Shadows of the Past Prologe

         It’s a hot summer night in New Orleans, the air thick with humidity. In a mostly forgotten part of the city sits a forgotten little park. At night it is deserted and is nearly silent except for the occasional frog or mosquito sound. At the center of this park is a once beautiful water fountain that no longer works. On either side of the fountain are light grey stone benches. The park is completely dark, any lights there may have been burnt out long ago and no one has bothered to replace them.

         A man known as Phantom walks through the park in the darkness, waiting to see if his contact will be waiting for him. For the past month he hasn’t heard from the Valterra, it’s past the time for him to have another job, he can feel himself growing bored and restless. He feels an odd mixture of dread and relief when he sees a woman sitting on a bench waiting for him. Phantom eases down on the bench next to her.
         “You’ve got a problem.” The woman says not turning to look at him.
         “What kind of problem?” Even as he asks he has a feeling he knows.
         “Reyes is in federal prison… he’s about to make a deal to save his hide.” Clearly she’s disgusted that Reyes would so easily betray the cause.
         Phantom understands perfectly, what is the point of working a job if you don’t survive it.
         “He’s going to tell the F.B.I everything he knows.” Sensing the news does not have the desired effect on Phantom she adds, “He knows about you. He can give the F.B.I enough to find and bring you in.” She glances at him for a second, “Are you willing to take that risk?”
         He stares at the distant lights, “I’ll take care of it.” He says getting to his feet.
         “He’s in maximum security federal prison. How do you expect to take care of it?”
         “There’s a reason I’m called Phantom.” He glares at her, “I told you I’d take care of it.” He snaps, annoyed that she’s implying he can’t do it, and because he feels he’s being forced into it. He leaves, disappearing into the shadows.

         Special agent David Booker of the F.B.I turns off his desk lamp and stands, looking forward to going home after such a long day. Even though he’s only been working for the F.B.I for a week, he already feels like there is more work than hours in a day. As he shrugs into his coat Chris Dobbin, his partner, comes hurrying over to him. Booker sees Dobbin clicking the pen in his hand on and off, something he does when worried or frustrated.
         “I’m going to need you a bit longer.” Dobbin says quickly.
         Booker glances at his watch, eight. He sighs, knowing his girlfriend Ellenor is home now, waiting for him and he’s already running late. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” He asks, mildly hoping it is just more paperwork.
         “We’ve got a criminal who wants to give us information. He claims to know who is responsible for several killings, including that judge.” Dobbin’s hazel eyes study Booker carefully before adding, “He also claims that he’ll be dead by morning so we have to go now.”
         Booker nods, “Ok…” He begins trudging alongside his partner.
         “Hey Booker.”
         Booker looks up at his friend.
         “If your girl gets mad at you for this, blame me.” Dobbin says with a wink.
         Booker smiles weakly, “Thanks.” He doubts that would solve the problem. As they walk through the dark parking lot Booker’s mind starts to wander, it’s been a very long week and there’s a lot of things for him to sort out. It is several minutes before he realizes Dobbin has been speaking to him. “I’m sorry, what was the question?” He asks caught off guard and embarrassed.
         Dobbin glances at him sidelong but decides to say nothing about Booker’s wandering thoughts, “This guy’s in max security for two reasons. First, there’s a high risk of him escaping…”
         “And the second?”
         “The folks upstairs think there’s a high risk of him getting killed.”
         Booker opens the car door, “Sounds like whatever he knows is important.”
         Dobbin pauses in getting in the car, “Let’s hope so… we can’t have any more dead ends.”

         Phantom stands in the nearly empty parking lot, looking at the large prison. It has high, ten foot tall razor wire fences, as well as guard towers all along the fence line. There are two gates, one for visitors and other cars, and a second larger one for delivery trucks on the opposite side of the prison. The target could be anywhere in there. I hate this; going in blind. I need more time. There is no more time by this time tomorrow he’ll have talked. Despite his apprehension he starts towards the prison. Thankfully, prisons have a flaw, they are made to keep people in, not out, there is their weakness. Getting in will be the easy part. He thinks as he ghosts, becoming invisible except in the brightest light. Instantly the accustomed retching comes, but after many long years of practice he prevents it. Fading from sight like this with his ability always makes him feel nauseated but right now it is the only way he can get in, the whole world seems to be like the old black and white movies, everything has that feeling of having a high fever.

         He hears a delivery truck coming down the gravel service road to the gate. Quickly Phantom jumps on as the truck hits a bump to mask his own sound then climes onto the roof. Once the truck passes security and is in the prison Phantom follows a guard inside. Phantom is sure that Reyes will be in isolation, to prevent Reyes from getting killed as well as perhaps killing another prisoner.

         He moves down the hall, searching for Reyes’s cell. As two guards come along the walkway Phantom hears them talking. Silently Phantom backs into a corner to remain unknown. Hearing Reyes’s name mentioned Phantom listens more carefully.
         “The F.B.I must really want to hear what he has to say if they’re coming down here at this hour.” The man says with a yawn.
         The second, younger man shrugs, “He’s only trying to save his own skin… I bet he doesn’t even know anything.”
         “All I know is the warden wants us to make sure this slime ball doesn’t get killed before the feds get to him.”
         Phantom smirks at his good luck, these two men will lead him right to Reyes. He follows behind the guards unseen as they wind their way through the prison to the solitary confinement block. The two men stop in front of one of the cells and their conversation slowly drifts to a stop. Phantom remains hidden in the shadows nearby, waiting until the guards are distracted even for a second. His chance comes when one of the guards has a coughing fit. Phantom rushes at them, dropping his ghosting he grabs the older of the two and snaps his neck. The second turns to run, before he hardly goes three steps Phantom tackles him. The guard reaches for his radio to call for help. Quickly Phantom breaks the man’s grip on the radio and snaps his neck as well. Within just a few seconds both guards lay dead on the cold gray floor.

         Phantom drags the bodies to the security camera’s blind spot just as the camera passes where the guards had been. He knows there’s not much time before the guard watching the cameras notices something is wrong. Phantom waits until the camera turns away again and grabbing the keys unlocks the cell door. He shifts and slams open the door. Reyes has just enough a few seconds to stare in terror at the seven foot tall black Werewolf before Phantom rushes in and shoves two sets of razor sharp claws into Reyes’ vital organs. In another few seconds Phantom is out of the cell and quickly ghosts before anyone can see him.

         Silently he moves down the halls as quickly as he can, taking advantage of the few seconds before the alarm is sounded. Just as he gets out of that cellblock the alarm begins to scream it’s warning. Instantly the halls come alive, swarming with guards. Phantom stays as close as possible to the wall, doing all he can to not run into a guard, even his invisibility couldn’t help him then. As he gets closer to his exit he sees two men in suites, he can tell they are not lawyers from the way they act and move. Looking closer he recognizes the older one as special agent Dobbin, the younger one must be his new partner. He reaches a door leading to his exit and glancing around to make sure no one will see, he opens the door and slips inside. Knowing there are no security cameras down this hall he drops his ghosting. Exhausted Phantom forces himself to keep moving through the poorly lit service hall. Behind him he hears a door open then close. Quickly Phantom slips into a dark corner than waits for his pursuer to come closer. A few seconds later he sees that it is the younger F.B.I agent, he’s alone; stupid. As the agent comes to Phantom’s hiding place, he steps out and lands a well-placed blow to the agent’s head.

         Phantom looks down at the F.B.I agent on the ground. Quickly he takes the agent’s gun and dismantles it into several pieces. Something seems vaguely familiar about this agent, Phantom finds the man’s badge and looks at it. Special agent David Booker jr. Now Phantom knows why this man seems familiar. Detective David Booker sr. was assigned several of Phantom’s cases. Phantom smiles at the irony of the whole thing. Knowing his window of opportunity for escape is a small one; Phantom turns and continues down the hall. Once he gets out of the prison and into the fresh night air he feels a sense of relief. Feeling tired from all the ghosting Phantom reaches his SUV and drives to his apartment. It’s a modest studio apartment, with bare white walls and faded blue carpet. Immediately to the left is a very small kitchen after that a bed, on the right a bathroom and a book shelf. Entering apartment he throws his coat on a chair and kicks off his shoes. With the last of his energy he washes the blood from his hands and lying down falls into welcome sleep; satisfied with the night’s work.

         Slowly Booker becomes aware of someone calling his name. He opens his eyes and sees Dobbin and the guard who brought them to the interview room kneeling on the floor next to him. His pounding head feels like it has been hit with a sledgehammer.
         “What do you think you were doing?” Dobbin says angrily, “You can’t just run off like that!”
         “I know.” Booker glances around as he sits up and sees his wallet, badge and dismantled gun on the floor next to him.
         Dobbin’s angry that Booker would act so rashly yet relived Booker is ok. “You’re lucky you didn’t get killed.”
         “I know!” Booker snaps irritated.
         “So, what happened?” Dobbin asks.
         “I’m not entirely sure. I was coming down the hall, it was empty I swear. But then out of nowhere this fist came out at me… it was like a ghost…”
         “Except a ghost couldn’t give someone such a big goose egg on the head.” Dobbin smiles.
         Booker touches the side of his head lightly and winces, that’s going to hurt for a while…
         “Bag that.” Dobbin says pointing to Booker’s gun and other things, “and see if we can get any prints off them.”
         The guard nods.
         Dobbin turns and helps Booker to his feet, “You OK?”
         Booker simply nods, not mentioning the dizziness he feels.
         “Good.”
         “There is security footage that you’ll want to see.” The guard says.
         Silently the two F.B.I agents follow the guard to the security room. They crowd around one of the computers, “Watch carefully.” The guard says before playing the video. Two guards stand outside Reyes’s call, one of them begins to cough. The camera moves away, a few seconds later when it returns both guards are nowhere to be seen.
         “And this…” The guard says pushing another button.
         Reyes lays on the bed in his cell, the door is flung open and a dark shadow appears in the doorway. Suddenly the shadow rushes at Reyes. A second later the cell is empty and Reyes lays dead.

         Booker stares at the screen, a bit unnerved by what he just saw; and more than a little grateful that for whatever reason this efficient killer did not deal with him in the same way.
         “Let’s take a look at the cell.” Dobbin says breaking into Booker’s thoughts.
         The three men walk to Reyes’s cell, as they step inside with the crime scene unit Booker sees Reyes on the floor covered in blood. Looking around more closely Booker sees something metallic on the bed. Grabbing a glove he goes to the bed and sees a single bullet. Slowly Booker picks it up and examines it carefully. On one side is stamped a single word, Phantom. “Dobbs…” he says slowly.
         Dobbin joins Booker.
         “I think he left us a business card.” He says showing Dobbin the bullet. “I guess it was a ghost I met.” Booker says with half a grin.
         Dobbin grabs an evidence bag as Booker places the bullet in it. “Phantom or not, we’re still going to find him.”
         Once the crime scene unit is done and all the paperwork filled out Booker finally drives home. Exhausted he steps through the doorway, down the narrow hall he can see Ellenor sitting on the couch. She looks up at him, brown eyes tired, “You, are late.” She says simply, trying to hide her disappointment.
         “Something important came up…” He says pulling off his suit coat and tie.
         “I’m tired,” she starts heading for the bedroom, “there’s diner in the fridge.”
         “Ellenor, I’m sorry.”
         She says nothing and disappears into the bedroom, leaving Booker alone.

Five years later

         Tired Phantom slowly makes his way through the airport, weaving his way through the sparse groups of people to his SUV. This last job had been a tough one, getting away from law enforcement even harder. As he unlocks the door he is glad that the Valterra won’t give him any jobs for a while, things need to cool down a bit… and the time off would be good. He smiles to himself, not too long ago he hated time off, the busier the better, going from finishing one hit to planning the next. Things are changing now… I’m changing. Getting in he starts the SUV and begins the drive home. He glances at his watch, 12 am. He shakes his head, knowing it will be a late night by the time he gets home. Driving through the familiar streets of the Garden District he reaches a large white plantation home.

         Entering the comfortably decorated house he goes to the master bedroom, careful to not turn on any lights or make any noise. Glancing around the room he sees his wife Emily asleep on the bed. He stands there a moment, admiring the woman he loves. In the darkness she seems as peaceful as an angel. Her long brown hair draping freely across the pillow. He wonders he was ever so lucky to find her, not once, but twice. Silently he pulls off his shoes and throws his coat on a nearby chair.
         Emily turns and glances at him, brown eyes surprised to see him. “Travin, you’re back.” She says brushing her hair out of the way.
         “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He says quietly.
         “It’s ok.” She smiles, “I’m glad you’re back.”
         He crawls into bed next to her, “Me too.” He studies her closely, “You look like there is something you want to tell me.”
         “You always seem able to read my thoughts.” She rests her head on his chest.
         “It’s a talent I have.” He says getting more comfortable, “So, what is it?”
         She falls silent a long moment, as if trying to make up her mind about something. Finally she decides the best thing to do is just come out and say it, “I’m pregnant.”
         The silence that follows seems to last forever. Emily waits; trying to guess what is going through his mind, having kids isn’t something they have talked about much.
         “You’re sure?” Comes the quiet response.
         “Yes. I went to the doctor yesterday.” Travin can hear the uncertainty, the worry in her voice.
         A rare true smile creeps across his face, he kisses the crown of head, “That’s wonderful.”
         She sighs, relieved.
         He puts his arms around her slim waist and pulls her closer to him, “You don’t need to worry. I love you. I want to have a life, a family, with you… I’m not going anywhere.” He reassures her.
         “Thank you.” She closes her eyes and falls asleep again.

         Late one night his phone vibrates wakening him with the news of a text message. Glancing at it he sees a message from the Valterra telling him to meet his contact at Kyle’s bar on Bourbon Street. It’s only been three months. He thinks surprised, normally he has at least six months before he’s given another job. Grumbling to himself he slowly gets out of bed and dresses.
         He leans down and kisses Emily’s cheek, “Something came up. I’ll be back in a little.”
         She nods, only half wake and then falls back asleep.
         Shoving his feet into his shoes he heads out the door and starts the drive to Kyle’s bar.

         Inside the bar is packed full of people, there’s hardly a place available to sit. In the back corner he sees the usual table with only one man sitting at it, and sign reading reserved, his contact. He makes his way through the thick crowd and joins the man sitting there. They sit in silence for a moment before the other man speaks, “David Booker.”
         Travin is not surprised to hear the F.B.I agent’s name but is a little disappointed. In a way he has grown to like him. He wonders what it is that has finally made the Valterra decide to send someone after him. “And?” he asks annoyed that he was brought all the way down here for this when he didn’t have to.
         Ignoring him, the man continues as calmly as if making a grocery list, “After him, make sure to get everyone else.”
         Travin remains silent, despite his disdain for the idea of killing a whole family; it seems well… excessive. “Is that all?” He asks, just wanting to return home.
         The contact nods, as Travin leaves the contact waves a waitress over and orders a drink.

         As soon as the following morning he begins work; one of the first things he does is go to Booker’s home to plant listening bugs. Doing this is simple for someone who has done it so many times before. He waits until Booker, his fiancé and their baby have all left for the day, then unlocking the back door. Stepping inside it becomes obvious that Booker’s family life is in chaos. Dishes are piled high in the sink, stacks of unopened mail are scattered on the coffee and end tables in the family room. Unfolded laundry is in a heap in the corner. The house is in such a mess Travin doubts Booker would even notice if someone had searched the home. He goes to the stacks of mail and slowly flips through it, it’s nearly all bills, a few of them are past due. Most of them are doctor’s and psychologist’s bills. Wondering who would be seeing a psychologist Travin looks closer at the bills, Ellenor Booker. Moving through the house he examines family photos, before joining the F.B.I Booker had been in the Army. Reaching the bedroom Travin finds a small safe, he pulls out what looks like a flashlight and turns it on. The pale blue light shines in the keypad, illuminating finger prints; and the code. He opens the safe, inside are various important documents, the first is a marriage license then a birth certificate for Booker’s son. In a matter of minutes all the rooms and phones have been bugged. The following two months are spent learning as much as he can about Booker; what he likes to do, his work, his family, everything. Travin is constantly surprised at how much one can learn about another person from careful observation. Finally one night he sits in the home across from Booker’s preparing his gear, from the vantage point of the second floor office he has a perfect angle for a shot right into Booker’s family room. He watches Booker’s fiancé, Ellenor, struggling with a six month old little boy who must be a bit sick, it’s not hard to see that both mother and son are having a difficult day. Well, this is one thing you have to look forward to, Travin finds himself thinking.

         Suddenly, Booker’s car comes into sight down the street, he’s earlier than usual. Quickly he moves his rifle into position as Booker parks in the driveway entering the house he greets Ellenor, even without turning on the bugs, Travin has a good idea of what the conversation is. She’s surprised that he’s home so early. He waits for his shot and watches Booker take the baby and tries to help it to stop crying as Ellenor gratefully sinks onto the couch. He has seen that same look of weariness on Emily’s face many times recently. Suddenly in his mind he no longer is watching Booker, Ellenor and their son, but himself, Emily and their yet to be born child. Frustrated that he has allowed himself to be distracted he pushes the thought out of his mind.
         If this where MY wife and kid- again he shoves the unwanted thought away from him.
         This is nothing personal… it’s just a job. He reasons as he aims his weapon on Booker who is now sitting in an arm chair holding his sleeping son close to him.
         How can it NOT be personal? Comes the counter question, you are about to murder not just the man, but his WHOLE family.
{indent}They pose a threat, he thinks, now angrily.
         A school teacher and a six month old kid?! How would it feel if things where reversed?
         Travin swears, I…can’t, won’t, do this. He lowers the rifle, I’m done, I’m out. He sighs, releasing a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

         Somehow things seem different than they did just a moment ago, it’s like having spent your whole life in a foggy day, then suddenly the wind sweeps it away and the sun begins to shine through. Without hesitation he packs all his gear and not looking back leaves the house through a back door. He knows it won’t take long for the Valterra to learn that he has betrayed them it’s not something people usually survive; we have to get away from here.

         Reaching his home Travin hurries inside, trying to think of what to tell Emily, I can’t hide this from her any longer. Inside he sees Emily sitting in her favorite chair near the large window reading. Hearing the door open she looks up, “Travin…” She says surprised to see him back so much earlier than he had told her; then she sees the look on his face, “What’s wrong?”
         He crosses the room and kneels on the floor across from her so they are almost eye level, “There’s something incredibly important that I have to tell you, please don’t say anything until I’m done; it’s hard enough to say.”
         Seeing the grave, worried face of her husband, she simply nods.
         “Every Shifter has heard of the Valterra,”
         Emily shudders.
         “Mostly stories that everyone believes are made up to scare, no one really believes that it exists… well, it does exist. I know because…” He pauses in his rush of words for a moment, “because I am, I was, part of it.”
         She stares at him silently, not knowing what to think or say to this frightening news. “How long?...” finally comes the quiet question.
         He can see the fear in her eyes, the hurt in her face that he would not tell her about something like this. “A while… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you.” He knows that excuses or trying to justify his actions is vain. “I just can’t do it anymore, lie to you, or work for Them. I can’t. So I’m getting out, but They won’t let me… they are going to come after me… after my family.” He falls silent, letting Emily have a moment to sort out everything he just said before he continues, “So you see, we can’t stay here. They know where we live.”

         She nods, “OK then.” She gets up and starts packing some things.
         Travin is a bit surprised at her lack of reaction, that, most likely, will come later. He goes to his small study and pulling a heavy bookshelf out from the wall removes a well hidden panel. Inside the cubby is a backpack containing several sets of ID for him and Emily as well as a large amount of cash. He pulls the bag out and puts the panel and the bookshelf back in place and joins Emily. Within minutes the two of them are leaving the house and down the street.

         Down several blocks Emily finally stops, “I can’t do this.”
         He faces her, knowing that she is not talking about the walk.
         “Why did you lie to me?” The dim light partly shadows her face but it is easy to see the mix of emotion on her face.
         “It was selfish and wrong. And I am so sorry. Please try and somehow forgive me…”
         “Is this why you left me before?”
         He and Emily had been engaged many, many years ago. Then he had gotten involved with the Valterra, one day he realized he had to leave Emily, unable to say goodbye he had left her a letter. He knows it broke her heart, it broke his as well. He nods, “Yes.”
         “We’re going to have to spend the rest of our lives running and hiding now… I can’t do that. I can’t force that kind of life on my child…” Her voice is calm, completely unemotional.
         Travin wishes it wasn’t, it would be so much easier if she was angry with him, or if she showed some kind of emotional reaction; anything but this coldness.
         “I’m sorry.” She takes his hand in one of hers and places her wedding ring in it, “I just can’t do this.” She stops him from responding, “Please, if you've ever cared, don’t try and find me.” She turns and hurries away into the darkness.

         He watches her leave, numbly holding her ring in his calloused hand. He stands there in the dark, heartbroken in a thousand pieces as the woman he loves disappears from sight. You deserve this, a little voice seems to tell him, after lying to her and all the other things you’ve done, you have no right to be happy. You deserve this. After what seems a long moment, Travin reluctantly turns and starts down a narrow alley. Just as full darkness settles on the city he reaches a large, winding apartment complex and lets himself into an empty apartment on the third floor. Glancing around he thinks of how it is a reflection of what his life has become, cold and empty. I have to find her, even if she doesn’t want me in her and the baby’s life, I at least have to know they are OK. In two months she’ll be due, she’ll have to show up at a hospital. I have to try and fix this, I should never have done what I did.  Immediately he calls every contact he has at every hospital in the city, telling them to call him when they see her.

         Emily lays on the hotel room bed, staring at the blank wall. She could have gone to her family to stay for a while, but she couldn’t live with the silent ‘I told you so’s’ from them. They’ve never liked Travin, perhaps they were right to warn me against him. It’s been nearly two months since that night she left him, the baby is due almost at any time and deep inside she’s afraid to raise it alone. At the time she felt leaving Travin was the best thing, but now she is unsure. She misses having his arms around her, how safe he made her feel. If only I could find him again, she thinks, knowing it will be nearly impossible.

         She brushes the tears away that come, tired of crying, wishing things were different. The painful thought of, it’s my fault, repeats itself in her mind again. If I do ever see him again somehow, I hope he can forgive me. A noise outside in the hall interrupts her thoughts, before she can even react the door to her room is thrown open and a man rushes in and grabs her. She tries to scream as he drags her off the bed but he clamps his hand tightly over her mouth so only a muffled cry is heard. As he drags her down the hall she does everything she can to get free, somehow knowing this man is from the Valterra and that if she doesn’t get free they will never let her live. Despite her struggles the man forces her outside and towards a waiting car. Using all her strength she has left, she slams her head back into the man’s face; for a brief second the man’s grip is loosened and Emily is able to break free. She runs.

         Late one night Booker drives home from work, guiltily he thinks of Ellenor who called him several hours ago to know when he would be home. He could hear the disappointment in her voice when he said it would be late. He knows it’s not fair for her to always be alone taking care of their son. I don’t mean it to happen, it just does. Yet no matter how many times he tells himself that, it doesn’t seem to help. Turning down a nearly deserted side street he sees a woman franticly running toward the street, or at least trying to run, Booker notices that she is very much pregnant. Booker starts to slow his car to find out what’s wrong when a man suddenly comes up behind the woman and grabs her, hitting her hard.  Booker slams on the breaks as she struggles to get away the man hits her again. Booker jumps out of his car “Stop!” The woman makes another break for freedom, but this time the man hits her hard enough that her body goes limp. The man looks at Booker, pulls a gun and fires two quick shots.
         “F.B.I! Put your gun down!” He draws his own weapon.
         The man answers by shooting at Booker again. The man seems to realize he won’t be able to escape dragging the woman along. He shoves her to the ground, in the split second he does, Booker fires, wounding him.

         As the man turns to run, he fires a quick shot at the woman then runs into the night. Booker runs to the woman, suddenly her brown eyes open wide as he leans over to see if she is alive. She grabs his suit coat lapel in a surprisingly strong grip, “Who are you?” She demands through obviously in great pain.
         “I’m, I’m agent David Booker, with the F.B.I.”
         “Well, agent,” she gasps in pain, “agent Booker, you better get an ambulance here because the baby’s coming…” Her voice trails off and her eyes close. Booker swears and calls an ambulance. Quickly he takes his jacket off and uses it to slow the bleeding in her shoulder where she was shot. The ambulance seems to take forever to arrive, yet Booker knows it couldn’t have been long in reality. In seconds the team loads the woman into the ambulance. “I’m coming behind.” Booker says as the back doors are closed.
         
         As Booker drives behind the ambulance his mind fills with questions, who is this woman and why would someone want her dead? The questions race through his mind, pushing out all other thoughts, including thoughts of home. He reaches the hospital just after the ambulance, he goes into the large E.R and stops at the counter, “There was a woman just brought in here; where is she?”
         The nurse looks up, “Are you her family?”
         “No, I’m who called the ambulance.” Booker says showing the other man his badge.
         He glances at the badge, “She’s in surgery right now. You can wait over there if you want.” He says pointing to a group of chairs.
         “Thanks.”

         Travin lays on the old, thread bare couch unable to sleep, lost in worries about Emily. The phone rings, he leaps to his feet bounding across the room, answering before the second ring. “Yes?” He says forcing himself to sound calm.
         “The woman’s here at the city hospital.”
         “Good.” He hangs up and rushes out into the late night. In half the time it would normally take he is walking into the hospital. As he enters the E.R he sees Booker sitting in one of the chairs. He goes over to the nurse who called him, “Where is she?”
         “Still with the doctors.”
         Travin nods, “How was she found?” He asks out of a sudden curiosity.
         “That man with the redish hair found her.”
         Booker. “When she comes out, can you delay telling him? I would like a few minutes alone with my wife.”
         “OK.”
         Ignoring Booker Travin sits in one of the chairs and tries to wait calmly. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Booker, silently amused by the twist of fate that has put them both here. If only Booker knew who is sitting not ten feet away, he thinks. Finally a doctor comes over to him, “How is she?”
         “We nearly lost her, but she’ll be fine.”
         He sighs, relieved, “And the baby?”
         “A little girl.”
         “Thank you. Can I see her?”
         The doctor nods.
         He turns and hurries down the hall, reaching Emily’s room he stops, wondering if she will even want to see him.

         Emily lies on the narrow hospital bed, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to come. She knows she should feel relieved, happy, she has a healthy daughter, but all she feels is worry and fear. She realizes the Valterra will not leave her alone, the thought of facing the danger alone scares her; adding to that knowing she will have to raise her child alone is simply too much for her to think about. She closes her eyes and finally lets the tears fall. Unexpectedly she feels a calloused hand take hers, she looks up and sees Travin’s worried face. “I…”
         He stops her, “It’s ok.” As he holds her, the past is forgotten.
         “I am so sorry!” She says.
         “You’re not the one who should apologize.” He kisses her, “I am so sorry, for everything.” He glances down the hall, “there is a choice you need to make though, but no matter what, I’ll understand.”
         She looks at him, brown eyes puzzled.
         “The man who found you, he’s the F.B.I agent leading the search… for me. You can tell him everything when he comes in here, but if you will, please give me a head start.”
         “I can’t lose you again.”
         “There’s no going back. He can protect you.”
         She shakes her head, “I don’t care.”

         Booker reaches the woman’s room and sees a man sitting on a chair quietly talking with her. Seeing Booker the man comes over, Booker, out of habit takes mental note of his height, about six four. Judging from the dark circles under his grey eyes, the man has not gotten much sleep recently. When the man finally speaks, it’s with a soft New Orleans accent, Booker could picture the man on an old plantation, “Can I help you?”
         Booker gets the feeling that for some reason the man does not want him here, “I wanted to make sure she is OK.” He tries to hide the fact that he finds the other man a bit intimidating, something that doesn’t happen to Booker often.
         “She’s fine.”
         “Good… someone I’m sure will come by to talk to her.” As he walks away suddenly he remembers his own waiting family, he hurries to his car, hoping Ellenor won’t be too upset about how late he is.