lancing through his battered head.  Just as well.  He hadn’t been thrilled with what little he had seen.  ‘Maybe if I sleep a while longer,’ he mused, ‘I’ll come up with a better dream.’

Something struck the side of his face with a stinging slap!  Gary blinked his eyes open once more to find that the lights no longer glared directly into his overly sensitive eyes.  

“Time to wake up, Mr. Hobson,” a smooth, cultured voice crooned.  A voice he had last heard telling Parker and the others to back off as Gary himself was on the verge of blacking out from lack of air.  A man who had been taking sadistic pleasure in trying to kick an old man to death.  

Gary tried to get his befuddled mind to focus on his surroundings.  It wasn’t easy.  The blow to his head, plus whatever had been on that rag, still had him feeling lethargic and confused.  ‘And let’s not forget nauseous,’ he mused.  ‘If I can just hold on until he gets close enough, boy, will he get a surprise!’

The room gradually came into focus, as did Gary’s all too familiar position.  He fought down a moment of panic as he realized that his arms ached because they were stretched above his head.  He was in some type of large room, dangling by his wrists, feet almost a foot off the floor, but held down by something fastened around his ankles.  He raised his aching head to see himself reflected in a full length mirror, an object whose purpose eluded him.  Gary was able to see the police issue handcuffs encircling his wrists, fastened to a steel crossbeam by a heavy chain.  The kind used to hang ‘heavy bags’ in gyms.  A similar arrangement confined his ankles, effectively stretching him to his full length.  

The lights that had blinded him earlier seemed to be small spotlights affixed to the back of a low bench, or table.  There were at least three other men present.  Gary could barely make them out on the other side of the lights, dimly illuminated by the backwash.  Out of the corner of his right eye, Gary was sure he had seen what looked like an open barbeque grill, filled with glowing embers.  However, what caught, and held, his attention were the items arrayed across the lighted surface of the table.  

Gary had watched his share of horror movies as a kid, and a few as an adult.  One of the reasons he no longer indulged in such lurid entertainment was because of how graphic the violence had become.  Gary, himself, was not a violent man by nature, and found such displays of cruelty hard to stomach.  What he saw laid out before him would have given John Carpenter nightmares.  Or inspired Stephen King’s next six blockbusters.

“Wh-what do you want from me?” Gary rasped, unable to take his eyes from the grim tableau.  His voice came out in a dry, rusty croak.

“Information, for one thing,” Mr. Cultured Voice replied with a beatific smile.  “And a bit of revenge as well.  Not many recall that fiasco involving President Tyson’s visit to your fair city a few years ago.  It’s just as well that the man wasn’t re-elected.  Saved us the trouble of setting up another attempt.  You, however, may remember a chap by the name of . . . Marley.”

At mention of that hated name, Gary’s head shot up, eliciting a gasp of pain as the movement sent a jolt through his poor, abused head.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he had to wait out a wave of dizziness before he could again meet those cold blue eyes.  They were the palest eyes Gary had ever seen, like chips of ice.

“M-Marley?” he grunted through a haze of pain.  “Marley who?”

“Oh, come, Mr. Hobson,” the man almost purred.  “You must remember the man who almost killed you five years ago.  In the Randolph Building?  The thirteenth floor?  Any of this seem the teeniest bit familiar?  J. T. Marley.  Formerly with the Secret Service until that idiot Dobbs started connecting him to the Kennedy assassination.  Ah, but you knew him as Dobbs, didn’t you?”

“You s-seem to have . . . have all the answers already,” Gary panted.  Having his arms stretched in such an awkward position was putting a lot of pressure on his diaphragm, making it hard to breathe.  “S-so, what d’ya want from me?”

“Information, as I said,” the man shrugged in reply, pacing back and forth in front of Gary.  “Mr. Marley died before he could pass on how you knew where to be in time to stop the letter bomb to Mr. Hawks, as well as the assassination of President Tyson.  Or why he had chosen you as his patsy in the first place.  J. T. always did play things a bit ‘close to the vest,’ as it were.  The other, why, revenge of course.  You see, J. T. Marley wasn’t just my partner.  He was my father.”

**********

By the time they had traveled the distance from the nearest Air Force base to the tiny airfield, Hobson had been missing for more than two hours.  Frank Parker was the first to spot Gary’s dark leather jacket.  It lay crumpled in the shadow of the hangar that Hobson would’ve had to pass on his way to the office.  He picked it up by the collar and held it out towards Donovan, a testament to their failure.

“They were laying for ‘im, all right,” Parker grumbled.  “Poor guy probably never knew what hit him.”

“He must’ve been expecting something like this,” Donovan reasoned.  “He had to!  I mean, we did warn him.”

“And he took off nearly an hour earlier than he did in the other timeline,” Frank reminded his friend.  “He might’ve thought that would be enough to change things.  All it did was give those bastards an extra hour to take him apart.”  Furious, he slammed the palm of his hand against the wall of the hangar.  “They probably had a car hidden in here, just waiting for Hobson to come strolling by!”

Craig studied the readout on the tracking device.  “You said they never found his watch?” he asked.  “Man, I should’ve found someplace else to put that bug.  According to this, it was dumped somewhere about ten miles north-northeast of here.”  He pocketed the device with a sigh.  “At least we can return it to his family.”

Frank wasn’t listening.  He was staring at a glint of sunlight reflecting off of something nestled in a clump of grass at the base of the wall.  Bending down, he picked up a broad leather band.  It was padded on one side with what felt like moleskin.  Affixed to the other side was a very expensive watch.  There were a few stitches lose, and a slight bulge, as if something had been hidden inside.  Carefully, Frank worked the object loose with a fingernail.  It was a tiny disc, slightly larger than the one they had planted less than two days ago, and dark in color.  It was the ruined listening device.

“Hobson, you crafty son of a . . .”  Frank stuck the watch in his pocket and grabbed the tracker from Craig.  “He still has it,” he explained.  “He knew they might look for something like that so he took it out and the sneaky son of a gun still has it!”

Craig hurried to catch up as Frank turned and sprinted for their rental car, the GPS and the watch still in his hands.  Beating the shorter man by a single stride, Donovan claimed the driver’s seat.  As they fastened their seatbelts, he turned to his friend with a bemused look.

“How did he know we’d even bugged it?” he asked, sliding the key into the ignition.  “I’m sure he didn’t see it.”

“How does he know any of the things he does?” Frank shrugged.  “The guy’s no genius, but he’s got a lot on the ball, and he thinks fast on his feet.  God, I hope we get the chance to know him better.  He seems like a hell of a guy.”

*********

Gary felt as if he had been dragged through Hell by his wrists.  His hands were numb.  Blood oozed from where the steel cuffs bit into the swollen flesh.  The green flannel shirt he had put on that morning hung in tatters, revealing several shallow cuts that outlined his lower ribs.  More cuts crisscrossed his already scarred back and shoulders.  Mixed in among these were a few deep, blistering burns.  Marley had been amusing himself.  

In spite of the chill in the cavernous space, sweat poured from Gary’s forehead, stinging his eyes and mixing with the tears of pain that flowed down his pale cheeks.  Sweat also stung the myriad cuts and burns, creating a constant, nagging source of discomfort.  By contrast, his mouth and throat felt like very old sandpaper.  His breath rasped harshly as he tried to force air past the parched surfaces.  Blinking rapidly, he tried to keep the heartless assassin in focus.  Tried to look anywhere but at that damned mirror.  It was one thing to have to endure Marley’s little amusements, it was something else entirely to have to look at the results.

Marley had returned to the table and was now reaching for a small, black, rectangular object.  He picked it up and fondled the boxy contraption for a moment before turning back to his ‘sport.’  

“Marvelous little device, this,” he remarked in a conversational tone.  Marley held the device up for Gary’s inspection.  “A TASER.  Normally used for self-defense.  This one has been modified slightly, to give one more control over the output.  With just the twist of a knob I can deliver anything from a mild jolt to a stunning zap!  Or I can prolong the . . . experience with this little dial . . . right . . . here.  And these antennae!  So wonderfully long and limber.  Like metal whips.  I can lay open your flesh and then . . . but why waste time describing it.  Just tell me what I want to know, or you’ll find out first hand just how versatile this little beauty is.  What happened to my father?  I’m sure he’s dead, of course.  Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, and I would have heard from him long ago.  How did he die?  Who killed him?  What was your part in his demise?  Where is he buried?  Answer these simple questions and you’ll be free in plenty of time to stop those trains from colliding.”

Gary tore his fascinated gaze from the TASER to give Marley a startled look.  “H-how’d you kn-know ‘b-bout the train?” he rasped, his voice raw and hoarse from repeated, and prolonged cries of pain and rage.

“Why, I engineered it, of course,” Marley chuckled.  “Do pardon the pun, dear boy.  I couldn’t resist.”  He took great joy in explaining all the machinations he had used to insure Gary’s presence, all the while waving those sinister antennae under his victim’s face.  He chuckled as Gary flinched back when he stroked them caressingly down those tear-stained cheeks.  “It took me ages to learn of your existence, and what you were capable of.  It wasn’t until you called in that pitiful plea to the authorities last September that I finally had a name to work with.  I always knew that having people at the switchboards of all those agencies would pay off one day.  They passed the word on to me about your warning, and that events occurred exactly as you reported, and the rest was just a matter of solidifying our lead.  The bit with the train was just to make absolutely sure of you, and to lure you away from familiar ground.  Now, answer my questions, and you’ll be free to go.”

“Y-you really ‘spect m-me t’ believe that?” Gary replied with a choked laugh.  “You’ll beat me t’ death ‘n’ . . . still let those t-trains wreck.”

Marley calmly extended the twin antennae to their full length and touched them to one of the cuts along Gary’s right ribs.  When they were firmly in place, he pushed a button down . . . and held it.

Gary screamed!  Pain ran through his ribs, along the raw nerve endings of the open wound!  And it didn’t let up!  He tried fleeing from the burning agony, but found he didn’t have room to move, stretched as he was.  And the pain!  Oh, Dear God!  The pain!

When he was sure that he had made his point, Marley lifted his thumb from the button.  The current that had assaulted Gary’s nerve endings shut off instantly, but the pain persisted.  The young prisoner could only hang limply, trying to draw air into lungs that seemed afraid to work, his breath coming in choked sobs.

“D-damn you,” he hissed when he could finally draw breath.  “D-damn you to Hell.”

“That’s not quite the answer I was looking for,” Marley smirked, “but I think you get my point.  Now, please tell me what I wish to know or I shall be forced to repeat my little demonstration.”

Gary just glared at him defiantly, realizing that continued silence was the only card he had left to play.  Still, he couldn’t help noticing, out of the corner of his eye, Marley’s thumb slowly pushing the button home once more.  

He didn’t scream this time.  He couldn’t.  The pain was so intense, the muscular contractions so strong that, after an eternity of incredible agony, the chain connecting the steel rings of the handcuffs to the metal crosspiece snapped, and Gary collapsed to the concrete floor in a boneless heap.  He lay there, curled into a fetal position and fighting to breathe, finally free of the burning torture of the TASER . . . for the moment.

“Oh my,” Marley murmured, surprised at the sudden turn of events.  “That has never happened before.  You must have unusual strength, dear boy.  Still, you haven’t answered my questions.”  He pressed the tips of the antennae to one of the cuts on Gary’s back.  “Where is my father?” He pressed the button down, following Gary as he writhed helplessly in a futile effort to escape the pain.  “Who killed him?”  He turned the intensity up a notch, smiling as if Gary’s screams were the sweetest music he had ever heard.  “How are you able to predict events so accurately?”  Up another notch.  Gary was just trembling now, the pain so intense he couldn’t even whimper. It was all he could do just to breathe!  Marley turned the juice up another notch.  “What . . . ?”

“Kind of animal are you?” Frank Parker growled.

Marley turned his head to see the two agents from the NSA pointing automatics at him and his men.  He held the button down, the antennae barely brushing Gary‘s skin as electricity danced between the tips.

“Drop them,” he said, his voice still calm and unruffled.  “Drop them or I’ll stop his heart.”  

“I think you already have,” was Donovan’s grim response.

Startled, Marley looked down to see that Hobson was no longer moving.  In fact, the sweat-drenched figure didn’t seem to be breathing!  With a muttered curse, Marley lowered the device.

Gary flipped onto his back and lashed out with both feet, catching Marley on the shins!  With a strength of will that he was unaware he was even capable of, he had used the distraction provided by the agents to ‘play possum,’ as Polly would have called it, and catch his tormentor by surprise.  His kick sent the soulless villain stumbling back into the bench holding his foul instruments of torture!  Gary had intended to aim higher, to deliver the same type of injury he had once, quite by accident, inflicted on a certain alien ruler.  His ankles were still fastened to the floor by a foot long length of chain, however, and he had to take what he could get.

As Marley crashed into the table, his henchmen emerged from the shadows, one of them opening fire on the two agents as the other two raced toward Marley and Gary.  As Parker and Donovan were forced to duck for cover, one of them helped a furious Marley to his feet.  The other had pulled out a key and was unlocking the cuffs by which Gary’s ankles were fastened to the steel ring in the concrete floor.  As soon as they were free, Gary kicked out again, but he had spent the last of his strength on Marley, and had none left to fend off his captor.  The huge man yanked Gary to his feet, intending to sling the smaller man over his shoulders and carry him, if necessary.  He paused, turning a bewildered gaze on his prisoner, as if Gary had somehow insulted him.

As Gary watched, horrified, a glistening stain spread across the big man’s dark wool sweater.  The bewildered gaze turned glassy as a bloody froth trickled down his chin.  He gave Gary’s shoulder a gentle pat, as if to say he was okay.  But he wasn’t.  Without that same hand to hold him upright, Gary’s knees gave out and he tumbled to the floor onto his back.  Half a second later, the thug was sprawled across him.  As if reliving an old nightmare, Gary once more found himself lying beneath a dying man.  Once more felt the rapid flutter of a heart trying to pump too little blood.  Felt it stutter . . . and stop.

With an inarticulate cry, Gary shoved the body aside and rolled as far away as he could, finding a sudden surge of strength born of panic and revulsion!  He landed up against a stack of crates and scrambled into a sitting position, every muscle quivering and his heart pounding like a jackhammer.  Just a few feet away, Donovan and Parker were crouched behind another barrier of similar makeup.  Gary knew he should join them, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the corpse of his abductor.

Parker had a good view of Hobson.  The other man sat with his back pressed against the crates, his eyes wild as he stared at the dead man.  His breath was coming in ragged gasps, his manacled hands trying vainly to wipe the blood from his chest.  Hobson was obviously holding on to his sanity with both hands, but it was a shaky hold at best.  The man was so close to the edge, a harsh look could push him over!

A bullet struck the crate inches from Gary’s unprotected head.  He flinched as a spray of splinters scored fresh wounds on his right cheek.  With a choked cry, he rolled over to where the two agents were crouched, finally seeming to realize the danger he was in.

“Oh, God,” Gary prayed in hushed tones as he huddled in the corner created by the crates and the wall.  He had what many called the ‘thousand yard stare.’  That glazed, unfocused look of someone ready to slip over the edge into insanity.   His words came out as a rapid series of shuddering gasps, almost sobs.  “Please let me wake up.  Please let this just be another nightmare.  Please don’t make me kill anyone else.  Please, Dear God!  Please!”

“Take it easy, Hobson,” Frank tried to reassure the shivering man.  “You haven’t killed anyone.  That was my doing.”  He paused to fire another shot in the direction of the three kidnappers.  “I couldn’t let those bastards take off with you again.  Where’d you put the locator, by the way?  Not in your pockets, is it?”  They had to keep Hobson talking, keep him from slipping into shock.  From the look of him, hysteria was also something to guard against.

“M-my shoe,” Gary stammered, breaking off in a near-hysterical laugh.  “Don’t even know why I did it.  Wh-while I was w-waiting for the p-pilot to finish ch-checking over the . . . the plane, it just sorta hit me.  S-something ‘bout my watch.  Th-they never found it, did they?  D-don’t know how I knew.  I j-just did, s-so I t-took it out a-and taped it t-to the b-bottom of my f-foot.”

“Well thank God you did,” Donovan replied with a grin as he, too, fired at the figure kneeling behind a support column.  “I was ready to hang it up until we found your watch lying next to that hangar.”  He cautiously raised his head, ready to duck if there were anymore fireworks.  

Gary cringed as another loud report echoed through the half-empty building.  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed.  His arms felt as if he had been hanging there for ages as Marley played his sadistic games, but Gary sensed that it couldn’t have been much more than a couple of hours, if that long.  

“M-my watch,” he murmured, relieved to finally have something to focus on.  “You s-said you found it?”

“Yeah,” Frank shrugged.  “Just a few feet from your jacket. Why?”

“Give it to me,” Gary said, holding out his hands, which were still bound by the steel cuffs.  “I need to . . . to know the time.”

Frank pulled the leather band from his pocket and placed it in the shaking hands of the man they were there to rescue.  

“Here ya go,” he said.  “It’s a little after twelve.  Sorry it took so long to find you.  They’ve got a bunch of these roads closed for construction.”

Gary looked at the time, adjusting for the different time zone, and confirmed Frank’s estimate, before stuffing the timepiece into the pocket of his jeans.  With the cuffs still fastened in place, there was no way he could strap it around his bloody wrist.  He really wanted those things off!

“I’ve got less than two hours to stop those trains,” Gary murmured.  “Wh-where are we?  I-in relation to the s-station, I mean.”

“About six miles south and west of it,” Craig told him.  ‘Great,’ he thought to himself. ’He’s starting to think again.  That’s a good sign.’  “Don’t worry, we called the dispatch office before driving out here.  Our people will take care of it.”

“No!”  Gary almost wept with frustration.  “H-he has people in the dispatch office!  And on the agency switchboard!  Your message never went out!  A-and he’s planted a virus to make it look like everything’s okay, but it’s not!  The only way to switch the lines is . . . is with a manual override of some kind.  If it’s anything like the train yards of Chicago, I can do that.  I’ve done it before.  Whether it‘s manual or electronic, I know how to work it.”

“The only place you’re going is to the hospital,” Frank told him, not taking his eyes off of the overturned table behind which he thought the three kidnappers might still be crouching. “You’re barely able to sit up, let alone handle that switch by yourself.”

“Then help me,” Gary told him in a quiet voice that belied the pain he was feeling.  “I-I have to do this.  Please.  E-even if it fails, I have to try.  I have to!”

Gary could see that the agents were wavering.  They exchanged troubled glances, ever mindful of the three men crouched on the opposite side of the room.

“Please,” Gary murmured softly.  “Help me?”

Frank took one look at those pleading, puppy-dog eyes and spat out a muffled curse as he shook his head.  “I’m gonna end up back in Hansen Island for sure,” he sighed.

“I’ll be in the padded cell next to yours,” Craig grumbled.  “So how do we get out of here?  We have those three in front, and,” he paused to check the way they had come in, “two more coming up the drive.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Frank shrugged, firing off another round.

Gary pointed at the door directly across from where they crouched.  It stood wide open and seemed to lead into an office of some kind.  He could see another door, standing half open, apparently leading outside.

“What about through there?” he asked.

Frank judged the distance they would have to cover as less than ten yards.  Twenty-five feet at worst.  He looked closely at the man they had come to rescue.  Hobson looked better than he had a moment ago, but still a little frayed at the edges.

“Can you make it?” he asked, putting the ball directly into Hobson’s court.

“Do I have a choice?” Gary shot back.

“Not really,” was the grim reply.  “Cover us, Donovan.”  Not waiting for a reply, he grabbed Hobson under the elbow and yanked him to his feet.  

Gary barely had a chance to get his balance before Parker was practically dragging him across the unshielded space.  Chips of concrete stung his legs as bullets gouged chunks out of the floor.  Something burned along his right arm and his left calf as he dove through the doorway.  Breathless, he crouched by the outer door as Parker laid down covering fire for Donovan.  As soon as the other man joined them, unscathed, Parker checked the situation from their new vantage point.

“The car is hidden in a bunch of trees half a mile down the road,” Donovan told Gary.  “I hate to ask you this again, but . . .”

“If there’s a key to these damned cuffs at the end,” Gary told them, “I’ll run all the way to the White House.  Now, can we go?”

Wordlessly, Frank pulled out a set of keys and, as Craig covered the door, unlocked the steel rings from Gary’s wrists.  With a grimace, Gary let them drop to the floor and started to rub the circulation back into his hands.  Frank stopped him just in time.  Massaging that raw flesh would have hurt like hell!  Pulling out a clean handkerchief and tearing it in half, the agent quickly wrapped them to stop the bleeding and keep them free of dirt.  He then tore off one of Gary’s sleeves to bind the bullet creases on his arm and calf.  Hobson started to protest that they didn’t have time for that, but a stern look from Parker silenced him.  They would make the time.

“That’ll hold you until we can get you to a doctor,” Parker murmured as he tied the ends off on the last one.  He studied the man before him, trying to decide whether Hobson could make it the half-mile to the car.  “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” Gary replied quietly.  He pushed himself away from the wall and limped towards the door.  “We’re wasting time.”

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

Only half a mile, but it had seemed like fifty by the time Gary was helped into the back seat of the rented sedan.  Everything ached, except for the parts that were screaming in agony or too numb to feel at all.  He winced as the cuts and burns on his back came in contact with the rough cloth of the seat.  Now that he was off of his feet, his legs wouldn’t stop trembling.  In fact, it was all he could do to keep from shivering head to toe.  Gary felt as if he could drink a river and sleep for a month.

“Y-you wouldn’t have any w-water handy, would you?” he asked in a raspy voice.  “My throat . . . feels like sandpaper.”

As Frank started the engine, Craig reached into a bag at his feet and pulled out a bottle of Dasani.  He twisted off the cap and handed it back to Hobson, who had to hold the bottle in both of his badly swollen hands.

The water was warm, but it tasted like the sweetest nectar as it soaked into the parched tissues of Gary’s throat.  He let the first mouthful slide down, loosening the dried layer of mucus, which he quickly spat out the open window.  The next one made it all the way down to his stomach and helped ease an ache he had not even been aware of until it was almost gone.  He then poured a little into his hand and used it to wipe some of the sweat and dirt from his face.  It stung the scratches left by the splinters, but went a long way to helping him feel a little more human.

“Don’t drink that too fast,” Frank cautioned him.  “We’re not gonna have time to pull over if you have to hurl.”

“I know the drill,” Gary nodded.  He let the next sip sit in his mouth, savoring the wetness a few seconds before he swallowed, and tried to convince himself that he wasn’t all that hungry.  “How long do you think it’ll take us to get there?”

“If we could drive straight there,” Craig grumbled, “twenty minutes.  That bastard had to pick a spot that was surrounded by road construction, though.  With all the detours, probably forty-five minutes to an hour.  Will that leave you enough time, do you think?  And will you be in any shape to do whatever it is you have to do?”

Gary swallowed another mouthful of the water before answering.  “We won’t know until we get there, will we?” he replied.

“I still think we should take you straight to the nearest hospital,” Parker mumbled.  “You look like hell.”

“Yeah?” Gary chuckled, surprising the two agents.  “Well, if it helps, I feel like hell would be an improvement.  And I’ll gladly take that ride to the hospital after we stop those trains.”

“Who was that guy?” Frank asked as he navigated the first of many construction sites.  “And what was his beef with you?”

“How far back does your file on me go?” Gary asked in return.  “Does it mention a guy named J. T. Marley?”

“The guy who tried to assassinate President Tyson,” Craig nodded in reply.  “He was killed resisting arrest, wasn’t he?”

“Not exactly,” Gary sighed.  “But close enough.  He tried to finish the job, even though the police were standing right there.  The guy back there was his son, and he wants to know what happened to ‘Daddy Dearest.’”  He took another sip of the water.  His body screamed at him to drain the bottle and demand more, but Gary managed to restrain himself.  He was badly dehydrated and knew better than to rush it.  This was no time to incapacitate himself with uncontrollable vomiting.  “Ya know, h-he’s been workin’ me over for . . . for at least two, two ‘n’ a half hours.  Marley had to’ve known a faster way in and out of here.”

“Which just means he can get to the station faster than we can,” Frank grumbled, “because I only know one way in.”

“What if all these . . . these ‘construction sites’ aren’t what they seem?” Gary asked.  “Have you checked ‘em out?”

Parker and Donovan exchanged chagrined looks.  Frank shook his head and sighed.  They had pretty much taken things at face value.  The next detour they came to, Frank drove straight through.  There was no sign of any roadwork or even paving equipment.  In fact, there was nothing but a few signs and barricades placed across the road near two crossroads that had led to a veritable maze of back roads.  At the other end were a few pieces of heavy equipment.  Stage dressing.

“You’re starting to embarrass us, Hobson,” Frank sighed.  “We should’ve thought of that, ourselves.”

“Especially considering it’s a Saturday,” Donovan chuckled.  “How often do road crews work on the weekends?”

“Your minds just aren’t twisted enough,” Gary murmured.  He was fighting, now, to stay awake.  The sleep that had completely eluded him the night before was threatening to drag him under.  That, plus his recent ordeal, the pain that throbbed through his body, had robbed him of a great deal of his stamina.  Like the two agents, he began to have doubts that he would be up to the task before him.  If only he could understand why it was so urgent that he be the one to do this?  Why not let someone else take over?  Someone in better shape, with a more thorough knowledge of what was needed?  What if it were one of those old style switches?  The kind that had to be operated manually?  Did he have the strength left for something like that?  Those things required a lot of muscle!  “You aren’t used to, um, thinking sideways, I guess.  Of trying to find the cause before the effect.  It’s . . . complicated.”

“Sounds like,” Frank snorted in amusement.  “And I thought time-hopping was confusing.  Do you even understand a tenth of what you’re dealing with?”

“A tenth would be twenty times what I do know,” Gary sighed.  “The more I do this, th-the more it . . . it changes me, the less I understand.  I’m sorry.  I just don’t know any other way to put it.  This whole situation is so far out in left field . . . it makes the ‘Twilight Zone’ look like ‘Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.’”

********

They arrived at the station a little after one o’clock.  Frank vividly recalled the details from the previous time line.  They had less than forty minutes to divert one of the trains.  Getting the local dispatcher to listen was the first step.  One of the things that convinced him was the tattered, bloody figure with the two claiming to be agents of the NSA.

“The board is green,” the middle-aged man insisted, indicating the complex display with a wave of his hand.  He was a lean, sandy-haired man with a hint of the south in his voice.  “This, here, is the private train you were talkin’ about, and over here is the regularly scheduled run.  The express.  As you can see, they’re not even on the same track.”

Gary leaned both hands onto the console, wincing as pain shot up his arms.  It did have the beneficial effect of cutting through the wave of dizziness that had momentarily seized him.  It took him a second to bring his tired eyes into focus, but he finally realized what it was that had struck him so wrong about the display.

“Look at these tracks,” he said, tracing the yellow lines with one finger.  “Are they supposed to run parallel like that?  You have them following the same route for over fifty miles.”

Startled, the dispatcher leaned in for a closer look.  Apparently not liking what he was seeing, he tapped out a rapid series of instructions on his keyboard.  The display flickered a bit, then steadied back to what they had been seeing.

“I don’t understand this,” the man, Arnold Massey according to his name badge, murmured half under his breath.  “We don’t have any tracks that run together for that distance.  Let me see . . . Sweet Jesus!  That line doesn’t exist!”  His fingers flashed over the console as he attempted to make sense of what the board was telling him.  “Someone’s gotten into the system and created a ‘ghost.’  They just made the computer kinda . . . see double, then renamed one of the images.  I have to divert one of those trains.”

“Will the computer let you?” Gary asked hopefully.  Maybe his instincts were wrong on this one?

“Normally, yes,” was the disheartening response.  “Someone has royally buggered my computer, though.  It keeps telling me that switching tracks will create the very incident we’re trying to prevent.  I may have to take the system down and reboot it.  That’ll take more time than we have.”  He grabbed a nearby phone and hit the speed dial.  “Give me Grossman,” he snapped.  “What do you mean, he’s gone?  When . . .?  Then you better get on the horn to fire/rescue.  Yes, now!  We got two trains about to collide.  I’ve already tried that, no response.  Either they’re not receiving or unable to send.  No.  No change in speed, either.  Try the radio, and keep trying until you get an answer.  Tell both of them to reduce speed and prepare to stop.  We’ll do what we can from here.”

He laid the phone back in its cradle and turned a helpless gaze on his three visitors.

“Our switchman just took off for parts unknown,” Massey told them.  “I guess that narrows down our list of suspects.  It also leaves us with no one ‘in house’ who can override the computer control at the switch.  We don’t usually have a lot of traffic here on a weekend, and we only had a skeleton crew.  With Grossman gone, there’s just me and Beckman.  And he’s just this side of retirement.”

“I can do it,” Gary sighed.  He looked at Parker and Donovan.  “I need a couple of car or truck batteries, and two sets of jumper cables.  And a toolkit,” he added to the dispatcher.  “We’ll have to disconnect the switch motor from the system and rig an alternate power source.  You may have to replace it later, but it beats the hell out of the alternative.”

********

Parker and Donovan quickly located a handcart and removed the batteries from two semi tractors they had found in the freight yard.  They looked big enough for the job.  The two men quickly hauled them to where Gary already had the cover plate removed from the switch motor, and was disconnecting the power terminals.  It had been slow work, his swollen hands barely able to grip the tools, but he had persevered.  Gary was just about to say something to the two agents when a loud report rang out!  Gravel flew up, creating new furrows in his arm, as something hit the ground just inches from his left thigh.  Diving to one side, all three looked around wildly, trying to spot the sniper.  At almost the same instant, they heard the faint moan of the trains, sounding their horns as they approached distant crossings.  Not distant enough, for Gary’s peace of mind.

“You worry about that switch,” Frank told Gary, checking his gun.  “Let us worry about this bozo.”  

“One of us better stay with Hobson,” Donovan suggested.  “He’s kinda out in the open, here.”

“Thank you for noticing that,” Gary mumbled as he got back to work.  He had already used the first set of jumper cables to connect the two huge batteries.  The other he was clamping onto the switch motor when another shot rang out.  His hands slipped as he instinctively flinched away from the spray of dirt and gravel.  Something stung Gary’s left cheek, causing him to duck again as he uttered a muffled curse. ‘Probably more gravel,’ he grimaced, not deterring from his task.  Still, he couldn’t help an occasional glance over his shoulder.  Parker crouched at his side, popping off a shot now and then, forcing the hidden gunmen to keep their heads down.  Donovan was slowly working his way towards the small stand of trees from which the shots were coming.  Gary finished the connection as Donovan disappeared behind an empty boxcar.  He closed his eyes in a brief prayer as he reached for the override.

‘Don’t do it,’ a soft voice whispered.

Startled, Gary looked around for the owner of that voice.  Not seeing anyone but himself and Frank, who was facing towards the wooded copse about sixty feet away, he turned back to his task.

‘Don’t,’ the voice cautioned again.  It was definitely a woman’s voice, speaking in sultry southern tones.  ‘God doesn’t want this one stopped,’ it crooned.

Still not seeing anyone, Gary decided he was hallucinating.  Besides, he figured that if God hadn’t wanted this tragedy averted, then nothing Gary could do would make a difference, anyway.  So it couldn’t hurt to try.  He slammed his hand down on the control switch.

Sparks flew as the motor drew on the immense, but mismatched power of the batteries.  The tracks juddered . . . and shifted towards their new position.  It was working!  Gary watched breathlessly as the steel rails slowly repositioned themselves.  The voltage from the batteries was not the same as what the motor was used to, and it didn’t seem to care for it much.  The rails slid over almost in slow motion.  The ends only had to curve a couple of feet, but it was taking forever!

‘It’s not going to work,’ that sultry voice crooned.  

“Yes, it is,” Gary whispered to himself.  “It’s got to!”

“Did you say something?” Parker asked, just before he loosed a shot at the woods.  He was rewarded with a muffled yelp of pain.

“N-nothing,” Gary replied, unable to take his eyes from those glimmering steel rails as they slid to a juddering halt!  “Damn!” he hissed, flinching as more sparks flew from the whining motor, only now they were accompanied by streamers of smoke!  “The motor burned out!  I’ll have to finish it by hand!” he told Parker.  Scrambling onto his feet, he grabbed a steel bar, kept by the switch for such purposes, and jammed it into the narrowest space created by the shifting rails.  The forlorn sound of that, now, not-so-distant horn, spurred him like a whip.  He braced his feet against the outer rail, ignoring the agony running up his arms as he pushed down on the rod with all his weight!  Nothing happened.

‘It’s not going to work.’

Gary looked up from his task to see a darkly shimmering figure standing before him.  It was a beautiful young woman with skin the color of coffee, with extra cream.  Dark eyes smoldered at him from her elfin features.  Although Gary could not recall ever having met anyone like her, she seemed strangely familiar.

“It’s got to work,” he mumbled, turning back to his Herculean task.  Gary planted his feet more firmly against the track bed, his heels wedged against the rails.  Putting his shoulder against the rod, he pushed down, beads of sweat popping out all over his back and shoulders as he slowly brought all of his weight and strength to bear.  “It’s got to,” he repeated, flinching as another bullet spanged off the top of the bar.

Frank started to put his pistol away, intending to help Gary, when another shot rang out.  Something plucked at the tatters of Gary’s left sleeve as he put more of his weight to bear on the lever.  Parker spun back into a crouch, popping off three more shots in rapid succession.  

‘You can’t succeed,’ she told Gary.  ‘If you keep trying, God will punish you.’

“Let him,” was Gary’s grim reply.  “If I just stand by and let this happen, I’m damned anyway.”  Did he feel something shift?  He applied a little more effort.  ‘Keep it steady,’ he reminded himself.  ‘You only have this one shot left.’

“You talkin’ to me, Hobson?” Frank asked, still facing the woods, gun at the ready.  “You need my help?”

“W-wouldn’t hurt,” Gary grimaced.  The rail seemed stuck.  Maybe the motor had run into an obstruction of some kind?  If they could just work it loose!

Parker grasped the bar from the other side, adding his weight to Gary’s.  The sudden increase in force caused the rail to give a little.  They gained a precious inch or two before the next shot rang out!  Gary dropped as something burned along the right side of his head, stunning him!  Dimly, as if from a tremendous distance, he heard Parker return fire.  Gary grimly hung onto consciousness, intent on finishing his task.  Head throbbing, blood pouring from the crease just above his right ear, he used the bar to pull himself erect.  It took him a moment to clear his head, then Gary once more had his shoulder firmly planted and set to work.

‘Are you willing to risk your eternal soul for people you don’t even know?’ the dark angel, or so Gary now thought of her, asked in derisive tones.  ‘People who point fingers at you?  Who accuse you of terrible crimes?  Who call you insane or delusional?  You would risk hellfire and damnation for these petty mortals?’

“Yes,” Gary grunted.  Why couldn’t she just shut up?  Couldn’t she see what this was costing him?  What it was taking out of him just trying to get that stubborn switch to crawl a few more precious inches?  It did move!  Thank God!  Just a fraction, but he’d definitely felt it move!  Could he get it done in time to jump out of the way?  To at least remove the bar before the train hit it and risk possible derailment, anyway?  He could actually feel the vibrations through the rails as both trains rushed to meet their fate!  “Every life . . . is precious,” he told the dusky figure.

‘You will burn in Hell forever,’ the translucent figure hissed.  ‘God commands that you desist in your efforts.  That you let this transpire according to His will.’

Was she getting a little anxious, Gary wondered?  Good.  That made two of them.  He could hear the trains, now.  Realized, belatedly, that he had been hearing them for several minutes, but had been too dazed from his injuries, too intent on his task to notice.  They were so close!  Gary paused in his efforts, trying to gather the strength for one more attempt.  If only he didn’t hurt so much!  With an agonizing groan, he put the last of his faltering strength into one final push!  As he felt the rails move, Gary looked up at the furious, yet still beautiful visage, flashing her a look of defiance.

“Then I’ll see you in Hell,” he grunted . . . as the rails clicked home!

Gary barely had time to yank the rod free and stagger out of the way as the private train, carrying its cargo of political dynamite, roared onto the siding.  Brakes squealed as the engineer, having finally been alerted as to what was happening, threw everything into slowing down the hurdling behemoth.  The last car had cleared the junction by less than a yard when the larger train roared by with a prolonged blare of its horn!  Underneath that, Gary was certain he had heard a chilling shriek, like a banshee’s wail of anger and frustration.

Breathless, Gary stood off to one side, hands braced on his knees in a runners crouch as he tried to marshal his remaining strength.  He was exhausted, barely able to keep his feet.  His back, arms, and sides hurt like a son of a gun, and his head throbbed in several places, but none of his injuries was serious.  Marley had been out to inflict pain more than physical damage.  Gary had a feeling that the sadistic SOB had been saving the ‘fun stuff’ for later, after he had gotten his answers.

“By God, you did it!” Frank crowed, throwing an arm around Gary’s shoulders and giving him a rough embrace.  In his enthusiasm, he had forgotten the damage to the taller man’s back.

“Th-thank you, Lord,” Gary whispered, flinching from the pain.  He turned to where the smaller train was just braking to a halt near the platform.  Somehow, he had known that the dark figure was lying to him.  And even if she hadn’t, what did it matter?  If he’d simply stood back and let all those people die, knowing, or even hoping, that he could’ve saved them, Hell would’ve seemed a small price to pay.  Suddenly overcome with relief and exhaustion, Gary sank to his knees on the gravel rail bed.  Parker squatted next to him, concern written all over his lean features.

“You okay?” he asked, then grimaced as he took in the other man’s condition.  “That was a stupid question, wasn’t it?” he added as he tried to stop Gary’s head from bleeding with another strip of green flannel.

“Y-yeah,” Gary chuckled.  “I-I’d have to say it was.”  He was only able to stay erect by bracing his hands on his thighs.  Holding his head upright was just too much to ask, so he let it hang down as he fought just to stay awake.  “H-hope that . . . that ambulance gets here quick.  I’m runnin’ outta sh-shirt, and I f-feel lousy.”

“You look like death warmed over,” Frank chuckled.  “But you did it, Hobson.  You stopped the trains from derailing, and saved a lot of lives.  To tell you the truth, I didn’t think you had enough left in you to even try.”

“N-neither did I,” Gary admitted shakily.

Donovan came running up just as the express cleared the station.  He reported that one man was in custody, another was dead, leaving Marley and two others unaccounted for.

“He won’t be far,” Gary surmised.   He straightened up with a slow shake of his head, trying to take more interest in his surroundings.  It was just so hard to concentrate!  And where had that woman gone?  The one who had tried to dissuade him?  Why had no one else seen her?  “I d-don’t think he’s finished with me, yet.”

“Probably not,” Parker agreed.  “Bastard’s still out there, somewhere, just waiting for another chance . . .”

Something struck Gary a sledgehammer blow and he cried out in pain as a shot rang out, causing the people spilling out onto the platform to duck amid shrieks of terror!  He sagged against Parker, blood welling from a bullet wound in his left shoulder, as Donovan returned fire!  There was an answering curse as Craig’s bullet found its mark, followed by a thrashing in the bushes as their quarry fled the scene.  

Frank eased Gary to the gravel strewn ground, tearing off the remaining sleeve from Hobson’s flannel shirt to use as a pressure bandage.  Parker could see a great deal of blood, but none of it was spurting, thank God!  The bullet had hit a large vein, most likely, but not an artery.  Gary’s right hand clutched at Frank’s jacket as he gritted his teeth against the pain.  

“Christ,” he rasped, his voice tight and low.  “S’ different ever time, y’ know?  Di’n’ hurt this bad l-last time.  God!”

“Take it easy, Hobson,” Frank murmured.  “Help’s on its way.”  At least he hoped it was.  He looked up to where Secret Service men were herding the Vice President and his family back inside the train.  A couple were headed their way, guns drawn.  “Craig’s gone after the shooter, and we already had a call in to fire/rescue, remember?”

“Good,” Gary nodded, wincing.  His grip tightened momentarily as another spasm ripped through him.  “No morphine,” he gasped.

“What’s that?” Frank asked, not sure he’d heard right.  “No morphine?  Are you sure?  You‘re talkin‘ about an awful lotta pain here, pal.”

“P-pos‘tive,” the injured man stammered.  “W-withdrawal’s a b . . . ah, Christ!  I can‘t f-feel my arm!”

“Gary?”

Weak, dizzy, and on the verge of passing out, Gary nonetheless recognized that voice.  A voice he hadn’t heard in more than five years.  Slowly, he turned his head to look up at the woman in the gray trench coat who was kneeling beside them.  She was just as lovely as he remembered, her dark auburn hair spilling out from beneath her dark green tam, those lovely hazel eyes glistening with concern and surprise.  Next to her was a man holding a very professional looking camera.

“Gary Hobson?” she asked in amazement.  “Wh-what are . . . What just happened here?  H-how did you . . .?”

“M-Mer’dith?” he murmured, fighting against the grayness encroaching on his vision.  “Wh-where’d you . . .?  Th-the train?  Y-you were on the t-train?” he asked in dawning horror.  

“Yes,” she told him.  Taking off her scarf, she folded it tightly and slipped it over the wad of flannel Frank was still pressing to his wounded shoulder.  “I’m with the White House Press Corps, now.  Oh, God, Hobson,” she sighed.  “I’ve always been afraid it would come to something like this.”

“You two know each other?” Frank asked, feeling a little baffled.  

“Y-yeah,” Gary replied drowsily.  He had not been in top shape before he was shot.  Now, it was an uphill battle just to remain conscious.  “F-Frank Parker.  Mer’dith C-Carson.  W-Wash’ton Post.”

Before Frank could bemoan the presence of a reporter, they were interrupted by shrill cries of ‘Mommy!  Mommy!’  Looking up, he saw a small boy come running in their direction.  He was a handsome child, with thick dark hair and amazingly clear brown eyes.  No, not quite brown, Frank realized.  They had a greenish cast.  More of a mud puddle green.  Where had he . . .?  His own eyes widened in understanding as he looked down at the man cradled in his arms.

Gary was staring with a stunned look of astonishment, and pain, at the boy that Meredith had turned to embrace, comforting the child as he gave a plaintive cry, frightened by the sight of so much blood!  The boy couldn’t have been more than four, maybe five years old.  And his eyes!  As Gary’s vision once more began to fade, he focused on those clear, wide, innocent eyes.  Eyes the exact same color . . . as his own.

********

Gary once more found himself in that place he could only think of as ‘between.’  He was sitting on the counter in O.R. #3, his arms wrapped around the leg that his chin was resting on, and watching as the doctors worked to repair the damage done by Marley’s bullet.  How he could be so sure it was Marley, Gary didn’t know, but he was.

“Yes,” Andrew told him, stepping into the room through the wall.  “It was definitely Mr. Marley.  You didn’t exactly make a friend, there.”

Gary gave the Angel of Death a sideways look of annoyance.  “You make that sound like I deliberately ticked him off,” he grumbled.  “I don’t suppose you’ve considered that I didn’t ask for any of this?  And who was that woman?  The one that tried to scare me off?”

“You don’t remember her from before?” Andrew countered.  “Think back.  You were in that hospital in Los Angeles.  Recovering from a snakebite?”

Leaning back against the cabinets, (and how could he sit and lean on things that he could walk through, he wondered?) Gary thought back to the events Andrew had referred to.  He’d been flown in from that camp where they were supposed to help him adjust to being paralyzed from the hips down.  He had no clear recollection of that time, mainly because the venom had induced total paralysis, requiring that he be put on a respirator until he either recovered . . . or died.  Thanks to a serum that Dr. Janet Fraiser of ‘Project Bluebook’ had tailored from God only knew what resources, he had lived.

“It was just after you woke up,” Andrew reminded him.  “Monica was there, too.”

“She . . . she wanted my soul,” Gary murmured, as memory came flooding back.  “Katherine?  No.  Kathleen.  She’s . . . sad.  Not really evil, just . . . she’s afraid.  Of what?”

“Failure,” Andrew replied with a shrug.  “She serves a dark master, now.  He can’t believe that God could create someone who would place the value of his conscience over that of his own soul.  That someone would actually choose to do the right thing, even if it meant damnation.”

“Did he?” Gary murmured distractedly.  He was engrossed by the grim tableau as the doctors tried to remove the bullet without severing the brachial nerve.  It looked like it could go either way from what they were saying.  Did that mean he could lose the use of his left arm?

“Gary,” the Angel of Death chuckled, “what did you just do?”

“Hmm?”  Gary tore his attention from the surgeons to shoot Andrew a puzzled look.  “What do ya mean?  I stopped those trains from wrecking!  What was I supposed to do?  Let all those people die?  I don’t think so!”

“Even when she told you God wanted that wreck to happen?  That you would be damned for eternity if you stopped them?”

“No way could I believe that that was what God wanted,” Gary replied vehemently.  “Not the God I was taught to believe in.  If I’m wrong, that’s my lookout.  Earthquakes, floods, natural disasters, I can see those happening according to some sorta plan, but this?  This was Man’s doing, and I can’t see God’s hand behind it anywhere.  Besides, my . . . my son was on that train.  My son.”  He murmured the last two words in an awed whisper.  

“Then you see clearer than most,” Andrew nodded approvingly.  “And you didn’t even know the child existed until after it was all over. Don’t worry, though.  Your soul is still in good hands.”

“So why this?” Gary asked, waving one hand to indicate the two of them, the other gesturing towards his body on the operating table.  His still living, breathing body.  “A-am I . . .dying?”

“No,” Andrew quickly assured him.  “This is just to touch bases.  How much do recall from . . . that other time?”

“What other . . .?”  Then he remembered.  Not things as they had just happened, but as they would have happened if not for the intervention of the chrononaut, Frank Parker.  “I died,” he whispered, his eyes widening as they drifted to the still form on the table, surrounded by the surgical team.  “I died, and . . . and you told me . . . You showed me . . . things.  M-Mom, Dad, M-Marissa was . . . Why?  Why did you want me to remember something like that?”

“I didn’t want to,” Andrew replied with a sad shake of his head.  “I had to see if you would.  To most people, those events never happened.  Even to the people of Project Back Step, with the exception of Frank Parker, they’re just possibilities of what might have been.  You’re unique because of the many ways that dealing with the Paper has changed you.  The choice to retain those memories, or not, is still up to you at this point.  Do you want to keep them?  Locked away in a secret part of your mind?”

“No.”  He didn’t even have to think about it.  Gary had no need, or desire, to remember the look on his parents’ faces as the monitor showed that he had breathed his last, the way his mother had wept as she started to put away his things.  The pain and torture his body had endured at Marley’s hands had been as nothing compared to the pain his spirit had undergone, watching them fall apart and wanting so badly to console them!  Nor did he want to remember the look on Marissa’s face as Emmett had tried to console her.  Or the shrill sound of twisted metal as the two trains collided, the screams of the dying.  The silence of the dead.  “Take it all,” he said.  “Or, if you can’t take all of it, don’t make me relive their pain.  I don’t ever want them to suffer like that again, even in my nightmares.”

Andrew favored Gary with an understanding smile.  Sometimes, the angel wondered just what God had planned for this kind-hearted soul that he was forced to endure so much.  Wordlessly, he followed Gary’s worried gaze back to the table where the surgical team was just cleaning him up.  The procedure had been completed while his attention had been on Andrew, and Gary was left wondering at the outcome.

“Do you think they . . . I mean . . .  m-my arm,” he stammered.  “Will I be still able to use it?”

“Why don’t we let you wake up and find out?” Andrew suggested kindly.

**********

It was sometime late that evening when Gary did, finally, wake up.  The first thing he was aware of was that gosh-awful taste in his mouth!  Not to mention that gunky feeling crud that seemed to coat everything.  With a soft moan, Gary licked dry lips with a tongue that felt three times its normal size and rougher than sandpaper.  Something soft and moist brushed against his mouth, and a few drops of blessed moisture found their way in.  He was then aware of pain.  Mostly in his left shoulder, and across his back, where Marley had played ‘connect the dots’ with a red-hot iron.  Also the right side of his head ached as if someone had struck it with a sledgehammer.  His right wrist throbbed with each heartbeat.  There was a moment of panic when he realized that he couldn’t feel his left arm!  

“Take it easy, hon,” a familiar, and much loved voice crooned.  “The doctors said there’s still some swelling around the nerve, but that you’re going to be fine.”

“M-Mom?” he murmured in a dry, raspy croak.  “H-how . . .?”

“We got a call from someone named Parker,” she told him.  “He just said that you were hurt and that a private plane was waiting at the airport.  Does he have anything to do with what happened to you?”

“S-saved me,” Gary replied with a barely perceptible nod.  He’d yet to pry his eyes open.  The lids were just too heavy!  “G-good man.  C-cares . . .”  He tried to think.  There was something it seemed he should remember, but it kept slipping from his mind.  “H-he’s okay?  A-and Donovan?”

“One of these days,” Lois Hobson sighed, “you’re going to wake up from one of your little escapades and forget to ask about someone else.  Then I’m going straight to the window and start watching the heavens.”

“Hmm?  Wh-why?” Gary mumbled softly.  He was starting to drift back to sleep.

“Because, sweetie,” Lois chuckled as she tugged the covers up to his chin, “it’ll mean the world is about to end, and I don’t want to miss it.”

**********

SUNDAY FEBRUARY 24, WASHINGTON, D.C. 0930 HRS

The next time Gary awakened, it was to the murmur of voices somewhere close by.  He pried his eyes open with tremendous effort, blinking rapidly against the glare of light from the window.  Groggily, he turned his face away from the brightness.  Only then did he see the people clustered by the doorway.  

“Hey,” he murmured in a soft croak.  “Wha’s go’n’ on?”

One of the blurry figures turned towards him, his face split in a big grin.  Bernie Hobson touched his wife on the arm and nodded his head at Gary.

“Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he quipped.  Stepping quickly up to the bed, Lois at his side, Bernie placed a hand over Gary’s right one.  “How ya feelin’, kiddo?” he asked.

“Ya really don’ wanna know,” Gary rasped drowsily.  Should it be this hard to focus, he wondered?  “They no’ gi’in’ mo’phin’?”

“No morphine,” Lois assured him.  “They might be a little heavy with the Demerol, however.”  She touched his cheek with the back of her fingers.  “Your fever’s down,” she reported, “and you don’t look as pale as you did last night.  Seriously, hon, how do you feel?”

“Thirsty,” Gary mumbled with a little more clarity.  He tried once more to focus on the two men standing by the door.  “D-do I know you?  Y-you look kinda f’miliar”

The two men stepped forward, almost to the foot of the bed.  One was a tall, very handsome, dark haired man who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties.  For some reason, Gary thought he was probably older than he appeared.

The other man was shorter, stockier, and obviously somewhat older, with a broad, intelligent face.  His hair was also dark, with streaks of gray starting to show.  He gave Gary a pleasant smile as he stepped a little closer.

“I’ve been told I have one of those faces,” the shorter man replied.  “Although we have been in the news quite a bit, lately.”

“C’mon, Gar!” Bernie chuckled.  “You know these guys.  You voted for ‘em!”

It took Gary a moment, but his drugged mind finally kicked into gear.  “P-Pres’dent Bartlett?” he murmured in awe.  “Vice Pres’dent Hoyne?  Wh-wha’ cha doin’ here?”

“I’ll put that down to the medication,” John Hoyne chuckled.  He walked around to the far side of the bed, placing a hand lightly on Gary’s heavily bandaged shoulder.  “I wanted to thank you in person for what you did.  That took a great deal of courage and determination, Mr. Hobson.  You saved a lot of lives yesterday.  Not just mine, but everyone I hold dear.  I can’t begin to tell you how grateful we all are.”

“Jus’ did,” Gary replied with a tired grin.  He started to reach his good hand over to shake the Vice President‘s before he realized he didn‘t really have one.  The swelling had gone down in his hands, but his right wrist still throbbed like a tom-tom.  The left arm was still numb.  “Um, y-you’re we’come, ” he winced.

President Josiah Bartlett cleared his throat nervously before stepping up beside his Vice President, both hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers.

“It was brought to our attention,” he said, rocking back and forth on his feet, “that this isn’t the first, or even second, time that you have risked your life for others.  In fact, according to a Mr. Frank Parker, you have been witnessed in at least five or more such rescues in just the past week.  He, um, also said that you were well known at the local hospitals.”  He paused to give Gary an incredulous look.  “Do they really keep a room reserved for you?”

“The Hobson Suite,” Gary chuckled as he fumbled for the bed controls.  Why did every hospital put them in different places, he wondered?  And where was the water?  His throat was parched!  “Jus’ Cook County.  Seem t’ end up there mos’ times.”

“Well,” Vice President Hoyne smiled, “we, President Bartlett and myself, would like to give you the recognition you deserve.  With your permission, we were hoping you would accept our invitation to have dinner with us at the White House once you’re well enough to be released.”

“Your parents told us you might object to a public award ceremony,” President Bartlett explained, clearly puzzled by that revelation.  “Is there any particular reason why?  You’re not wanted or anything, are you?”

“No’ la’ly,” Gary murmured, although the words stirred up some bad memories.  “I-I jus’ don’ like all the ‘tention,” he told them.  “Tha’s no’ why I d-do it.  B-but dinner soun’s great.  I’d b-be honored, sir.”  His brow furrowed into a sleepy frown as he turned to his mother.  “You said tha’ was Demerol?  Tha’s what they gave me las’ time, I think,” he grumbled when she nodded.  “Need to put tha’ on muh list.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to your doctor,” she promised.  “No more Demerol.  What about Toradol?  You’ve had pretty good results from that.”

“Yeah,” Gary nodded.  “Tor’dal.  Soun’s good.  Dinner soun’s good, too.  Wadder?”

“Hmm?  Oh, water,” his mother translated.  “Not yet, dear.  But you can have one of these, um, ‘yummy’ pre-moistened sponge-pops.  I think it’s supposed to replace ice chips.  You have your choice of lemon, grape, or cherry.”

Gary chose grape, eyeing the ’flower’ shaped sponge on a stick dubiously. He finally allowed his mother to put it in his mouth, grimacing as he tried to ease the dryness with the meager amount of lubrication in the tiny sponge.

“Pard’n the pun,” he muttered around the obstruction, “bu’ thish shucks.”

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

Gary drifted in and out of consciousness most of that day.  Partly from the head injury, partly due to the lingering effects of the anesthesia, and mainly from the large doses of Phenergan they kept giving him for nausea.  He needed a lot of Phenergan.  

It was some time later that evening when he awakened to find Meredith sitting by the head of his bed.  She was leafing through a stack of what looked to be photographs as she waited for him to open his eyes.

“Hi,” he murmured.  “Where ya been?”

“Well, hello, stranger,” she responded with a nervous smile.  “I’ve been getting my son settled in.  All the excitement yesterday still has him keyed up.”  She noticed that his gaze was fixed on what her hands were holding.  “Oh.  I was just choosing the best picture for the article we’re running tomorrow.  It’s not often that a reporter finds herself in the middle of the story of a lifetime.  So, how do you feel?”

“O-okay, I guess,” he replied doubtfully.  It took him a moment to recall the little boy at the train station.  The one that had called her ‘Mommy.’  “N-nice lookin’ boy.  He’s, what, a-almost five?”

“The end of July,” Meredith admitted, finally meeting his eyes.  “His name is Geran, after a child in a series of books I’ve grown fond of.  The . . . the son of a, um, a sorcerer king named Garion.  We call him Gary.”

Even in his muddled, pain clouded state, Gary was quick to make the connection.  He quickly turned his head away to hide the stricken look that crossed his face.  ‘We.’  She’d clearly said ‘we call him Gary.’  He’d made that connection, also.

“Gary . . .” she murmured.

“Don’t,” he said, turning back to her with a strained smile.  “I’m happy for you.  I-it’s kinda like you . . . you named him after me.  S-sorta.”

“If you’ll let me explain,” she began, only to have Gary cut her off again.

“Please,” he said.  “Don’t.  I-I’m not stupid, Meredith.  I saw . . . saw the resemblance right away.  Y-you haven’t done anything that needs . . . needs explaining.  Are you happy?”

“Yes,” she told him candidly.  “We’re very happy.  Edward loves Geran as if he were his real . . . real father.”  She suddenly seemed to find something fascinating about her hands.  “He’s been very good t-to both of us.”

“Th-then that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” Gary went on, unable to keep all of the pain out of his voice.  “Y-you never intended f-for me to know, did you?”  Silence.  “That’s wh-what I thought.  It’s okay.  It’s not right, b-but it’s okay.  For now.  I want to get to know him someday, Meredith.  I want that with all my heart.  B-but I can’t fight you over s-something like this.  It wouldn’t be fair to . . . to Geran.  Or you.”

Wordlessly, Meredith nodded her agreement, relief etched in every line of her body.  She fumbled with the stack of pictures as she tried to marshal her thoughts.

“D-do you still . . .?” she started to ask, then appeared to think better of it.

“Everyday,” Gary replied with a dry chuckle.  “How’d ya think I ended up here?”

“Um, I guess I hadn’t thought that far,” she admitted with a tentative smile.  “So much for my reporter’s instincts.  I was just so shocked to see you there, and you looked so . . . Okay, I admit it.  You scared the hell out of me.  Satisfied?”

“Should I be?” Gary countered.  “Do you think th-this is some sorta competition as to wh-whose life turned out better?  C-cause I hate to d-disappoint you, but you’d win hands down.”

“Then why don’t you want to know about your child?”  There, she’d actually said it.  It was all out in the open, now.  At least between the two of them.  “You saved our lives, Gary!  If you hadn’t have stopped those two trains from colliding . . . You have a right to know!”

“Do I?” Gary sighed.  “What I want, and what you feel I have a right to, doesn’t matter.  This . . . this thing I’m involved in, it’s taken a-a lot of crazy twists and turns.  It’s gotten to be . . . dangerous.  Th-there are people . . .evil people out there who want me dead.  O-one of them did this to me,” he added, indicating the bandages.  “D-do you really think I’m so . . . so selfish, that I’d subject m-my own son to that kind of risk?  If you do, then you never knew me at all.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” Meredith sighed, seeing his point.  She laughed as a funny thought occurred to her.  “We really didn’t have a lot of time to get to know each other, did we?  A little over a month, at best.  Then, when I took that job at the Post . . . I took it because I just couldn’t compete with . . . with the forces that were taking over your life.  Or with how . . . incorruptible you are.  But you . . . you never saw it that way.  It’s not a tool in your eyes.  It’s a responsibility that you take so . . . seriously!  You’ve let it consume all the joy out of your life, and never asked for anything in return.  Now, I tell you that . . . that what you’ve always wanted most out of life . . . a child . . . that you may never . . . and you just accept it!  Doesn’t it make you angry?  Don’t you want to just . . . just rage at the injustice of it all?  With everything you’ve done . . . that you’ve sacrificed . . . Then you come back into our lives just when we need you the most.  It‘s not fair that you can‘t . . .”

“That’s enough,” Gary told her, his soft words cutting through her anger.  “Wh-what I feel, o-or don’t feel isn’t the issue here.  Anymore than what I want.  What good would it do me to get . . . I-I have to think about what’s best for Geran.  And for you.”  He turned his face away, not wanting her to look too closely.  “I-I think you’d better go, now.  Y-you have a . . . a son to take care of.”

He heard the chair scrape back as she wordlessly prepared to leave.  Licking his lips he fought down the urge to call her back, to plead with her to let him be a part of the child’s . . . his son’s life.  It was a desire stronger than any physical pain he had ever felt!  There were still questions, though, that he just had to ask.

“M-Meredith?”

She paused, one hand on the door, as she half turned in response to that plea.  “Yes?”

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Gary asked, his face still averted.  “A-about me?  B-being his f-father, I mean.”

“No,” she almost whispered.  “He thinks Edward . . .”

“Good,” Gary responded, a little too quickly.  “W-we shouldn’t . . . shouldn’t confuse him.  You, um, you’ve been a g-great mother, so far.  I, um, I don’t think he could be in b-better hands.”

“Thank you,” she murmured in reply.  Meredith wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks, relieved not to have him watching her with those incredibly expressive eyes.  Her hand tugged at the door handle.

“We were never really in love,” he sighed, “were we.”  It wasn’t really a question.

“I think we wanted to be,” she told him, her head bowed, still facing the door.  “I think we both wanted it very much.  We just never had the time to . . . to let it grow.  Things happened too fast.”

“I won’t ever see you again, will I?  Either of you.”

“Probably not,” she whispered.  “B-but, you never know.  A-anything can happen.”

“Yeah,” Gary murmured softly.  “Anything can happen.  Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” Meredith sniffled as she finally opened the door.  She quickly stepped through, pulling it shut behind her.  Leaning against the wall for a moment, she fought to get herself under control.  It wouldn’t do for Little Gary to see her like this.  He was already asking awkward questions.  She dried her eyes and straightened up, composing herself physically as well as mentally.  As she strode purposefully down the corridor, she cast one more glance back.

“I will always love you, Gary Hobson,” she murmured.  “Just not the way you need me to.”

Inside the lonely hospital room, Gary silently cried himself to sleep.

***********

MONDAY FEBRUARY 25, WASHINGTON D.C.  0800 HRS

The sun was streaming in through the window again when Gary next opened his eyes.  He had lost all sense of time as he drifted in and out of consciousness, but thought it must be morning.  Most of his body throbbed like a sore tooth, but his mind seemed clearer, sharper.  The pain in his head seemed to have dulled somewhat, too.  Even better, his left arm was throbbing from wrist to shoulder.  It was a welcome pain, as it meant that he would soon regain full use of his extremity.  He just wished pain didn’t have to hurt so bad!

“Morning, sunshine,” a cheery voice spoke up from the doorway.  

Pain shot up Gary’s back and neck as he turned a little too quickly.  Cursing softly, he shifted his body a little more carefully.  He looked over to where his parents were just closing the door.  Bernie was carrying a large basket of fresh cut flowers which he set on the table by the door.

“Feelin’ better this mornin’, kiddo?” his dad asked as he held the chair for Gary’s mom.  “You look almost human.”

“Don’t mind him, dear,” Lois sighed as she got comfortable.  “You look a lot better than yesterday.  More rested, at least.  How do you feel?”

“S’all right,” Gary murmured.  His brow wrinkled as he tried to remember a few details from the previous day.  “Did I really meet the President yesterday?” he asked.  “A-and the Vice President?”

“Yes, sweetie,” Lois chuckled.  “You really did.  With half a dozen Secret Service men standing out in the hallway while they waited for you to wake up.”

“They said to tell you that they’ll give us a little advance notice on that dinner,” Bernie told him.  “At least a day or two.  We figure you’d want that much time to get your ‘land legs’ back, before getting all dressed up.”

Gary was still finding it all hard to believe, and a little scary.  What if all the notoriety caused the Paper to stop coming?  It couldn’t go to Lindsay!  She was still much too young to handle something like that!  Then he saw what his mother was trying very hard not to let him see.

“What does the Paper say?” he asked softly.  

Lois’ smile faltered as she opened it to the front page.  “We’ve already called Peter,” she told him as she showed him the headline about a major traffic accident.  It was due to happen in the next ten minutes.  “I even faxed him a copy of the article.”

“Put it away, for now,” Gary said.  There was nothing he could do but trust in his friend, and God, that things were in good hands.  “We’ll look at it again, later.  So, what’ve you guys been doing while I’m stuck in here?”

“Not much,” his dad shrugged.  “Sittin’ in here most of yesterday, had dinner with the White House chief of staff last night.  He’s a pretty nice guy.  Met the President’s chief advisor, a coupla guys from Public Relations, and the Press Secretary.  They can’t wait to meet you.”

“Wonderful,” Gary sighed miserably.  “More publicity.  Just what I need.”

“We’ve been telling the reporters that we don’t want your name or picture plastered in every paper across the country,” Lois said, taking his right hand in both of hers.  “We explained about how we were afraid that the lunatic behind the sabotage would be able to use that information to track you down.  M-maybe even kill you.  Most of them could see how your safety outweighed their First Amendment rights, but not all.  What did you tell that woman who snuck in here last night?  The one who told the nurses that she was an old girlfriend?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

“She really was an old girlfriend,” Gary assured them.  “She knows not to print anything we discussed last night.”  He debated whether or not to tell his parents about Geran, and decided it would serve no good purpose.  Why break their hearts by telling them that, yes, they finally had a grandchild?  One that they might never, ever see.  “She was on the train, and wanted to see how I was doing,” he added by way of explanation.  “That’s all.”

“Good,” Lois sighed with relief.  “That’s a load off my mind.  Oh, Gary!  When they called and said you’d been hurt . . .!  I-I had all these awful visions of you in another coma, or being kept alive b-by machines!  It was horrible!”

Tears welled in Gary’s eyes as he envisioned the torment they must have endured.  He gave his mother’s hand a gentle squeeze as he murmured a heartfelt apology.  “I-I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Don’t be,” she sniffled.  “It’s part of the job, I suppose, and I don’t want you worrying about what I think.  You were chosen for this over countless other candidates, I’m sure.  They picked you because you care too deeply to let so much tragedy keep happening.  You have a good heart, Gary Hobson, and don’t you dare let anyone change that!  It’s one of the things we all love about you.”

“One of the things that make us proud to be your parents,” Bernie added, his tone serious for once.  “God knows, we don’t want to go through anything like the last coupla years, but it’s all part of who you are.  Whatever happens, we’ll be there for you.”

Gary didn’t know what to say.  Not since the accident that had left him in a wheelchair, for most of a year, had any of them had the courage to acknowledge his mortality.  That he could, and most likely would, die in the service of the Paper and the forces behind it.  

A soft knock on the door saved Gary from a potentially embarrassing silence.  Bernie rushed to open the door, ready to turn back overzealous reporters, if he had to.  Instead, he revealed the two men who had been instrumental in saving Gary’s life.  

“F-Frank, Craig,” Gary said with a relieved grin.  “Hi!  C’mon in!”  He quickly introduced the two agents to his parents.  “These are the guys that, literally, pulled my fat from the fire,” he added.  

They shook hands all around, with Lois’ gaze lingering on Frank.

“You’re the one that called us,” she said.  “And made the flight arrangements.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Parker nodded, looking strangely ill at ease.  As an orphan, he had a lot of sympathy and respect for parents who showed so much love and concern for their children.  Even the grown-up ones.  “I-I just figured you’d want to be here when he woke up.”

Lois pulled him into a warm embrace, releasing him quickly as she wiped tears of gratitude from her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said.  “You have no idea how much we appreciate what you’ve done.”

Recalling that other timeline, the way she had touch her son’s hand as she . . . they . . . gave him permission to die, the look of devastation on their faces as the EEG traces flattened to nothing, Frank was pretty sure he knew all too well what it meant to them.

“You’re welcome,” was all he said.  “We, um, we just came by to see how you were doing before we head out west.”

“D-did you get to see your son while you were in town?” Gary asked, stifling the twinge of pain that innocent question had cost him.

“We missed out on his pageant,” Frank shrugged.  “It was a disaster, from what they tell me, but we made up for it with pizza and miniature golf.”

“Sounds like fun,” Bernie chuckled.  “We’ve been after Gar, here, to give us a coupla grandkids to spoil, but he thinks he’s missed the boat.  I keep tellin’ ‘im not to give up.  That there’s someone out there, just waitin’ for a handsome guy like him to come along and sweep her off her feet.  But he keeps puttin’ the broom back in the closet!”

“Bernie!” Lois admonished, her face scarlet.  “What a thing to say!  And after you gave Gary your solemn promise not to embarrass him like that . . . again!”

But Gary wasn’t listening.  He was thinking of a certain little boy with mud puddle green eyes.  His eyes.  As his mother made Bernie apologize to Gary and his two guests, he looked up to meet Frank Parker’s sympathetic gaze, and knew that the agent was thinking of exactly the same thing.

“Um, if you don’t mind,” Frank murmured, “I need to . . . to debrief Gary about what happened Saturday.  In private,” he added, giving Craig a significant glance.

“Don’t mind us,” Lois replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.  “We’ll just . . .”

“Take a little walk with me,” Craig finished, to her chagrin.  “Some of what they have to discuss is classified,” he said apologetically.  “And some is downright embarrassing.  Let’s give them a little breathing space. Okay?”

Putting a hand under Lois’s elbow, and one on Bernie’s upper arm, Donovan led the protesting couple to the door.  Lois turned to give her son a look of open concern.

“S’okay, Mom,” Gary rasped reassuringly.   “It won’t take long.”

“You’re sure, hon?”

“Go on,” he smiled.  “I’ll be fine.”

As the door, finally, closed behind them, the smile faltered as Gary turned his troubled gaze on the NSA agent.  Frank sauntered up to the foot of the bed and carefully sat down.

“So,” he sighed.  “You haven’t told them.”

“What would be the point?” Gary murmured.  “Why tell them about a grandchild they’ll never get to see?”

“You don’t know that,” Frank reasoned.  “You could sue for custody.  Once they find out she robbed you of your parental rights . . .”

“No,” Gary sighed.  He fumbled at the bed controls until he had finally raised his head enough to look Frank in the eye.  His right hand was still a little stiff, and very sore.  “He’s safer with his mother.  Think about it.  Marley knows who I am and where to find me.  I can’t exactly go into ‘witness protection’ and be able to . . . to do wh-what I do.  I-if he found out about . . . him, then he’d have one more way to hurt me.  I can’t risk that, not with my . . . my only child.”

Frank nodded thoughtfully, seeing Gary’s point.  Marley had already proven himself a ruthless, dangerous, opponent.  He would not hesitate to abduct the boy and use him to torment Gary.  

“How do you handle it?” Gary asked solemnly.  “Not being able to see your son grow up.  Were you there when he was born?  When he took his first step?  Spoke his first words?  Cut his first tooth?  Did you wake up in the middle of the night to show him there were no monsters under the bed?  To rock him to sleep when he had a nightmare?  D-did you get to hold him when he cried?  T-to tell him . . . tell him how much you love him?”  He paused to wipe something from his eye.

“Yes,” Frank sighed.  “To all of the above.  He was three when his mother and I divorced.  And I still get to see him, once in a while.  It’s hard, sometimes.  On all of us.  I know that he’s better off where he is.  That doesn’t make it any easier, but it helps me sleep at night.”  He looked away, shaking his head sadly.  “To think that, no matter what, I’d never see him again . . . I don’t know that I could handle that.  Scratch that.  I know I couldn’t.”  He pushed himself to his feet and began pacing the tiny room.  “My first assignment . . . I’d just been recruited, gone through the training regimen from Hell, and I was watching a game on TV.  I-I was watching when they broke in with a . . . a special bulletin.  Terrorists had released nerve gas, an attack on the Capitol.  It also killed . . . it killed everyone in a nearby preschool.  The cameras got in real close on . . . on one of the kids.  It was Jimmy.  My son.”  He paused to compose himself.  “I freaked,” he went on with a strained chuckle.  “I mean, I royally freaked.  Trashed the rec-room, assaulted my guards.  They had to sedate me.  I thought I was headed back to Hansen Island, for sure, and I didn’t care.”

“They sent you back, though,” Gary murmured, his eyes full of sympathy for the pain Parker must have endured.  “Because it was the Capitol, and a lot of powerful men were involved, they sent you back to stop it.”

“Yeah,” Parker nodded.  “They did.  I was able to save my son, and all those other kids.  To me, the politicians were just a bonus.  The kids were what mattered.  All that mattered.  So, yeah, I can see why you’d sacrifice being able to see your son in order to keep him safe.  But, it’s gotta hurt, man.  It’s gotta be cuttin’ the heart right out of you.”

“Getting shot hurt a lot less,” Gary admitted ruefully.  “I just don’t see any other choice.  Do you?  I don‘t get ‘do overs.’  Advanced warning, sometimes.  But one shot is all I have to stop things.”

“I wish I had some answers for you, pal,” Frank sighed.  “But, if it helps, I think you chose the best course of action.  For the boy’s sake, at least.”

“Speaking of which,” Gary murmured nervously, “have you heard anymore a-about . . . Marley?”  Just saying the name sent a chill up his spine, and left a sour taste in his mouth.

Frank shook his head with a disgusted sigh.  “We’ve got APBs out on him,” he reported, “and his surviving henchmen.  Starting with the D.C. area and expanding outward.  His face has been plastered all over the media as the man who tried to assassinate Vice President Hoyne.  Which boosted his and Bartlett’s position in the polls dramatically, by the way.  Marley is now being hunted by the FBI, the NSA, the NTSB, and the CIA.  Hell, practically the entire alphabet!  The only one not looking for him is a dogcatcher in Sheboygan.  But he’s promised to keep his eyes open.”

“He’s still in the area, I’m sure of it,” Gary said with conviction.  “He’s not finished with me, yet.”

“I’m afraid not,” Frank admitted.  He leaned both hands on the foot of the bed.  “Let us take you back with us, Gary.  We can protect you, and help you develop whatever . . . gift you have that lets you predict the future.  We can have you under wraps so fast, Marley will think the earth opened up and swallowed you!”

“And your committee can decide who lives and who dies,” Gary countered.  “Thanks, Parker, but no thanks.  I told you, I can’t play that game.”

“And what kind of game can you play when you’re dead,” Frank shot back.  “I have to tell you,” he added before Gary could respond, “that you impressed the hell outta me in that other timeline.  You staggered into that train station on one good leg, literally more dead than alive, and the only thing you asked for was help in stopping those trains.  You knew you were dying, that you didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell of surviving.  Yet you all but crawled from wherever it was that those bastards dropped you off, probably still intending to stop them yourself if you had to.  If you’d had the time.  But you didn’t.  Marley had it timed to the minute.  Hell!  To the second!  He wanted you there, to see it happen.  That sadistic son of a b----!” he finished angrily, slamming his hand on the desk for emphasis.

Flinching at the heat in Parker‘s voice, Gary was trying to think of a suitable reply, when he heard his dad’s voice as the others returned.  Bernie, of course, was leading the way.  Vocally, at least.

There was a tentative knock on the door as Craig pushed it open a crack.

“Is it safe to come in?” he asked.

“All clear,” Frank chuckled, shifting his mood so rapidly it made Gary’s head spin.  Maybe Parker was a little crazy!   “We were just wrapping up the touchy stuff.”  He gingerly shook Gary’s hand as the others trouped in.  “It’s been great getting to know you, Hobson.  Maybe we’ll run into each other again, sometime.”

“Under better circumstances, I hope,” Gary replied with a strained smile.  

“If you guys ever get back to Chicago,” Bernie said, “look us up.  We just got this great house in Lockport.  Looks just like our old one in Hickory!”

“Not exactly,” Lois sighed, shooting Bernie a harried look, “but pretty close.  It won’t take much to make it just like home.”  She crossed over to Gary’s bedside, one hand automatically going up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead.  “Is your fever coming back?” she murmured.  “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Gary sighed.  “Really.”  He couldn’t suppress a tired grin, though, as she fussed about, fluffing his pillow and running a comb through his hair.  “I can still hold a comb, Mom!  Sorta,” he added ruefully as he tried, and failed, to snatch the comb from her hand.  While the swelling had gone down dramatically, his fingers were still stiff and clumsy.  They wouldn’t close enough to grasp it.  He managed not to say, aloud, the various descriptive terms that suited Marley best.  “Does this mean you’re gonna have to feed me again?” he grumbled.

“Probably,” Lois chuckled.  “At least you will get to eat this morning.  Well, clear liquids, anyway.  They think your stomach may still be a little touchy.  You were so sick, yesterday, hon!”

“I know,” he groaned.  “Believe me, I know.  What about water?  Any chance of my actually getting something wet, instead of those ‘pop’ thingies?”  He waved at the two men headed out the door.  “Take care, guys,” Gary told them.  “Drop by anytime.  First round’s on me.”

The two agents flashed him a smile and a wave as they continued out the door.  As they continued down the hall, Frank was sure he heard Bernie make some off-color remark about Gary’s recent ‘indisposition.’

“Poor guy,” Craig chuckled.  “Can you imagine having parents like that?”

“No,” Frank sighed.  “I can’t.”  ‘But I’d like to,’ he told himself.  ‘I’d really like to.’

***********

After his parents left later that evening, two police officers came by to talk with Gary.  They apologized for the intrusion, then told him that they were stationing a guard outside his room.

“You think he’s still in the area,” Gary murmured.  “M-Marley, I mean.  Do you really think he‘d try something here?  W-with all this security?”

“It’s a strong possibility,” the detective, a Lt. Singleton admitted.  “From what you told us last night, this guy isn’t wrapped too tight.  He just might be crazy enough to come after you here.”

“Marley isn’t crazy,” Gary quickly corrected him.  “He’s ruthless, heartless, and totally without anything resembling compassion, but he’s not crazy.  And, yeah, he’ll come after me.  Here, in Chicago, wherever.  I don’t think he likes leaving unfinished business behind.”

The two detectives exchanged troubled glances as Singleton pulled up a chair.  The other man, a Detective Roberts, leaned against the table by the door.

“We hear that you’ve been invited to dinner at the White House as soon as you’re released,” the lieutenant commented.  “I don’t suppose you’ve considered staying there until you’re fully recovered.  If you think about it, it’s one of the most secure places in the country.”

“And you’d be well looked after, medically,” Roberts added.  “You and your parents would be treated like visiting royalty.”

“Which would be great for them,” Gary smiled, “but would drive me nuts.  I’ll think about it.  I can’t hide out there forever, though.  What happens when I have to go home?  You guys can’t protect me around the clock.”

“That’s . . . something you need to talk over with President Bartlett,” Singleton replied hesitantly.  “I think he was discussing something along those lines with the head of his security detail.”

Gary sank back into his pillows with a sigh of frustration.  That was most definitely out of the question!  How could he take care of the Paper with an armed guard breathing down his neck?

“In the meantime,” Singleton continued, “there’ll be a man outside your door until you’re safely back in Chicago.  After that, whatever details you work out are between you and the Secret Service.  But I have to encourage you to take on some kind of protection.  This Marley guy is a loose cannon.  There’s no telling what he’ll do.”

‘Amen to that,’ Gary mused as the two officers took their leave.  ‘All the more reason to keep Geran a secret.  Even from my parents.’

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

Gary wasn’t sure what time it was when something, some subtle sound, woke him up.  He was reaching groggily for the pull-cord to switch on the lights, when something was pressed against his face!  Strong hands were holding a pillow over his face, suffocating him!  Frantically, Gary tried pushing the hands away, to no avail.  He was still too weak from his injuries.  He tried to kick out, push himself from the bed, but someone was holding his legs!  Fumbling for the bed controls, he pressed every button he could find, praying that one was the nurses call button!  Oh, God!  He needed air!  Struggling against those powerful hands, Gary managed to dig his fingernails into one wrist, eliciting a muted curse, before his hand was roughly pushed away.  The pressure eased slightly at that moment, and Gary used the respite to turn his head and suck in a huge lungful of precious, life sustaining air!

“Help!” he screamed, as loudly as he could!  “Help me-agh!”

A fist had been driven into his wounded shoulder, taking his breath away, then the hands were around his throat!  Gary beat at those powerful arms with his one good hand, as a gray haze encroached at the edge of his vision!  He tried vainly to draw air past the painful constriction as his larynx was slowly being crushed!

The last thing Gary remembered, as he passed out, was the crash of a door being slammed open, and the echoing reverberation of gunfire.

***********

Continued in Installment 4

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 

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