20: Kitchener's Strategy

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <B>20:  Kitchener's Strategy</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id79.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="21: Defensive Maneuvers"><U><B>21:  Defensive Maneuvers</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id80.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="22: Final Showdown"><U><B>22:  Final Showdown</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id81.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="23: The Ceremony"><U><B>23:  The Ceremony</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id82.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="24: Aftermath"><U><B>24:  Aftermath</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id83.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="25: Evil Ever After"><U><B>25:  Evil Ever After</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: Petofi Strikes"><U><B>19:  Petofi Strikes</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U><B>Taking Wooden Nickels</B></U></A></div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>20:  Kitchener's Strategy</B></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      Pounding at the door woke them early the next morning.  "Quentin!  Quentin!"  Jamison was shouting.  Quentin rolled off the bed, looking for his pants, as Beth sat up in alarm.  She reached for her blouse and skirt, and Quentin waited for her to get dressed before he got up and staggered sleepily to the door, pulling it open.  Jamison almost spilled into the room.  He looked terrible:  his face was lined and fish-belly white, his eyes were bloodshot, his new beard was matted down, and his hair stuck up all over.  He looked past Quentin to see Beth sitting up on the bed.  "Aha!  Aha!" he shouted.  "I knew it!"</div> <div>      "Jamison, hush, wouldja please?"  Quentin begged.  "God, you're yelling loud enough to wake the dead."</div> <div>      "Isn't that what you did?" Jamison continued to rave.</div> <div>      "C'mere, you fool, and listen!"  Quentin growled, pulling Jamison into the room.  He'd forgotten his nephew's bad leg and nearly pulled him off balance.  Jamison jerked himself out of his uncle's grip, straightened himself with dignity and limped to the bed.  He still had that ugly, hip swinging gait, and it hurt Quentin to see him walk.</div> <div>      Jamison nodded politely to Beth before turning his back on her to sit on the bed.  He sat, folding his arms on his chest.  "You want to explain yourself?"  Behind him, Beth put her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh.</div> <div>      Quentin felt the corners of his own mouth twitching.  "Explain?  You mean Beth's ghost?"  At the expression on Jamison's face, he couldn't stop himself from laughing.  "I'm sorry, Jamison.  She's not a ghost.  She's as real and alive as you or me.  Are you sober enough to listen?"</div> <div>      "Relatively," Jamison answered, glancing over his shoulder at Beth.  She put her hands down and smiled at him.  He shuddered and looked back at Quentin.  "How did you do it?"</div> <div>      "I didn't do anything.  She was reincarnated.  I met her in Chicago--her name really is Kristin Ryan.  It's just that I recognized her, and she remembered some things, and so we had her hypnotized--" Quentin broke off, realizing how fantastic the story sounded.  He also noticed that Jamison seemed to be angry.  "I know it sounds crazy, Jamison--"</div> <div>      "No, it doesn't, not for you," Jamison replied, sounding nasty.  "You always did manage to get your way, didn't you?"</div> <div>      Quentin was genuinely shocked.  "Excuse me?"</div> <div>      "You heard me," Jamison said bitterly.   "I remember how much you loved Beth.  You used to talk about getting married to her, and now you've done it somehow.  I'm glad for you, but I just want to know how you did it. I have that right, you know."</div> <div>      "But, Jamison, I didn't have anything to do with it," Quentin insisted helplessly.</div> <div>       Jamison looked both tormented and furious.  "Why won't you tell me?  Don't you believe how much I miss Ruth and want her back?"</div> <div>      He heard Beth's sharp intake of breath.  At the same time, he felt as though Jamison had hit him in the pit of the stomach, knocking him breathless.  For a moment, he couldn't speak at all.  Just as he began trying to explain again that he'd had nothing to do with Beth's reincarnation or reappearance, someone began rapping sharply at the cottage door.  He and Jamison continued to stare at each other a moment longer; then Quentin turned to answer the door.</div> <div>      It was Walsh.  "Mr. Scott, Mrs. Billings is waiting in the car.  I've come to take you, Mrs. Scott, and Mr. Collins to the hospital."</div> <div>      Quentin shivered inexplicably.  "What happened, Walsh?"</div> <div>      Walsh swallowed hard, his eyes filling up.  "Apparently Mr. Edward had another stroke over night, sir," he explained.</div> <div>      Quentin backed up, his eyes widening with shock.  "Beth!" he called.  She was right there, grabbing his arm.  "Beth, Edward--"</div> <div>      "I know, darling, I heard.  Go and get your shirt.  I am ready to go," Beth said assuringly, putting her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.</div> <div>      Jamison still sat on the bed, glaring at him resentfully as he came in for his shirt.  "Jamison, pull yourself together," Quentin snapped.  "Didn't you hear?"  He found his shirt on the floor and pulled in on, buttoning it.</div> <div>      "I heard.  I don't have anyone to comfort me when Father goes," Jamison snapped back.  His voice had a whiny quality to it.</div> <div>      "Look, you can't be angry with me for finding Beth.  I didn't do it to hurt you," Quentin said angrily.  "Come on, would you?"</div> <div>      "I don't want to," Jamison said sulkily.  "You go on.  I can't bear to see him like that anyway."</div> <div>      Without intending to, Quentin lashed out, backhanding Jamison hard.  Jamison fell back on the bed, stunned.  Immediately Quentin regretted what he'd done, but he said harshly, "Stop pitying yourself, you baby!  Your father might die, and you need to come and see him!"  When Jamison's eyes filled with tears, he softened instantly, berating himself.  "Jamison, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have done that.  But you need to pull yourself together and come on."  He reached out his hand to help Jamison get up but his nephew slapped it away.</div> <div>      "I don't need your help!" Jamison snapped.  He got up and limped out of the room. Walsh stepped over to him, comb in hand.  He seemed very accustomed to Jamison's grooming habits--or lack thereof--because he not only combed Jamison's hair, he'd also brought a tie to put on him.</div> <div>      They walked down the path to the Rolls Royce.  Walsh opened the back door; Nora was already sitting in the back, her face red and swollen with tears.  Beth immediately climbed in beside her, and Quentin got in too.  Jamison elected to sit in the front with Walsh, who opened the door for him.  To get in, Jamison had to plop onto the seat with his legs hanging out of the car.  Then he had to swing his good leg in and manually pick up and drag the bad one in behind him.</div> <div>      Trying to ease things between them, Quentin asked, "When did you decide to grow the beard, Jamison?"</div> <div>      "When I couldn't stand the sight of the scars anymore!" Jamison snapped back.  Wrong question, Quentin thought, defeated, and gave up on any more conversation.  Beth took his hand and pressed it.</div> <div>      Before they got to the hospital, Quentin leaned forward and said:  "You need to pull off into one of these side streets, Walsh.  Whoever did this to Mr. Edward may be watching the hospital, and the family won't be safe if they see me."</div> <div>      Jamison half turned to him as Walsh pulled off the main street without question.  Nora was also looking at Quentin with a puzzled expression.  "Do you mind explaining what the hell this is all about, Quentin?"</div> <div>      "Do you remember after the accident I told you about meeting an old enemy, Count Petofi?"</div> <div>      "Ah, yes.  That was why you didn't return with us."</div> <div>      "Apparently he's returned--looking for me.  I just want to make sure nothing else happens to any of you."</div> <div>      "That's why you came to Chicago?"  Nora asked.</div> <div>      "Partly--"</div> <div>      Jamison's eyes had narrowed with suspicion.  "Just WHEN did you run into him, Quentin?  WHERE?"</div> <div>      The car had pulled over.  "I can't explain it all now.  I'll tell you later," Quentin said hastily, getting out.  Beth followed him and shut the door.  Walsh drove off with Nora and Jamison.  Quentin grabbed Beth's hand, needing reassurance.  "Beth, if he finds out--"</div> <div>      Beth was patting his hand gently.  "You can't worry about that.  We'll take care of it if we have to, but you mustn't think about that now.  And, Quentin, you must remember that what happened to Ruth was not all your fault.  You have to believe that."</div> <div>      He didn't answer her, but he heard what she said and filed it away for a time he could think about it.  Now he had to concentrate on getting them back into the hospital.  When he and Beth got to the second floor and entered the hall way, they saw a doctor standing with Nora and Jamison.  When he saw them approaching, he stopped talking.  "Perhaps we'd be more comfortable in here," the doctor said and led them to the little waiting room.  Nora was crying again and Jamison's expression was very grim.  Quentin felt alarm building in him again.</div> <div>      The four of them sat, but the doctor continued to stand, his arms crossed over his chest.  "I'm sorry that I can't give you more encouraging news," he said, apparently continuing the conversation he'd had with Jamison and Nora.  Turning to Quentin and Beth, he explained, "I was telling Mr. Collins and Mrs. Billings that the outcome doesn't appear to be very hopeful."</div> <div>      "Why not?"  Quentin demanded.</div> <div>      "Mr. Collins seems to have suffered another severe stroke.  After the first one, he was unable to speak or move on one side, but he was still able to open his eyes and could recognize family members.  He knew who I was.  However, he is in a coma now.  He is not responding to anyone."</div> <div>      "Maybe that's because we haven't been to see him yet," Quentin objected.</div> <div>      "Possible, but doubtful."</div> <div>      "Yes, but possible!"  Quentin insisted.</div> <div>      "Very slightly possible," the doctor said sternly.  "I just want to impress upon you that he is in very critical condition.  Frankly, I don't expect he will survive this stroke."</div> <div>      "No!" Quentin shouted.  Nora cried louder, and Jamison covered his face with his hands.  </div> <div>      Beth put her arms around Quentin.  "Please don't, darling.  It's not helping you to become so upset."  She looked at the doctor.  "May we see him?"</div> <div>      "Of course.  I wouldn't stop any of you from that.  I just want you to be prepared for whatever happens."  The doctor looked at them with compassion.  "I don't want to take away all your hope.  I wanted you to know the truth about Mr. Collins' condition so that you could pray for the best but  also prepare for the worst."</div> <div>      Quentin would have shouted again had Beth not placed a restraining hand on his arm.  As they went down the hall to Edward's room, a nurse came out.  "Only two--" she began, but the doctor interrupted:  "Miss MacGregor, they can all go in and stay as long as they wish.  It doesn't matter."  The nurse shut her mouth and nodded, looking at the family with sympathy.</div> <div>      The room was dimly lit because the shades were still drawn.  Someone--probably the nurse--had raised Edward's bed to help him breathe.  The sound of his labored breating was the only one in the room.  His eyes were closed; the features of his face seemed sunken and his open mouth seemed like the opening to a deep, dark cave.  His chest moved visibly and laboriously with each gasping breath.  "Oh, God, Father!" Jamison cried out.  He turned and staggered away.</div> <div>      Nora approached one side of the bed and picked up one of her father's hands, brining it to her wet cheek.  Quentin had frozen, shocked and frightened.  Beth squeezed his hand and tugged a little.  He let her lead him around to the other side of the bed, where he stood looking at his brother.  Then he took Edward's other hand.</div> <div>      "Father, it's Nora," Edward's daughter said brokenly.  "Father, I'm here."  There was no response at all, and Nora began weeping.</div> <div>      Quentin cleared his throat and tried.  "Edward?  It's Quentin.  We're here with you, brother.  Can you hear me?  Edward?"  There was still no response.  "Edward?  Are you able to hear me?  Can you open your eyes?"  Still no response.  Quentin felt a lump rising in his throat.  "If you can hear me, can you squeeze my hand?" he asked, his voice breaking.  He felt Beth brush his arm and turned to her.  She looked sad and solemn, her own eyes filled with tears.  She shook her head, no.  "I'm not ready," he said brokenly.  He felt Beth put her hand on the small of his back, rubbing small circles on him, and he felt a little comforted.</div> <div>      They stayed all morning.  A nurse brought them hard chairs to sit on. Jamison was unable to bring himself to go into the room at all, and so they went to the waiting room with him to take breaks from time to time. The nurse came in around lunch time and said she'd been given permission to have food brought in to them.  Although the food looked and smelled appealing, it was basically left untouched.  No one felt very much like eating.</div> <div>      "Beth, have you seen very many people like Edward?"  Quentin asked.</div> <div>      She hesitated for a moment, and then answered.  "Before Seamus was killed, I worked in a hospital.  Yes, I did see people like Edward who had had severe strokes like that."</div> <div>      "Did any of them recover?" he asked hopefully.  Jamison and Nora sat forward to listen.</div> <div>      Beth looked at the three of them, her features working with pain and sympathy.  Her eyes filled with tears again and she bowed her head.  "Yes, some of them did," she said finally.  "They were not the same. A few were able to move a little and learned to speak again.  Most of them--they were paralyzed, or they were unable to speak or dress themselves or feed themselves.  Many of them were like little children."  Her tears flowed more freely.  "Quentin, if you are asking me if any of the recovered to the point of wholeness, then the answer is no."</div> <div>      Quentin dropped his face into his hands, thinking, struggling to keep his own tears from flowing.  That was, of course, what he had been hoping to hear.  He'd been hoping Beth would say that yes, some people did recover from such massive strokes to become their old selves again.  The man lying in that room was not his brother anymore.  He felt angry and cheated.  It wasn't fair that this should happen now!  He shut out the sounds of Jamison and Nora, both of them freely weeping in each other's arms.  He felt Beth's arms go around him, rocking him gently.</div> <div>      Edward's tortured breathing continued all through the afternoon.  The doctor came in once to listen to his chest.  Looking at the family, he said with admiration, "He has the heart of a lion."  That statement almost caused Quentin to lose control of himself and cry like Jamison and Nora.  He couldn't do it, though.  He was afraid if he cried, Edward would die.  It made no sense to him and he didn't understand why he felt that way, but he felt it was very important not to break down.  The doctor went away.</div> <div>      The hours passed slowly.  Exhausted, Jamison and Nora had returned to the waiting room.  After they left, Quentin said, "Maybe we should go back to the cottage and get some rest.  It's not helping, just sitting here and waiting."</div> <div>      For a moment, Beth didn't answer.  Then she said, "Quentin, you know he's hanging on because of us."  Hurt, Quentin looked at her and nodded.  She dropped her voice to a whisper.  "He's not able to help us, not anymore. Yet he won't give up because he loves you all so much."</div> <div>      "Beth, don't--" Quentin began, the lump rising in his throat again.  Now he couldn't keep the tears back as he looked down at his helpless brother.</div> <div>      "Help him go, Quentin," Beth whispered.  He looked at her,dismayed.  "Let him go," she urged.  He understood what she was saying, but he didn't think he could do it. "Darling, look at him.  Is this what you want for your brother?"</div> <div>      No.  It wasn't what he wanted at all--especially if it meant that if he woke up Edward would be helpless and like a baby, unable to speak or dress or feed himself.  If only he'd been able to come home while Edward was still strong and vital, if..if..if...but at least he had made peace with his brother.  They knew that they loved each other now. He realized that Beth was right, and the most loving thing he could do now for his brother was to let him go.</div> <div>       He picked up Edward's hand and leaned down to whisper into his ear.  "Edward?  I don't know if you can hear me, big brother.  It's Quentin.  I want to tell you that you don't have to worry about protecting the family.  I am going to do that.  We have a plan to take care of Petofi.  He isn't going to hurt anyone else if I can help it.  Please believe me."</div> <div>      There was still no response.  Quentin had no idea whether or not Edward could hear or understand.  He looked at Beth, and she nodded at him, her eyes shiny with tears.  He struggled to control himself.  When he was sure he could speak again, he leaned over and whispered to Edward again.  "Edward, listen,  when Mama comes or Judith or Carl or Edith, I want you to go with them now."  He stopped, his voice choking.  He had to swallow several times before he could speak again.  "Edward?  Go with them.  If you see them again, squeeze my hand--and then go with them."  Beth had moved behind him and put her arms around him.</div> <div>      "He may have heard you, but he may not be able to respond to you at all," Beth whispered.  "If it helps, my love, I think he heard you."  She felt his body shaking.  "You just have to be strong a little while longer--for his sake."</div> <div>      Nora came into the room with a pale, stricken Walsh.  She looked at Quentin and Beth.  "I thought he might like to see Father before--" she began and stopped.  </div> <div>      Quentin cleared his throat.  "Walsh, you've been with the family for years, haven't you?"</div> <div>      "Over twenty, sir," Walsh answered brokenly, approaching the bed.  He took Edward's hand.  "Sir, I just want you to know it has been my pleasure to be in your employ for all these years.  I will miss you, sir," he said softly, tearfully.  He squeezed Edward's hand.  "Goodbye, Mr. Edward."  He put Edward's hand down, turned and stumbled from the room.</div> <div>      "That was very kind of you, Nora," Beth said softly.  "I'm sure that meant a great deal to him, to be able to say goodbye."</div> <div>      "It's just that I thought of him, sitting in that car, waiting--"  Nora stopped, unable to continue.  The door opened and Jamison limped in.</div> <div>      Jamison took Edward's hand in his.  "I'll say goodbye now, Father," he said softly.  He glared at Quentin.  "I can't stand this waiting anymore."  He put Edward's hand down and gripped the sides of the bed.  "Aren't you glad now that you listened to me, Quentin?  Think of what you missed out on all those years because you were so damn stubborn!  And I want you to think about Ruth--that if it hadn't been for her--" his voice broke.</div> <div>      "Jamison, please!"  Quentin cried, wounded.</div> <div>      "You mustn't do this to Quentin," Beth put in sharply.  "Jamison!  You may grieving, but you must not hurt Quentin.  He's grieving, too, and he's always loved you!  Jamison--"</div> <div>      Jamison didn't respond.  He turned, limping out of the room and slamming the door.  Wide-eyed, Nora took her father's hand.  None of what had just gone on seemed to affect him one way or the other.  Quentin still had Edward's other hand.  With his free hand, he covered his eyes.  Jamison's words had really hurt because there was so much truth in them, and he didn't think he could bear it.</div> <div>      Dinner time came, and they went back to the waiting room to eat a little.  Jamison was gone.  He was probably back at Collinwood, getting drunk, Quentin thought--just as he would've been if he didn't have Beth to hang onto.  "How long do you think we should stay?"  Nora asked.</div> <div>      "I don't know," Beth replied.  "His breathing is very labored, and his coloring isn't good at all.  Still, he may not die today. You heard what the doctor said about his heart. He might go on this way for a long time."</div> <div>      "I'd hate to think he'd end up this way," Quentin groaned, dropping his head into his hands again.</div> <div>      "Poor Father," Nora sighed.  "I don't want him to die, but maybe it would be better..." She stopped, unable to continue.</div> <div>      They decided to go back to the room and stay for another hour or two.  Nora and Quentin each took one of Edward's hands again.  The long sitting was more wearing than physical activity, and all three of them were exhausted.  Quentin could feel himself beginning to doze a little.  He came awake with a sudden start.  He'd felt a slight pressure on his hand.  His movement caused Nora and Beth to sit up.  The slight pressure came again, and he cried out, "He's going!"  Nora kissed her father's cheek, got up, and turned away, covering her face with her hands.</div> <div>      "I love you, Edward," Quentin said brokenly.  He hugged and kissed his brother.  The labored breathing had become hoarser and had a rattling quality to it.  There was one last sighing expiration of breath...and then nothing.  The only sound in the room now was Nora's weeping.  With tears streaming down her face, Beth lightly brushed Edward's forehead with her hand and then placed a gentle kiss on it.  She put one hand on Quentin's back  as he stared down at Edward, too shocked to cry.</div> <div>      Hearing the noise, the doctor opened the door and looked in.  "He's gone," Beth said calmly, almost unnecessarily.  The doctor mouthed the words, "Thank God" at her and quietly shut the door.</div> <bR> <div>      Jamison hadn't returned to the cottage.  Searching, Quentin found a full bottle of brandy that Jamison had left and opened it.  He took a long pull straight from the bottle.  Beth watched silently, concerned, but she didn't say anything.  When he tipped the bottle back again and drank deeply again, she did speak up.  "Quentin, you're going to make yourself sick if you drink that fast."</div> <div>      "Good," he said, like a petulant child.</div> <div>      "Well, speaking as the one who would have to clean up after you, I wouldn't like it if you did," she said mildly.  He glared at her.  She sighed and tried a different tack.  "What are you going to do if you drink that whole thing in five minutes?  Did Jamison leave that many around here?"</div> <div>      "Good thinking, my dear," he said sarcastically.  He did stop gulping the brandy down.  "My love, do you think you could find a couple of glasses around here for us?  So that we can give my brother a proper wake?"</div> <div>      Looking around, Beth found two serviceable glasses.  There was a water pump close to the cottage, the source of drinking water for the guests there.  She went out and used the pump to rinse the glasses, using her blouse to dry them.  Quentin heard her moving around as he sat brooding about the loss of his brother.  He felt anger, resentment, grief, and hatred all rolled up in a roiling mass of emotions.  Somewhere in there was gratitude for Beth's support and love for her as well.  When she handed him the glasses, he poured her a generous amount.  He poured himself a larger amount.</div> <div>      Beth sat down next to him, took a sip from her drink, and then set it down.  "Is that all you  want, my dear?  We can't have a proper wake if that's all you're going to have," Quentin said reprovingly, raising his eyebrows at her.  At the same time, he wondered why he was trying to get her drunk.  What difference did it make?</div> <div>      "I'll have more, don't worry," Beth assured him.  "We can have a wake for your brother even if I am sober.  And I intend to stay sober so that I can take care of you."</div> <div>      "Very noble of you.  You always were a good girl, Beth."</div> <div>      "I don't know how you meant that, but I know you're grieving.  You're not going to make me angry with you, Quentin."</div> <div>      "And why would I do that, anyway?</div> <div>      "To punish yourself for your brother's death."</div> <div>      He snorted.  "I think Dr. Harry Stack Sullivan wanted the wrong person to come take up psychology."</div> <div>      "What are you talking about?"</div> <div>      He told her what Dr. Sullivan had said to him about going back to school.  He'd told her that before, but it seemed such a long time ago.  She remembered when he began to re-tell her.  The funny thing is, he thought, is that she's right.  I was trying to provoke her because of how I feel about Edward dying.  He laughed and told her what he'd been thinking.  </div> <div>      "What's so funny?" she asked, smiling too.</div> <div>      "You understand me better than I do," he explained, laughing harder. Suddenly he stopped, looking bereft.  "They're all gone now.  My parents, my brothers and sisters-I'm the only one left.  I'm alone-except for you, Beth."  He looked at her. "My dear, I am going to get myself very drunk.  You understand, don't you?"</div> <div>      "Yes, and you understand why I am not going to get drunk?  I'm not going to let you hurt yourself or get sick all over yourself and pass out.  I'm going to take care of you tonight."</div> <div>      "Atta girl, Beth," he said appreciatively, taking a long swallow from his glass.  "I don't know what I would do without you."  He looked at her.  "I mean that.  I'm not saying it to get at you."  She smiled at him and nodded.</div> <bR> <div>      Some time in the night, she'd gotten him into bed and had somehow removed his clothes.  He woke up, feeling foggy and confused.  Looking around, he saw the room beginning to grow light.  She was lying on her side beside him, one arm draped over his hips.  He remembered little snippets of the night before.  He remembered talking about Edward to her, but sometimes talking to Edward as well.  He told her everything he remembered about his brother when he was a little boy.   The memories had seemed so much clearer last night.</div> <div>      Beth listened as his mood changed from maudlin sadness to anger and resentment and back to grief again.  He'd found and polished off the rest of the bottle of brandy he'd taken from Jamison.  The last thing he remembered was Beth struggling to hold him up as he sang nursery rhymes.  He insisted she sing "Twinkle, twinkle little star" with him, and she promised she would if he would walk with her to the bedroom. After she'd struggled to get him onto the bed, he'd pulled her down and tried to make love to her but failed.  He'd been too drunk.</div> <div>      He still felt a little drunk.  He knew that at the big house, Jamison and Nora would have to begin planning the funeral.  He also knew he couldn't go there.  He couldn't go to Edward's funeral, either.  He couldn't risk being seen.  His eyes filled up again with tears of grief, and his body shook with harsh sobs.  Beth was instantly awake.  She put her hand on his shoulder, and he rolled over to face her.  He pulled her close and cried, while she soothed him.</div> <div>      Her hair smelled of soap and a scent she liked to use in her hair.  Mingled in was a slightly salty odor that he found suddenly erotic.  Her skin was so smooth and soft against his, her breasts rubbing against his chest.  He found himself suddenly hard and filled with a wild desire.  He found her mouth and kissed her deeply, even through the tears that were beginning to dry on his face.  She was responding to him.  He rolled over onto her, his hands moving over her body.  He put his hand between her legs and found her damp.  She'd grabbed him with her hand and was guiding him into her.  He moved roughly, maddened by his overwhelming need for her.  She gripped his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but it was already over.  He cried out loudly and then collapsed on top of her, breathing hotly and heavily on her neck.</div> <div>      He was aware that she had shifted uncomfortably underneath him and realized he was pinning her down with his weight.  He rolled off, looking at her guiltily.  "I'm sorry, Beth," he whispered.  "Are you all right?"</div> <div>      She smiled.  "Well, I am now.  You did gain some weight, my love," she said teasingly.  When he didn't laugh, she asked, "What's wrong?"</div> <div>      "I'm sorry," he muttered.  "I wasn't thinking of you or Edward or anything else at all.  I just did it.  Did I hurt you?"</div> <div>      She looked very surprised.  "Of course you didn't hurt me.  Why would you think that?"</div> <div>      "Because I--" he stopped, confused.</div> <div>      "I wanted you to do it, Quentin," she said softly.  </div> <div>      "But I didn't try to--" he stopped, trying to think how to explain it.  "I mean, I was in a hurry--"</div> <div>      She looked at him wonderingly.  "What would make you think of that? Seamus didn't.  I didn't think men thought of those things. You didn't think of it very often, before,"  She really seemed surprised, which upset him further.  He didn't want her to think he'd just take her any time he wanted.  She saw the expression on his face, and it was as if she understood what he was thinking because she said comfortingly, "I think we just need each other sometimes. I think we mostly do this from love, but sometimes it's just from need.  There's nothing wrong with that."</div> <div>      "But it's so soon after Edward died, isn't it?"  He felt really guilty about that.          </div> <div>      "In a way, we are consoling each other this way," she reassured him.  "I think the need you feel comes from the fact that your life has to go on in spite of your brother's death."</div> <div>      He thought about it and was comforted by what she said.  Something else was nagging at him.  "Beth, can I ask you something?"  When she nodded, he reddened.  "Did I hurt you--the first time we were together, I mean.  Do you remember?"</div> <div>      She smiled at him, gently.  "Yes,  of course I remember, my love."</div> <div>      He saw her smile.  "You have to tell me the truth," he reminded her.</div> <div>      "I know," she said softly, caressing his face.  "The truth is, it did hurt a little the first few times--" she stopped, reddening herself.  "That was just because I never--well, you were my first lover, Quentin."  After a moment, she said, "You were the ONLY one--then.  And the first time, I was a little frightened and it hurt a little, but I didn't mind.  I really didn't, because I loved you then, just like I love you now.  So the little bit of pain almost felt--pleasurable.  I don't know if that makes sense.  Does it?"</div> <div>      He thought of Angelique's slaps and pinches.  He felt relieved.  "Yes, it makes sense."  At least he could take comfort in that knowledge, he thought.</div> <div>      Searching his face, she asked, "Why did you happen to ask me that, Quentin?"</div> <div>      "Because--" Quentin paused. Talking about it would ever become easy, he suspected.  Beth waited patiently and took his hand.  "When Bartelli--when he-well,  it was worse than any pain I ever felt.  It felt like a pole was going right through me. And when he did that to me, I wondered about you--"</div> <div>      "Oh, Quentin, no!" Beth exclaimed.  "Those are two different experiences, my darling.  You never hurt me like that.  Is that what you thought?"</div> <div>      "Well, I didn't know--after what he did, I didn't know what it must've felt like--for you..."</div> <div>      "With us, it was an act of love," Beth said softly, kissing him gently.  "With that creature, it was an act of hate.  They're not the same at all."</div> <div>      He sighed, relieved.  She stroked his face gently.  "They'll be making funeral arrangments at Collinwood," he said morosely, remembering what had happened the day before.  "We can't go, you know.  I can't attend my brother's funeral because it'd be too dangerous--"  He stopped, looking at Beth, his eyes filling up again.</div> <div>      "Come here to me," Beth said, holding her arms out so that she could enfold him in her embrace.  "You've been through so much, my poor darling.  Let me comfort you."</div> <div>      He snuggled against her.  "My Beth," he whispered.</div> <bR> <div>      Quentin wanted to call the house and let Jamison and Nora know why he couldn't attend the funeral.  He and Beth walked into Collinsport from the cottage, and Quentin found a phone booth.  He was angry about having to call in this roundabout way but didn't know what else to do. He spoke to Walsh first, whose voice sounded heavy with grief.  He was touched by the affection the man had felt for Edward and told him so.  Walsh coughed and cleared his throat, as if he was struggling to control himself.  Quentin asked for Jamison.  Jamison mumbled, "H'lo," in the phone.  He was either still drinking or was very hungover.</div> <div>      "Jamison, it's me.  I wanted to call and tell you that Beth and I are going back to Chicago to deal with Petofi," Quentin explained.  He heard Jamison draw in his breath, sharply, surprised.  "I want to stay and help you and Nora.  Please believe that.  You have no idea how much it's hurting me not to do that and not to be able to come to the funeral.  I just don't think it's safe--"</div> <div>      Jamison interrupted angrily:  "I might've known you'd pull this, Quentin.  You always run out when there's trouble, don't you?"</div> <div>      He felt like Jamison had hit him in the stomach again.  He couldn't speak, overwhelmed suddenly with grief and hurt.  Beth saw what was happening to him.  She slipped one arm around his waist and with the other, reached for the phone.  He shook his head at her, struggling to speak.  "Jamison, you're dead wrong," he finally managed to say. His throat felt like it was closing up so that he couldn't breathe, and he stopped speaking.</div> <div>      This time, Beth yanked the phone out of his hand and spoke sharply into it.  "Listen to me, Jamison Collins!  You should be ashamed of yourself treating Quentin like this when you know he loves you so!  How can you be so mean?  It's breaking his heart to miss your father's funeral!"  She listened for a moment.  "It's all right, Jamison," she said, her voice soft and comforting.  "I don't hate you.  Here's your uncle again."  She gave the phone back to Quentin and stepped back.</div> <div>      "I'm sorry, Quentin," Jamison mumbled.  "I shouldn't have said the things I said to you."  Quentin glanced over at Beth gratefully, still fighting to get control of himself again.  "We don't need any more tragedy caused by that monster, and I think you have a lot of courage to fight him.  Would you just answer me one question, please?"</div> <div>      "Yes," Quentin managed to answer.  He was afraid of the question Jamison might ask.</div> <div>      "Did Petofi cause the accident?"</div> <div>      Quentin let his breath out in a long sigh of relief.  "No," he answered truthfully.  He felt as if he could speak again.  "It wasn't Petofi.  You asked me when I saw him again, and I'll answer you now, Jamison, so that you know.  That little business we had running the liquor back from Canada made the mob really angry with us.  They would've--I don't know, maybe tried to kill all of us for taking some of their business away.  Petofi is what's called a 'fixer' in mob lingo.  He's using the name Geraldo Bartelli.  I met him after the accident to get him to leave the family alone.  I didn't know who he was until it was too late."</div> <div>      "I see," Jamison said quietly.  "Why is he still after us?"</div> <div>      "He wants me, Jamison--he's perverted."  He heard Jamison make a disgusted sound.  "He's evil.  He wants to get control of the underworld and control all the bosses.  I really don't care about that--I just want to get him for the danger he represents to us.  I was in Chicago and we were working on a plan to do that when all this happened.  We got something from him that he wants back, and that's why he struck out at you all."  Quentin's voice dropped down to a whisper.  "I underestimated him again."</div> <div>      "Do you think you can beat him?" Jamison asked.  Quentin wondered.  He thought he'd been so smart, conjuring up Angelique, finding CaraLinda, having the portrait stolen--but all that had happened in return was that Petofi had lashed back, killing his brother and maiming the family's nanny.  Perhaps he should've listened to Dave in the first place and left "ole devil-man" alone.  "Quentin!"  Jamison cut into his thoughts.  "Can you deal with him?  If you can't, you ought not to go to Chicago!"</div> <div>      Quentin swallowed.  "I can deal with him.  I just have to do a better job of it.  I can't stop what I've set into motion now.  Jamison, no matter what else happens, he's got to be stopped now.  He's going to keep after us, even if I don't go back to Chicago."</div> <div>      "In that case," Jamison said hotly, "when you have him, show no mercy!  And when you kill him, think of me and Father and everyone else he's hurt!"</div> <div>      "I will," Quentin promised, the request giving him a new sense of strength and resolve.</div> <div>      "I need to ask you one more thing," Jamison said.  "You said that after the accident, you found out that the gangsters were angry with us."  Quentin shut his eyes; this was the question he'd been dreading.  Beth moved closer to him and put her hand on his arm, questioningly, but he shook his head at her.  He was going to have to face this.  "Did THEY cause they accident?"</div> <div>      Quentin sighed.  "Yes," he admitted.  "I'm sorry.  I never should have involved you--"</div> <div>      "You didn't know," Jamison answered dully.  He began to cry.</div> <div>      "Jamison, don't," Quentin begged, listening to his nephew's tearing sobs.  "You didn't know, either."  He put his hand over the receiver to talk to Beth.  "I think he blames himself-not me."</div> <div>      "Poor thing," Beth said sympathetically.</div> <div>      Quentin waited for Jamison to get ahold of himself again.  "It's not your fault, Jamison. And I didn't know that they'd get so angry with such small potatoes as us.  If I could go back and do it again, I never would've involved you.  And about Beth--"</div> <div>      "Ah!  About Beth," Jamison said tearfully.  "Listen, I really am glad you found her.  I'm just jealous, you know--" he broke off again, sighing.  "You waited a long time to get her back, didn't you?  I don't have any hope of that happening."  He sighed again, heavily.  "Do you think I could talk to Beth again a minute?  I missed her, too, and I never really got a chance to talk to her because I was missing Ruth so and because of what happened to Father."</div> <div>      "Of course, Jamison.  Would you tell Nora that we'll get word to her when she gets back to Chicago?"</div> <div>      "I will."</div> <div>      "I love you, Jamison.  Here's Beth."  He heard Jamison answer in kind as he handed the phone to Beth.  She began to speak softly to Jamison, tears rising in her eyes again.  Quentin really didn't want to listen to their conversation because all of the grief and mourning was beginning to overwhelm him again.  There was a newspaper stand and he went to pick up today's edition.</div> <div>      An article featured prominently on the bottom section of the first page caught his attention.  "Prominent Attorney Shot in Rockport Office", the headline read.  Fred Bishop!  Quentin thought, terrified, his eyes going immediately to the body of the article.  Sure enough, it had been Fred Bishop who'd been shot in his office during the evening hours two nights ago.  Thinking rapidly, Quentin realized that this was about the time Petofi had left Collinsport.  The attorney had been shot several times in the chest but was still alive and in Rockport Hospital.  He hadn't been able to provide many details about the attempted robbery; his office had been ransacked.</div> <div>      Beth hung up the phone and dried her eyes. She saw his face. "Quentin!" she cried, alarmed.  "What is it?"</div> <div>      He looked at her, stricken.  "We have to go to Rockport first before we go back to Chicago."</div> <bR> <div>      They were turned away from Fred Bishop's room by the nurse, who told them firmly:  "Immediate family only, and they're in with him now."  Taking Beth's hand, Quentin crossed the street to a sandwich shop across the street.  They ordered lunch.</div> <div>      "Please eat," Beth urged, as Quentin moodily twisted the ring on his finger.  He obligingly picked up the sandwich and took a bite, put it back down on the plate, and began twisting the ring again.  "I noticed you fiddle with it a lot. Does it bother you?"</div> <div>      "It itches," he snapped.</div> <div>      "Take it off if it itches," she snapped back.</div> <div>      He looked at her, wondering if she meant it.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "It doesn't really itch.  I'm just not used to it."  </div> <div>      She gave him an understanding look.  "You don't have to wear it all the time if it bothers you, Quentin," she said.</div> <div>      "Thanks, but how else will I get used to it?" he asked.  "Besides, it's better than biting my nails.  I haven't done that since I've been wearing the ring."</div> <div>      Beth laughed.  "That's as good a reason to keep wearing it as any," she teased.  "Please stop worrying, my love.  You have to eat to keep up your strength."</div> <div>      "All right, mother," he teased back.  She moved her chair closer to the table.  Shocked, he felt her shoeless, stockinged foot in his lap.  "Beth!"</div> <div>      "I'm not your mother, my love," she said, smiling.  She wiggled her toes between his legs, and his eyes became huge.  Then her foot went away, and she shifted in her chair to slip her foot back into her shoe.  She was gratified to see that he picked up the sandwich and began to eat it, looking at her with desire in his eyes.  "Surprise!  You said I could surprise you any time I wanted," she teased. He said, more softly, "Maybe we can check into an inn around here until after visiting hours?" </div> <bR> <div>      There was a hotel across the street from the hospital, within the same block as the little diner.  Quentin registered them as Mr. and Mrs. Janssen; they had luggage so there was no reason for the clerk to be suspicious.  He did look at Quentin curiously when he asked for a room facing the hospital.  He didn't say anything, though.</div> <div>      Beth did.  After the bellboy left with a large tip and a request for a bottle of champagne or brandy (whichever was more readily available), she turned to him, placing her hands on his chest and asked, "What difference does it make where the room is?"</div> <div>      "I just thought that--later on--we could look out the window.  Maybe we'll see Lenore when she leaves."</div> <div>      Beth nodded, understanding.  She slipped her arms around him to give him a comforting hug.  He hugged her back and said, still troubled, "Do you think Edward would understand this?"</div> <div>      "I think he wouldn't mind if he thought it brought you peace of mind for awhile," Beth answered diplomatically.</div> <div>      He nodded and then pulled her blouse out of her skirt.  He reached his hands up, rubbing her shoulders.  She followed his lead, pulling his shirt out of his pants and moving up his back.  He kissed her, and they moved toward the bed.  They'd undressed to the waist, caressing each other, and then Beth whispered, "Why don't you take everything else off.  I have an idea."</div> <div>      Intrigued, he got up and took off the rest of his clothes.  She was lying on her side and he lay down to face her.  She moved closer to him, kissing him again.  Slowly, her stockinged foot travelled up his leg to his knee.  Then she moved her foot between his knees and continued to work her way up to his penis, which was now very erect and pressing into her side.  He shivered with delight.  The silk on his skin was soft and very sexy.  "You like it this way, don't you, my darling?" Beth observed.  She slipped out of his embrace. "Stay there," she whispered, and climbed over him to the other side. Using a slow, kneading motion with her toes, she slowly "walked" down his back. He could feel one foot caressing his lower back and the other kneaded his buttocks and then rubbed gently  against his penis and testicles from behind.</div> <div>      He decided he couldn't wait much longer.  He got up on his knees and turned to face her.  "Beth, do you think we could do it again with you wearing the stockings?" he asked huskily.</div> <div>      "Of course," she answered, her own voice almost hoarse with desire.  She stood up and stepped out of her skirt and slip.  She gave him a sultry look and very deliberately slowed her movements, releasing the garter snaps so that she could pull her panties down over the stockings.  With slow, sensuous movements, she refastened the snaps to the stockings and shook the panties off her legs onto the floor.  Quentin was impatient to drive himself between her legs.  She'd put on such a good show for him, though, the least he could do was hold off and return the favor.</div> <div>      He lay her down on her back and moved between her legs, brushing his face first against one silken leg and then the other.  He shivered again, and then put his mouth on her, kissing her softly on her inner thighs first, moving closer and closer to her soft opening.  He could feel her quivering, which excited him more.  By the time he put his mouth on her, she was already very wet with desire, so much so that within just a few moments, she moved her legs so that they were rubbing against his cheeks and ears and began to jerk, moaning with pleasure.  He couldn't wait anymore.  When he slid into her, he got as passionate a ride as he'd ever experienced with Angelique and one that was much more intensely satisfying.  Beth grabbed his shoulders tightly and raised her legs around his hips.  Not only did it bring him deeper inside her, the feel of the fabric was enough to set off his climax, and they rocked together holding onto each other tightly.</div> <div>      Quentin felt himself collapse on her; mindful of crushing her, he rolled off to her side.  He noticed what seemed to be a bright red rash across her chest, from breast to breast.  "Are you all right?" He asked, alarmed.  Her eyes were shut and she was breathing deeply, gasping gulps of air.  "Beth!"  He shook her, frightened, thinking this must be some divine retribution for making love when he was supposed to be mourning.</div> <div>      She opened her eyes, slowly, still breathing deeply but no longer gasping.  Her eyes seemed to be unfocused at first, but then she turned her head to look at him.  "Oh, my," she said very softly, "I've never felt it like that before.  You were so deep inside, and then it seemed you touched somewhere inside me--I thought I would pass out."</div> <div>      "Really?" Now that he was sure she was all right, he was delighted and curious.  "Where was it?  We'll have to do it again."</div> <div>      She looked at him wonderingly.  "I'm not sure where.  Somewhere deep inside."  She took his hand and placed it on her abdomen above her furry triangle.  "It was far up inside, maybe around here."</div> <div>      "So I couldn't find it with my tongue?"  he asked seriously, genuinely interested.</div> <div>      She laughed and shook her head.  "Not unless you have an anteater's tongue that I don't know about.  No, it was with the head of your--" she blushed furiously, but then continued, determined.  "It was with the tip of your penis."</div> <div>      He laughed.  "It'll be fun to try and find it again.  That's the first time I hit that spot?"</div> <div>      "The very first," she said.  "I mean, I've enjoyed it before, Quentin.  Don't misunderstand.  I've had orgasms.  It's just that this one was so--different."</div> <div>      "That's all right," he said, not in the least bit offended.  It was like finding an extra surprise in a gift box.  "It'll be like hide and seek, eh?"  He leaned over and kissed her.  "I love you so much, Beth.  To be honest, this was the best it's ever been for me, too."</div> <div>      "You certainly do like silk," Beth agreed, laughing.  "I don't think I'll ever stop buying silk stockings."</div> <div>      "Hey," he said teasingly, inspired, "Maybe we can get you some nice silk pajamas, too."</div> <div>      "Pajamas!"</div> <div>      "And we'll get some scissors and cut part of it off--here," he explained.  With his hands, he drew an outline over her crotch, across her thighs, and to the back of her. </div> <div>      "Cut silk pajamas like that?"</div> <div>      "My dear, you have to get used to the idea that we have money to burn."  At her suddenly sober expression, he moved his hand back to her thighs and tickled her. She shrieked and giggled.  Quentin looked at her with a mock-serious expression and said, "I sure hope there isn't some old couple downstairs worried about us."</div> <div>      "I don't care," she said, reaching up and pulling his face down to hers so that she could kiss him.  "I love you, Quentin Collins.  So, we have money to burn do we?  How about red silk pajamas?"</div> <bR> <div>      They had room service bring dinner to their room and set the table up at the window which had a view of the hospital.  Looking at the hospital made Quentin remember everything that happened recently, and the part he'd played in it.  "Sometimes I'm not sure I did the right thing, getting Angelique involved.  She was the one who found CaraLinda for us, and she was the one who took Petofi's portrait.  I don't even know what she's done with it.  I don't even know if she'll show up again to tell me," He said moodily, pushing his steak around the plate.  Beth listened quietly.  "I mean, everything was all right until I summoned her. Dave and I had a safe place to stay.  Edward was a little tired but fine when he went back to Collinsport.  Maybe he would still be alive if I hadn't called her back.  Frances wouldn't be disfigured, and Fred wouldn't have been shot."</div> <div>      "And you wouldn't have met me," Beth added.</div> <div>      Quentin stopped talking, thinking.  He took her hand and kissed it.  "That alone makes it worth it, Beth.  Everything.  I wouldn't have wanted to miss this."</div> <div>      "I don't like being the only blessing on such a tragic sequence of events, though," Beth said sadly, kissing his hand in return.</div> <div>      "I feel like I'm being given a second chance.  Isn't that worth something?"</div> <div>      "Of course it is.  And I feel like I'm being given a second chance, too.  It's just that..." She broke off.</div> <div>      "What, Beth?"</div> <div>      "I wonder what kind of a second chance we'll have, with vengeance and mutilation and killing mixed up in it."</div> <div>      "Do you mean Edward and Frances?  We can't change what happened, but we can live with it."</div> <div>      "I meant Petofi.  You mean to mutilate him, don't you?  That's what you've dreamt about--you told me so.  That's an act of revenge, Quentin.  And you're going to be involved in his killing."</div> <div>      Her distress and obvious feelings of guilt annoyed him.  "Didn't you say you were ready to kill him, too?"</div> <div>      "Yes, of course.  I was very angry with him for what he did to you.  I still am, and if he was going to hurt you, I really think I could kill him.  But if I was in a room with him and he was tied up, and someone handed me that--that sword, I don't know if I really could bring myself to kill or maim him.  Would you be able to do it?  Do you think you're really capable of being cold-blooded like that?"</div> <div>      How could she ask him that, after every thing Petofi had done to him and his family?  He was about to give her an angry retort when he was distracted by three people exiting the hospital.  He leaned forward toward the window for a closer look and caught his breath.  He recognized Mrs. Fillmore, elderly now and extremely thin. She walked partially supported by a cane.  She was also holding onto the arm of a dark haired young woman.  He would know that woman anywhere--if he'd had a twin, it would be she.  "Lenore," he whispered.  </div> <div>      Beth looked, too, and also drew her breath in sharply.  "Oh!  I never would have dreamed she'd look so much like you, Quentin." He couldn't speak.  He was watching his daughter, open-mouthed.  Behind the two women, a little girl skipped and capered.  This had to be his granddaughter, Margaret Rose.  "Oh, my darling, I wish you could talk to them."</div> <div>      "And what would I say?"  he asked sarcastically.  "Hello, Lenore, Daddy's here-I've come care of you?  Look at her, Beth.  She looks like my sister, not my daughter."</div> <div>      Beth took his hand and squeezed it.  She wasn't fooled by his sarcastic anger toward her.  He wanted to throw her hand off but didn't.  He needed her comfort.  Beth got up from where she was sitting and put her arms around his neck from hehind, rocking him.  "Look at them, Beth.  They're so beautiful," he said in a choked voice.  Beth stroked his hair and kissed his cheek gently.  He sighed as they disappeared from view.  "Well, my dear, are you up to breaking and entering?  Or shall I go it alone?"</div> <div>      "Of course I'll go with you, Quentin," she said automatically.</div> <div>      "Let's wait an hour or so.  Maybe we can slip in during the confusion of all the visitors leaving at once."</div> <bR> <div>      They went into the hospital through the main lobby, and Quentin asked the man at the front desk which room Fred Bishop was in.  The man looked up the information and said, "311.  Are you immediate family, sir?"</div> <div>      "His brother," Quentin lied.</div> <div>      "I'm sorry, that's not immediate family.  That would be a son, father...."</div> <div>      Quentin felt like interrupting and saying, "What about father-in-law?" but he didn't want to stage a scene.  "All right," he said congenially.  "Do you think I might send him a card or some flowers?"</div> <div>      "That would be fine. There's a gift shop down the hall, but it will be closing in just a few minutes.  Visiting hours are almost over."</div> <div>      "Thank you," Quentin said, pulling Beth along behind him.  There was a small crowd of people coming toward them.  He slipped through them and past the gift shop, looking for the stairwell.  It was down at the end of the hall.  He and Beth entered and went up the stairs quickly.  "Hopefully no one will stop us," he said as they reached the third floor.  He pulled the door open and looked up and down the hall.  No one.  "Come on, Beth."</div> <div>      He hoped he'd chosen the right direction and was gratified when they came to Room 311.  Luckily, there was no guard posted in the front.  Quentin opened the door slightly, saw there was no one else in the room, and slipped in with Beth.</div> <div>      Fred Bishop was a slight, good looking man.  His brains made up for his lack of height and brawn.  Now, he looked even smaller than he usually did, and much more wasted.  His eyes were closed, and his face had a grayish pallor to it. "He doesn't look good," Beth whispered.  Quentin glanced at her, alarmed.  "He's got internal bleeding, I think," she added.</div> <div>      Quentin groaned inwardly and approached his son-in-law.  "Fred?" he called softly.</div> <div>      The young man roused and opened his eyes.  He blinked, squinting, and reached a trembling hand to the stand near the head of his bed.  He picked up his glasses and, both hands shaking visibly, put them on.  He looked at Quentin, recognized him, and drew back in horrified astonishment.  "Mr. Morgan!"  he exclaimed.  "What in hell are you doing here?"</div> <div>      "I read in the paper you'd been shot by a robber, Fred."</div> <div>      "For the love of God, you know that's not true!  Isn't that why you sent her?"</div> <div>      "Angelique?"</div> <div>      "She didn't give me her name.  The blonde.  She showed me the passkey and said you were in danger."</div> <div>      "So she took the portrait?"</div> <div>      "Of course!  That's what you wanted, isn't it?"</div> <div>      "Yes, Fred, but what happened after that?"</div> <div>      Fred sighed.  "Two men came.  They demanded your portrait.  I told them I had no idea what they were talking about.  One of them shot me.  As I lay there bleeding, they went through the office, tearing it apart.  They couldn't find the vault, of course.  The one with the gun said to tell him where it was. 'I don't know what you mean,' I said, and he shot me again.  The other man came and knelt beside me.  He seemed to know you would come here because he had a message for you."</div> <div>      Quentin felt cold.  "What did he look like?"</div> <div>      "Old.  White hair and blue eyes, very cold blue eyes.  He was very bitter, very angry."</div> <div>      Not Petofi, Quentin thought.  Tate?  "What did he say?"</div> <div>      "He said, 'When you see your client tell him Petofi wants him back.'"</div> <div>      "Wants his portrait back?" Beth asked.</div> <div>      "No, ma'am.  Wants 'him' back.  Mr. Morgan.  After that, the man with the gun kept shooting until he didn't have any more bullets left."  Fred looked at Quentin searchingly. "They believe you have something that belongs to this Petofi person.  Is there anything you need to tell me?"</div> <div>      "You're better off not knowing, Fred," Quentin answered, distressed.  A nurse came in, startling them.  "Ahh--we, were just leaving--"</div> <div>      She glared at them.  "Out, you get out right now!  Who do you reporters think you are, anyway?  If you want to ask any questions, go to the sheriff's department.  This is a very sick man!  Out!  Out!"</div> <div>      "Take care, Fred," Quentin said to his son-in-law and then followed Beth out the door.  The nurse closed the door behind them, huffing and puffing.  "Ma'am, I'm a friend, not a reporter.  Could you tell me how he's doing?"</div> <div>      The nurse glared at him.  "If you're lying to me, I'll call that newspaper and have you fired, do you hear me?  He has two bullets still lodged in his chest.  The doctors can't remove them; they're afraid to.  Right now, Mr. Bishop has no feeling below the waist.  Only time will tell what will happen to him."  She walked off abruptly.</div> <div>      Quentin leaned up against the wall, feeling that punched-in-the-gut sensation again.  Beth grabbed his elbow.  "Oh, Beth, is it ever going to end?" he asked in despair</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div>      <A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: Petofi Strikes"><U>19:  Petofi Strikes</U></A>    <A HREF="id79.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="21: Defensive Maneuvers"><U>21:  Defensive Maneuvers</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U>Taking Wooden Nickels</U></A>    <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>