Hello to everyone reading!
Michelle in Yonkers wrote:
What a terrible way to have to live -- cut off from your former life and all your loved ones. And it must be hard to fake, too -- the college on her transcripts might have been alma mater to one of her colleagues, and 'reminiscing' questions might have been embarrassing.
Cut from this chapter was a line that mentioned how Brisson made certain her alma mater, years attended, and degree/diploma obtained stayed the same--he only changed the name. So she would be able to talk knowledgeably about the school and what it was like when she attended. That wouldn't solve the problem of, "Gee, I can't imagine why I don't remember you.....", but most doctors wouldn't know anything about a nursing school/program. It would be the nurses she'd have to worry about!
How old is he now? 2? Hope she hasn't potty-trained him yet.)
Hah! Philip is 20 months old; he'll turn 2 in October. I gave him one of my kid's birthdays so I could remember it.
The Amy and Jim thing was a tragic waste!
I adored Amy and Jim! That was excellent casting because Maria really came off as a chip off the old block, and I agree that watching Amy learn the truth would have been loads of fun. She would have dealt with it, I'm sure. Valenti certainly did, and so did Philip and Diane (albeit at the last minute, show-wise). I even softened my opinion of Philip when I saw how he dealt with it, and that's saying something.
kj4ever: Roswell was chock full of magnificent characters, wasn't it? Even the minor characters, those we didn't see all the time, never seemed "minor" to me because they were so vivid. Even those who showed up for only a few episodes left a lasting impression. Like Pierce. *shiver* And Langley--he was in only 2 episodes, I think, not even qualifying for the term "few". And those we only saw once--Hal Carver, Betty Osorio, Yvonne White, Dodie and the younger Hal....ah, hell, I'll stop listing names and just say I love'em all!
Misha: I forgot to answer your (e-mail) question about how old Dee was when she got pregnant--sorry! Yes, Dee was 18 when she got pregnant; she turned 19 in August of 1957, just a few months before Philip was born in October of that same year. She wasn't trying to get pregnant--he was a "whoops".
CHAPTER THREE
June 16, 1959, 3:45 p.m.
Columbia Medical Center, New York City
Marie's eyes widened as she realized who was standing in her office, looking exactly the same as he had years ago save for the suit. A moment later he didn't, his features sliding back into those of the man she'd seen earlier at the cemetery. No wonder he'd been staring at her, and thank God he hadn't approached her. Her resulting shock could have attracted attention.
*John?* Marie said as she hastily closed her office door, telepathic speech coming easily even though she hadn't used it in years. *Is that really you? Or.....I should probably call you Jaddo now. But—* She stopped, suddenly realizing there was no way to know if this was indeed the alien she'd spent three years with. What if it wasn't? What if one of the enemy aliens had succeeded where the Army had failed?
*The last time I saw you,* the man said, *you were sprawled on the floor of my cell, having just been slapped by Major Lewis. Corporal Thompson escorted you from the room. I regret that I was unable to defend you. Had I done so...* He paused, his voice having tightened with anger *....had I done so, Major Lewis would have died where he stood.*
Marie sank back on the desk with relief. *It
is you. I....I'm sorry. It just occurred to me that it might not be, that—*
*Don't apologize,* John said firmly. *You were quite right to confirm my identity. It's good to see you are still vigilant.*
*We haven't had to be for a quite awhile now,* Marie said, not at all enjoying the familiar wave of fear that had washed over her at the thought of being discovered. *But never mind about me; what about you? How—* She stopped short.
How are you? didn't seem to cover it, especially after three years of captivity, several near death experiences, and nine years of exile. And that was just on his side of things.
*I am well, thank you,* John said, once again answering her unspoken question. *You appear to have prospered,* he added, inspecting one of her diplomas.
*I'm a doctor now. I guess you could say I became a real healer.*
*Believe me when I say you were always the only real healer in the compound.*
Marie flushed. *Yes...well....is Brivari still....I mean, is he....*
*Alive? Yes. Here? No. We both attended the general's military memorial service, and he felt one funeral was enough for him.*
*What about the rest of you?*
*Malik survived; the rest did not,* John answered. *We've seen nothing of any other enemies since my escape, and the military gave up pursuit almost immediately due to the convenient onset of another war. For the moment, we have no hunters.*
*Good,* Marie said, privately noting that the Korean war had certainly started at an advantageous time, diverting the military's attention from their escaped prisoner. Her only regret was that she hadn't been available to help; the Army could certainly have used more nurses overseas.
*And what of the captain?* John asked.
*Steven works here too,* Marie said. *He's head of security. We married years ago.*
*Of course you did,* John said, as though that were obvious. *You did an excellent job altering your appearance, lieutenant. It took me a minute to discern if it was really you.*
* 'A' minute? Doesn't sound like I did such a good job."
John smiled faintly, taking a seat on the corner of her desk. *For one whose life revolves around visual subterfuge, a minute is a very long time indeed. Was it difficult for you to adjust?*
Very, Marie thought, passing a hand over her very short, very dark hair. She'd braced herself when she'd had it cut and colored, certain it would be awful, but unable to think of any other way of drastically changing her appearance except for the dark eyeglasses she wore. *It was a while before I could recognize myself in a mirror,* she admitted. *Was it hard for you when you could finally change your shape again?*
John's eyes drifted away and he didn't answer, giving her the distinct impression she'd touched a very raw nerve. How much of him was still whole after what had happened? Granted, there were plenty of prisoners who had been held captive much longer than three years. But John had been captive in body as well as place, unable to do what his kind took for granted: Change his shape. He had once likened that to her being unable to walk, and she couldn't help but wonder how she would have fared if she'd been held captive in a wheelchair for three years. Was it even possible to emerge from such an experience unscathed?
*I have an idea,* Marie suggested gently. *Why don't we go for a walk?*
John's eyes returned to hers. *A walk?*
*Yes, a walk. We were always stuck in one room. We never had a chance to take a walk together. It's a nice day out. Would you like to see some of the university?*
Five minutes later the two of them stepped from the relative cool of Marie's building into the hot New York sunshine. Claire hadn't managed to reach Steven, so Marie had told her to direct him to the grassy lawn that served as a courtyard between buildings, hoping he'd be able to catch up with them. They walked for several minutes in silence punctuated by the noise of traffic and the general din of a large city.
*So what should I call you now?* Marie asked at length.
*What you always have,* John answered, *although I imagine the same can't be said for you.*
*I'm 'Marie' now. That was my middle name: Yvonne Marie White.*
* 'Middle name'?* John echoed. "Gracious, I thought having two names was confusing. Does everyone have three?*
*Most people do.*
*Whatever for?*
Marie smiled; he certainly sounded like the same old John, impatient with anything he considered excessive and impractical. *It's tradition, I think. Our first names tell who we are, our last names tell who our parents were, and our middle names...well, I don't really know where those came from.*
*Obviously from one who had too much time on their hands,* John said dryly. *And what is the captain's pseudonym?*
*He's still Steven, just spelled with a 'v' instead of a 'ph'. And our last name is a very common name, making it harder to trace.*
*Good thinking,* John said.
*Sergeant Brisson's thinking,* Marie clarified. *He made up a full set of papers with our false names for both Steven and me. Without those, we'd still be in hiding.* She paused, an old regret creeping back. *Without those, Brisson might still be alive.*
*It was my understanding that Pierce killed Brisson over more than mere false identification.*
*I know,* Marie sighed. *I just meant that he was so bent on keeping me away from Pierce that he wound up in the line of fire.*
*You blame yourself for his death?*
*Of course I do,* Marie said, annoyed as always at John's way of coming right to the point. *If it weren't for me, he wouldn't be dead.*
*Correction—if it weren't for
Pierce, he wouldn't be dead. My Ward died in an attempt to protect his king. Is his death the king's fault, or the fault of the usurper who attacked?*
*You can pretty it up any way you want, and I'll still feel responsible,* Marie argued.
*And you shouldn't,* John countered. *Those of us responsible for the protection of others accept death as a possible outcome. Captain Spade did. So did General Ramey.*
*How did you know the general had passed away?* Marie asked, eager to change the subject.
* 'Passed away'?* John repeated. *What an interesting euphemism. But to answer your question, I spend a great deal of time at the base.*
*Why would you want to go back there?*
*Because I'm looking for someone, lieutenant, someone who has so far escaped me.* He paused. *Do you know where he is?*
Marie stiffened slightly, needing no clarification as to whom John was referring. *No. I haven't heard anything about Pierce since we ran.*
*Nor have I,* John said. *Your 'country' is quite large, and I have only managed to canvass about a third of it so far.*
*Why are you looking for Pierce?* Marie asked uncomfortably.
*Why do you think?*
Marie stopped abruptly, certain that a long held suspicion was about to be confirmed. *You killed Cavitt didn't you? Oh, I know it was supposed to be a suicide,* she continued when John raised his eyebrows, *but you and I both know Cavitt would never kill himself. He was much too arrogant to think he'd fail. It was you, wasn't it?*
*I would dearly love to take credit for the Colonel's death,* John answered, *but I can't. I did go to his cell that night for the express purpose of killing him, but I'm afraid the colonel's heart simply couldn't take it. He died of fright much too quickly for my taste.*
Marie blinked. *Are you kidding?*
*I wish I were,* John said bluntly. *Although I enjoyed his terror, Cavitt deserved much worse than he got, and I intend to see that Pierce doesn't enjoy a similar reprieve. Do you have any idea how I would locate him?*
*Why would you think I would know how to locate him?*
*Because I note from the testimonial on your wall that you have studied the same substrate of healing as Pierce,* John answered. * 'Neurology', I believe it's called. I am also given to understand that there are few 'neurologists', so it stands to reason that one could locate another without too much difficulty.*
*So you want me to find him for you so you can kill him?*
*Of course.*
*John, I can't do that!* Marie exclaimed.
*Why not?*
*Because....because it's like sending a hit man. Like hiring someone to do him in.*
*Are you saying you would object to his death?*
*I object to anyone's death,* Marie said.
*Even if they pose a threat not only to yourself, but to others? Pierce nearly killed you, and you know perfectly well he's likely out there as we speak doing to others exactly what he did to you.*
*He can't,* Marie countered. *Brisson and I destroyed the cells, remember?*
*That will not stop him, and you know it,* John pressed. *Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't sleep better at night knowing he was no longer a threat to you or anyone else.*
Marie felt John's eyes boring into her as she kept her gaze on the ground. *Of course I would sleep better,* she admitted. *Who wouldn't? But if I were to find him and send someone to kill him, I'd be acting just like he did.*
*Nonsense,* John scoffed. *There is no possible way that the removal of an dangerous enemy compares to the systematic abuse both Pierce and Cavitt practiced. There is no shame in protecting oneself.*
*You're not 'protecting yourself',* Marie pointed out. *This is revenge, pure and simple.*
*And there is no shame in taking revenge on one who has tortured you, or in deriving pleasure from it, for that matter. Pierce and Cavitt certainly enjoyed themselves enormously at my expense.*
*Which brings me back to my original point,* Marie argued. *It does us no good to become that which we hate.*
*But it does us plenty of good to remove a monster,* John countered. *What possible good would come from keeping Pierce alive to inflict himself on others?*
What indeed? Marie thought, privately agreeing with John....and feeling guilty for doing so. Pierce was a menace, there was no denying that. But to simply take his life, to act like that was her decision to make....how was that any different from the way Pierce had used her, used John, used anyone with whom he had come into contact? She had been a nurse and was now a doctor; her instinct and responsibility was to repair, not destroy. As much as she'd love to know Pierce was no longer a threat, she didn't want the responsibility that came from actually participating in the taking of a life. She'd rejoice more than anyone if he were to be hit by a bus, but to actually steer that bus.....
*I apologize,* John said softly, breaking into her thoughts. *I've upset you, and that's not what I came for.*
*No,* Marie sighed. *You came to find Pierce.*
*And to see you again,* he added. *The one does not invalidate the other.*
They stood facing each other in the middle of the campus lawn for several long seconds before John spoke again. *It was good to see you again, lieutenant. I'm glad to learn that you and the captain are prospering, and I'm certain Brivari will be also.*
*It was good to see you too,* Marie said sincerely. *We always wondered what happened to you.*
*Perhaps I can return sometime and see the captain,* John continued. *And you can show me around 'New York'. It's quite a sight, though a bit loud for my tastes. Tell me, is there an 'Old York'?*
*No,* Marie laughed. *Well....I guess so. 'New' York was named after the city of York in another country called England."
*Ah. That makes more sense than some of the other place names I've come upon.* He paused, looking out over the campus. *If you should ever need to reach me, you can do so by contacting the family of the child who made that drawing which hangs on your wall. Just in case you ever come across any information you think I might find....useful.*
Marie's face clouded. *Right,* she said quietly. *Just in case.*
John nodded. *Goodbye, lieutenant. And good luck.*
*You too,* Marie whispered, watching him walk away, wondering where he was going next.
Probably looking for Pierce, she thought sadly. He'd spent nine years scouring the country for him and hadn't found him. That told her that Pierce had gone very far underground indeed. Still, the national pool of neurologists was very small. If she really wanted to....if she put her mind to it.....
No, she thought fiercely, pushing the thought away. She and John had disagreed on many subjects; this was just one more. She wasn't like that. She wasn't going to let revenge consume her. Let him hunt all he wanted, and leave her out of it.
"Yvonne?"
For the second time that day, Marie froze in terror at the sound of her real name, dark thoughts of Pierce filling her head. But it was only Steven, looking concerned when he saw the look on her face. "Don't call me that!" she admonished. "I told you never to call me that in public!"
"I'd hardly call this 'public'," Steven said. "We're all alone in the middle of a huge lawn."
"Still, I....just don't call me that," she finished in a whisper. "Just don't. Not ever. Not even in private."
"Okay," he said soothingly. "I'm sorry. Why are you so upset? I got here as fast as I could, but....is this about that guy you were talking to? Who was that?"
Marie looked off into the distance where John was only just visible. "You're not going to believe this."
******************************************************
5:00 p.m.
Proctor residence
"Can I help with dinner?" Dee asked, coming into the kitchen.
"No," Emily said shortly, her knife flying through the onion. "I can handle it."
"Well, how about if I set the table?"
"Already done."
Dee hesitated in the doorway, uncertain of how or whether to continue. Emily had been short and sullen for the rest of the afternoon after Dee had gotten angry about the bottle of juice she'd tried to give Philip, avoiding conversation and answering questions in clipped tones. Anthony had prevailed upon Dee to make a gesture of conciliation while Philip was napping by offering to help with dinner, but it seemed that was going nowhere.
"Is that a pot roast?" Dee asked, cracking open the oven door.
"Close the oven, Deanna," her mother ordered. "It won't cook evenly if the temperature keeps going up and down."
"Always does when I cook it," Dee observed.
"Have you ever cooked a pot roast? You're up there in that apartment, trying to go to school and raise a child. When would you cook?"
Dee straightened up, taking a moment to restructure what would have been a sharp retort. "This might surprise you, Mama, but Anthony and Philip and I actually eat in Albuquerque. Real food, that is, not just macaroni and cheese or Spam. And I'm not 'trying' to go to school and raise a child, I
am going to school and raising a child. Why does that bother you so much?"
"Because it's not right," Emily said. "Women in my day didn't go to school when they had children, or even have a job. Our children were our job."
"Except during the war," Dee reminded her, "when lots of women went to work to the do the jobs men couldn't do because they were overseas. And lo and behold, the country didn't fall apart."
"Many of those women were delighted to be back home after the war ended," Emily said.
"And many weren't. Just because I'm not doing it the way you did doesn't mean my way is wrong."
Emily stopped chopping and stared at her. "This isn't about you, it's about your son! Look at him! You're trying to make him grow up too fast for your own convenience."
"What on earth are you talking about?" Dee demanded.
"Well, let's see, which of the dozens of available examples should I pick?" her mother said sarcastically. "Let's start with this cup business. You never touched a cup until you were almost three, and then you go and act all huffy when I offer my own grandson a bottle."
"Philip has no problem drinking out of a cup, and bottles are a pain to clean and sterilize," Dee said, struggling to keep her temper.
"But this afternoon, he
wanted that bottle," Emily pointed out.
"Of course he 'wanted' that bottle, Mama. Bottles are easier. I don't recall you always letting me take the easy way out of anything."
"That wasn't hard," Emily said with a touch of asperity. "You never did anything the easy way."
"I certainly come by that honestly," Dee said bitterly.
Emily set the knife down with a sigh. "I don't want to argue with you, Dee. I just want what's best for Philip."
"And what's best for Philip appears to be some other mother, some perfect mother who does everything exactly the way you did," Dee retorted. "Which is really odd, Mama, because of all the ways I'd describe you when I was growing up, 'perfect' isn't one of them."
Dee spun on her heel and marched furiously out of the kitchen, but not before she'd seen her mother's shoulders stiffen.
Good, she thought sourly. Let her see what if felt like to be found wanting. She let the screen door close with a bang and plopped herself in one of the porch rockers, closing her eyes as a welcome breeze stirred the hot summer air outside.
"I was given to understand that 'fireworks' occur during the month following this one," a dry voice said nearby.
Dee's eyes flew open to find Brivari leaning against the porch railing. "You heard that?" she asked self-consciously, shifting in her chair.
"I'm not the only one," Brivari noted, nodding toward Rose Brazel, who was tending flowers in her front yard and casting uncomfortable glances toward the Proctor's house. "You and your mother have voices that, shall we say, 'carry'."
"In other words, we're loud," Dee translated.
"I was being tactful," Brivari said, taking a seat beside her. "Welcome home, by the way. How was your journey?"
"Fine, until I saw Mama," Dee said darkly. "Malik was at the bus station. What's this I hear about you still living in caves?"
"Malik exaggerates. I don't 'live in caves', I merely visit people who have a cave nearby."
"Malik has an apartment," Dee pointed out. "Why would you spend your life 'visiting' when you could get a place of your own?"
"And why would you return to a home where you're so unhappy?"
Dee looked away. "So now you're an expert on mother-daughter conflict?"
"No. I'm an expert on power struggles, which is exactly what you have here."
Dee snorted softly. "Right. As in my mother is struggling for power. According to her, I never do anything right because everything should be done
her way."
"And if you want to change that behavior, you'll need to get to the root of it. Why do you think she behaves that way?"
"Because she likes to run things," Dee said flatly. "Why else?"
"Look deeper."
Dee shot Brivari an annoyed glance. He was starting to sound like a school teacher, or perhaps one of those prissy pre-med students eyeing psychiatry. "If you have something to say, stop beating around the bush, and say it."
Brivari smiled faintly. "My goodness, but you remind me of him. So impatient."
"Him who?"
"Never mind. My point is that the desire for conformity, for others to make the same decisions we have made, is really an expression of fear."
"Fear?" Dee repeated blankly. "You think my mother is afraid of me?"
"Not you personally, but what you represent. You are her child, yet you are no longer a child. She may fear you don't need her any more. And whenever you make a different decision than she made, that forces her to reassess her own decisions, reminds her that she could have made other choices...and makes her wonder if she should have."
"So....you think Mama is second-guessing herself?" Dee said slowly. "Why would she do that?"
"I have lived longer than you ever will," Brivari said, "and believe me when I say that I still 'second-guess' many of my own decisions."
"What for? What's done is done. What's to be gained from rehashing it?"
"Very little," Brivari admitted, "although that doesn't seem to stop the process for any species."
Dee considered this for a moment, then shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. Mama sounds perfectly sure of herself. She's just picking on my decisions and trying to get me to do what she did."
"Of course she is," Brivari said calmly. "Seeing others copy us validates our own choices and makes us feel we did the right thing, while seeing others choose otherwise makes us question ourselves. But I'm repeating myself."
"So what good does this psychoanalysis do me?" Dee said with a touch of impatience. "She's still treating me like a child."
"Naturally. You're acting like one."
Dee's eyebrows rose. "Thanks for the support," she said sourly.
"You have to stop losing your temper," Brivari continued, ignoring her. "Your mother is having difficulty accepting the fact that her child has
become a mother. Every time you argue with her, that vision of you as a child is reinforced."
"So what
do I do, then?" Dee asked in exasperation. "Just let her do whatever she wants?"
"Of course not. You state your position calmly, and you do not argue. You do not offer explanations beyond the most perfunctory, debate the merits of your choice, or weigh other options. Doing so sounds like you're trying to defend your decision, which in turn sounds like you feel there is good reason to question it and invites further questioning. You must strive to sound confident, not defensive. A defensive posture is, by definition, a weak posture."
Dee swung a leg back and forth, watching Mrs. Brazel work on her roses, loathe to admit that Brivari was making sense. She
had been doing nothing but defending, explaining, backing away even as her mother advanced further into her territory. "Is that the same advice you gave your king?" she asked.
"Many times. Too many, perhaps."
"Was he as young as Queen Elizabeth when he took the throne?"
"For an Antarian," Brivari nodded. "Although I must say he did not possess her presence and sense of certainty, both of which she has in abundance."
Dee smiled, recalling how Brivari had followed the career of Britain's current monarch with keen interest, reading every newspaper item about her and watching her coronation on television with great relish. "Did the king fight with his parents?" she asked.
Brivari shook his head. "No. He fought with
me. His parents doted on him, and his father left the teaching of statecraft to me. Believe me, he did me no favors."
"Because he was like me," Dee said.
"In some ways," Brivari allowed. "He had a temper too, although he held it more tightly. A bit too tightly, in my opinion."
Dee rocked her chair, imagining a young king on another planet trying, and failing, to win Brivari's approval much the same way she was failing to win her mother's. "I need to get out of the house," she said, "and I know you certainly need to get out of your cave, or wherever you're living at the moment. Malik told me they're filming a movie in Roswell about aliens. Want to go check it out?"
Brivari gave her a skeptical look. "And why would I want to do that?"
"Because it'll be fun!" Dee said mischievously, some of her good humor returning. "Just think of all the laughs we could have. And word is they'll be hiring all sorts of townspeople for different jobs. You could get a job as an advisor on all things alien."
"And then my life will be complete," Brivari deadpanned.
"Oh, come on," Dee coaxed. "Philip would love to walk around downtown. Besides, Anthony will be busy working on the observatory and Daddy will be at work, so I'll be alone with Mama. I can't stay here all the time, or I'll strangle her. If she doesn't strangle me first, that is. What do you say?"
"Perhaps," Brivari said noncommittally.
"Dinner!" Emily called from inside.
"Maybe you could stay for dinner and work some of your magic with Mama," Dee said as she climbed out of her chair.
"Dinner, perhaps," Brivari answered. "But this particular scuffle is yours."
"Actually it's Mama's. She started it."
Brivari smiled and shook his head as he followed her inside. "I once advised a young man that if he wanted others to view him as a king, he needed to act like a king. Likewise, if you want others to view you as an adult, you will need to act like one. If your mother has started something you do not wish to continue, put a stop to it. That's what an adult would do."
******************************************************
New York City
"I cannot for the life of me understand why you wouldn't want to help him find Pierce," Steven declared. "I only wish I'd been there. I'd have seriously considered packing my bags and joining him."
Marie pushed her dinner plate away with a sigh, her appetite gone. Steven had been fretting ever since he'd found out John had reappeared. Fretting because he'd missed him. Fretting because she hadn't asked all the questions he would have asked had he been there. Fretting because John had offered something Steven very much wanted....and she had turned him down.
"Why not nose around a bit?" Steven was saying. "It's not like the country is overrun with neurologists. You know he didn't just retire and take up golf, so he must be in the medical community somewhere."
"Steven, I got my M.D. three years ago, and you've never asked me to do this," Marie said in consternation. "Why the sudden interest?"
"Because now I know both Warders are alive and capable of going after him," Steven answered.
"Great," Marie said sourly. "Now you've found a hit man, so now you want to go hunting. Need I remind you that
you had a fit when I decided to go into neurology precisely because it was such a small field and you were afraid I'd stick out like a sore thumb? How much do you think I'll stick out if I trot around asking about Pierce?"
"You wouldn't ask about him directly. Ask about secret projects, about what the Nazi doctors that were given asylum are up to now, things like that."
"Right," Marie said dryly. "Because everyone asks about secret projects and Nazi doctors. Of course they do."
"Very funny," Steven said. "You know what I mean; go at it sideways, and you'd find him."
"And then what?"
"And then we let John know where he is, and he'll take care of it."
" 'Take care of it'?" Marie echoed. "Don't you mean 'kill him'? Since when did you belong to the mafia?"
"Since I got tired of hiding," Steven retorted. "Since I saw a chance to stop doing that."
"Steven, we went AWOL!" Marie exclaimed. "We can never stop hiding! Even if Pierce conveniently drops from a heart attack tomorrow, we still can't go back to being who we were."
"Of course not," Steven agreed, "but just think of what a world without Pierce would look like." He reached across their tiny kitchen table and took her hand. "Since we ran, I have lived every single minute of my life in fear that he will find you. That fear has colored everything we do, from where we ran, to where we live, to how and when we contact our families.....
everything. Pierce is far more of a threat than the Army is, and frankly, he deserves anything the aliens want to dish out."
"I'm of no use to Pierce anymore," Marie said gently. "I'm 36 now, much too old for anyone interested in fertility. Besides, he doesn't have anything to experiment with. Brisson and I destroyed it all."
"You mean you
think you destroyed it all," Steven corrected. "Brisson wasn't positive about that, and we can't be either."
"If Pierce were up to something, he would have been caught by now," Marie argued.
"Not necessarily. Look how long he tried with you. When you only get twelve chances a year, nine years isn't as long as it sounds."
"It's over, Steven," Marie insisted. "It's been over for almost a decade. Let John go after Pierce if he wants to, even kill him if he wants to. I won't mourn his passing. But I also won't help commit murder."
"So you won't help do it, but you don't mind if someone else does?" Steven said skeptically. "A bit on the hypocritical side, don't you think?"
"I can't stop John," Marie said.
"Would you if you could?"
Marie pulled her hand away and stared at her plate. "That's not fair."
"Yvonne—"
"
Don't call me that!" she snapped. "I told you never to call me that! It's not safe!"
Steven sat back in his chair and studied her for a moment. "I don't get it," he said at last. "I know it's easier for me because my name is the same, and I know that in the beginning, we both had to get used to using your middle name. But we've long since gotten used to it, and there's absolutely no reason I can't call you Yvonne in the privacy of our own apartment."
"I told you, it's not safe," Marie insisted. "What if you slip up in public?"
"I've never slipped up in public," Steven said. "Why would I do that when I worry every single day that Pierce will find you?"
"You wouldn't do it on purpose," Marie said impatiently, pushing her chair away from the table and emptying her plate into the trash. "It would be an accident, and it could cost us. And besides, there's no reason to call me that because I'm not that person any more."
"What does that mean?"
"Yvonne White was an Army nurse," Marie said. "Marie Johnson is a doctor."
Steven's eyes narrowed. "Do you usually refer to yourself in the third person?"
"I'm done with this ridiculous conversation," Marie said flatly, beginning to clear the table even though Steven wasn't any more finished than she had been. He sat in silence for several minutes, watching her work. She had all the dishes in soapy water before he spoke again.
"So that's how you did it."
"How I did what?" she asked irritably.
"How you stayed sane. I always wondered how somebody could have something like that happen to them and not go mad. John does it by seeking revenge. And you do it my splitting yourself in two. Pierce almost killed Yvonne...but you're not Yvonne any more. You're Marie, someone Pierce hasn't touched. Until today, at least, when you were reminded that he had."
"That's silly," Marie declared. "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about what happened to us at least once. It's not like I could forget."
"Maybe not," Steven allowed. "But you could mentally assign it to someone else....someone named 'Yvonne', maybe.....and just step back from it the way you do with your patients. They taught you not to get too involved. Maybe you applied that same logic to yourself and—"
"Would you please stop talking about me as though I were a patient?" Marie snapped. "I don't have a split personality, I've dealt with what happened, and I'm not going to send someone to kill Pierce. Which is how this conversation started, in case you forgot."
A chair scraped behind her as Steven rose from the table. "You don't remember what happened that night you almost died," he said quietly, "but I do. I remember it like it was yesterday. And if I ever get the chance to take Pierce out or help someone else take him out, I'll do it. I'll do it in a heartbeat, and I'll feel one hell of a lot better afterwards. And so will you, even if you won't admit it. Even if all he's doing now is sitting in a rocking chair with a cup of tea, he's still dangerous....and he always will be."
******************************************************
Somewhere in the United States
"Shit!"
Daniel Pierce peeled off his surgical cap and threw it across the room, narrowly missing one of the nurses, who ducked. Across the table, Dr. Burke stepped back hastily as bodily fluids from the misshapen fetus which had just collapsed ran off the table, narrowly missing his shoes. Alien bodies collapsed into piles of fine dust; this messy lump was the compromise between the alien and human DNA which was this fetus' heritage. He knew they'd get no information from it now. They'd stood at this crossroads before.
"How's the mother?" Burke asked the nurse, who lowered her eyes and shook her head.
Burke looked over at Pierce, who was pacing back and forth with his hands on his hips, then at the rest of the medical team who had been trying to keep the mother alive.
"Give me the room," Burke ordered.
The team filed out, casting uneasy glances in Pierce's direction. Burke waited until the door had closed behind them before stripping off his gloves and surgical mask. "Daniel—"
"I know, I know," Pierce interrupted. "I shouldn't get all upset over what I knew was going to happen anyway. It's just the unpredictability of
when it will happen that's killing me. Last time we had a little over twenty-four hours only to discover something interesting just before it collapsed. This time we knew what to look for, and it collapsed right away. It's maddening, I tell you." He sighed, running a hand through hair that was much grayer than it had been when he'd started years ago. "I will apologize to the team, of course."
"That's not what I was going to say," Burke said. "I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news."
Pierce's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to tell me that they're shutting me down."
"No. But they want fresh blood. New perspectives. They want to expand the team."
"Absolutely not," Pierce said firmly. "Too many cooks spoil the broth. You know that."
"Daniel—"
"I thought I had the board's full support," Pierce interrupted sharply. "That's what you're always telling me, what they're always telling me every time I attend a meeting."
"You do have their support," Burke said soothingly. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't. But you've got to admit that you've put them in a difficult position. When you arrived, your chief goal was to impregnate. It took you six years to perfect that, and when you finally did, when subject after subject began conceiving, subject after subject also began dying."
"Oh, good Lord, this isn't the morals police again, is it?" Pierce snapped.
"Look at her!" Burke ordered, pointing to the mother of the fetus that had just collapsed. "She's dead just like the rest of them!"
"And four years ago, they died much more quickly," Pierce retorted. "Within a week of conception, if not less. Now I can keep them alive for almost three months, and the resulting fetuses are far more developed and far more interesting to study....when they don't collapse in short order, that is," he added bitterly. "The alien told me their bodies disintegrated precisely so they couldn't be studied. I'd like to find whoever did that and wring whatever he has that passes for a neck."
"What makes you think it was a 'he'?" Burke asked dryly as he pulled off his cap. "I know you've made great strides, and the board knows that too. But the fact remains that every single mother winds up dead. That's an awful lot of patients we have to invent a cause of death for, and frankly, the sheer numbers are beginning to draw the attention of the state. They're sending a regulatory delegation a week from tomorrow to audit our procedures, so we're going to have to hide any trace of what we're doing here and make certain we're all on the same page as to how these women died."
"Like the state would wear widow's weeds over the deaths of some mental patients," Pierce grumbled. "On the contrary, they're probably pouring champagne and congratulating themselves on having fewer inmates to feed and house. In private, of course."
"Whatever their true feelings, the fact remains that they can shut us down," Burke said firmly. "Let's not give them a reason to. Then we can both go back to what we do in private, be it toasting or experimenting. We have no more subjects pregnant at the moment, so we need to lock this project up tight until after the regulators leave. And while you're enjoying your vacation, we can discuss who else we're going to bring on board."
"I said no one," Pierce reminded him. "I'll not have—"
"Daniel, you either accept new members on the team, or the board will shut you down."
Burke winced as Pierce gave the stretcher holding the dead mother a savage kick; it jerked sideways, the mother's arm falling off with an IV line still attached. "Damn it, Joshua! What if one of those new members suffers a sudden attack of soft-heartedness? Doesn't the board care that bringing in strangers will make us vulnerable to exposure?"
"We're already vulnerable to exposure," Burke said. "The regulators, remember? There's no guarantee they're going to buy the notion that dozens of our inmates have fallen down stairs, suffered heart attacks, committed suicide, or whatever we come up with. Besides, we need new ideas. Our German colleague is dead, and the fields of genetics, neurology, and perinatology have all made great strides in the last decade. It can't hurt to have some of those with the most current knowledge contributing."
"That depends on who you had in mind," Pierce said.
Burke hesitated. "The board asked me for a short list three weeks ago, when we first found out about the audit. I called everyone on it earlier today."
"What?" Pierce whispered. "You.....do you mean....you already approached these people? Without consulting me?"
"That was the board's decision," Burke replied. "You wouldn't know any of these people anyway; you must admit you've been out of the conventional research loop for a very long time."
"Jesus H. Christ," Pierce muttered. "And when do
I have the honor of learning who made this exulted list?"
******************************************************
10:45 p.m.
New York City
"Coming to bed?"
Marie glanced over her shoulder at Steven, standing in the bedroom doorway wearing only pajama bottoms. "Later," she said tonelessly.
"You should get some sleep."
"I'm on call, remember? I'll probably just doze in the chair."
She heard footsteps behind her, felt his hands on her arms, bare in her sleeveless nightgown. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For what I said earlier. About....about how you...."
"Forget it," Marie said quickly, not wanting him to repeat it. "We both got a big shock today. It'll take us a while to sort it out."
"Yeah." He squeezed her shoulders. "You're probably right." She felt a gentle kiss on top of her head before the hands disappeared. "Try to get at least some sleep, okay?"
"Okay. Good night."
"I love you," he added.
"I love you too."
Marie waited until the bedroom door had closed before putting her head in her hands and letting out a long shaky breath. She'd been holding herself together ever since their argument, pushing the fear aside until she had a moment to herself to look at it, examine it, see if there was any merit whatsoever to Steven's charge that she had effectively split herself in two in order to stay sane. Much as she hated to admit it, there was a lot of truth to that assertion. The first time she had successfully used her new name, she'd felt like a huge burden had been lifted from her, like she could finally put the past behind her and move on. It was only after she'd become "Marie" that she'd been able to use toothpaste again or keep track of her cycles; prior to that, every tube of toothpaste had reminded her of the drug Pierce had used to knock her out for his "procedures", every mark on a calendar of how Brisson had surreptitiously tracked her periods. Maybe she really had compartmentalized herself. Maybe all that had happened to Yvonne, not Marie. And maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. There were worse ways to keep one's sanity.
The phone rang, it's jangle making her jump.
Good, she thought as she lifted the receiver. Work would be good for her. Anything to take her mind off what had happened today. "Dr. Johnson," she said into the receiver.
"Good evening, doctor," came a man's voice. "This is Dr. Fenton. Did you have a chance to look over that chart I sent you?"
"Dr. Fenton?" Marie repeated in surprise. "I....yes, I saw it. Why?"
"What did you think?" Fenton asked.
Marie paused, uncertain as to where this was going. "Well, the patient has been in a persistent vegetative state for two full years now, so the prospect of recovery is remote. But....certainly you already knew that."
"Of course I knew that," Fenton replied. "I just wanted to make certain we concurred before I brought you in."
"Brought me in where?"
"The hospital. As soon as possible. I've received the most interesting phone call, doctor, and I need to speak to you as soon as possible."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 4 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
I’m just borrowing these wonderful characters to amuse myself. And hopefully you.
.
It keeps some characters we know, or characters who know characters we know, right in front of us. Any little bit helps when we're this far back. But this is the last book where that will be an issue. Our pod squad hatches in Book 5, so then we'll have lots of characters we know. 
