Fragile: Part 2

Have you read the previous part?
"Fragile: Part 1"  13+: After helping an injured man, Paris finds herself running for her life with him.

# # # #


In the passenger seat of the forest green sedan, Paris looked out the window, watching the city streak by, blurred to her eyes like a wet painting. The radio droned softly, and the local hero Senator Feldman spoke of how much the crime rate had risen recently in all of the cities, how much he abhorred violence, and the measures he planned on taking in the future to help diminish that rising percent. Paris sighed, and wondered if, for all the hot air these people spewed, they would ever actually catch the criminals who hurt people like Gage. "Where are we going?"

"A friend's place, I think," Gage replied.

"You do need to see a doctor, you know."

"Yeah. Probably. Izzy knows a few things about that kind of stuff. He'll help."

Paris thought that sounded fine, but... Izzy? No one named Izzy could be anything other than a total doof. Like an overgrown buck-toothed lizard. Izzy.

Gage seemed to see her grin at the mental picture that formed in her mind, because he said, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." They drove on in silence. Paris watched the running colors of her town fade as they left, and all she could see was a blur of green trees. "Gage?"

"Hmm?"

"You didn't tell me. What happened to you? I mean.... You said that you heard something."

"I guess eavesdropped would be the right word. I was..." Gage stopped for a while, seeming suspiciously interested in the road ahead. "I was visiting this guy, and I heard some men talking. Well, I listened. You know the saying curiosity killed the cat? I should have left." He smiled, but it was twisted with acid. "I've never been too good at heeding well-intentioned advice. Ask my mom."

He was avoiding her question. He'd begun to tell her something, and then he had subtly switched subjects. Paris sat up with a jolt. "God, will you stop that! What did you hear? You're conveniently passing out every single time I ask! I can take it, whatever it is. That man came to my apartment. He's after me as much as he is you! So please, don't play pouty with me. Tell me clear and simple what is going on." She stopped, burned out. She knew that whatever Gage knew was bothering him deeply. His eyes were haunted; she assumed that if he wasn't so serious that they'd look more like a winter sky and less like cold, depthless wells. She knew that he was worried for her safety.

At this particular moment, however, she didn't care. Logic and reason cowered and let anger take control. She had every right in the world to know this! She'd dragged Gage out of death, and he was holding back? She almost died back there...

A shudder seized her body. She'd been so afraid. While she was thinking, Gage was watching. She noticed when she looked up into those silvery blue eyes of his.

"Paris, I can't tell you. This man... Everyone knows him, and if they don't know him then they know about him. You wouldn't believe me." Paris tried to break in, but he shook his head, cutting her off. "No. I'll tell you sometime, when this is all over. Okay?"

Paris was silent for a long time. Her anger boiled down, and she nodded. "Okay."

Continuing to drive, Gage smiled. "Thank you."

"Okay..." Paris said, disconcerted after a while by the silence. "So, on a lighter note: tell me a bit about yourself."

Gage laughed. "That's not a lighter note."

Paris squinted at him. His lips were pressed tightly together, eyes staring straight ahead, concentrated on the road but at the same time somewhere else. Curiosity battled against common sense, and the former won. "Why?"

Gage glanced at her. "I'm not quite your model citizen."

"So, tell me."

Seeing his hesitation, Paris added, "We just narrowly got away from an undead assassin! Tell me!"

Gage grinned. "Undead? Like dawn of the dead undead?"

Paris laughed. Peeking at Gage from the corner of her eye, her own smile grew wider. Gage seemed truly relaxed for the first time since she had seen him. "Yeah, like that. So, what, were you abused? Bad divorce... Dad run away?"

"Nah. None of that. That would be too cliche, and I've never been normal in my life. My mom left my dad for a rich lawyer. Before the two were married, my mom stole five grand from him, and he was the one who prosecuted her. My dad liked me, but we were broke, so I... kind of used drastic measures to get us things to eat."

Paris didn't like where this was going. "Like?"

"Pickpocketing. Taking stuff from stores. That kind of thing. Minor. I stopped when I was thirteen, when an uncle I'd never met died and willed my dad his house and fortune. Lucky us, huh? Apparently he was feeling guilty for slugging my dad a decade ago and knocking out one of his teeth." Gage looked at her, measuring her reaction, maybe. He added, "My dad died of TB less than a year later."

Paris' eyes dropped to her feet. "Where did you go?"

"I went on my own. I was old enough to leave, so I rented an apartment and took a job. So... tell me about you."

"Me? I'm boring! My parents are still alive, I work as a secretary for three fat lawyers, and I have a brother named John!"

"A brother? Is he your only one?"

"Oh, No, I had five. Beside John, there were Peter, Paul, London, and Xander."

"See? You're not too normal. You ever been married?"

"No one would marry me." Paris told him. Wasn't it obvious?

"No way! You're a great person!"

"Me? I look like an anorexic wannabe supermodel. I'm a stereotype. People only see what they look for, Gage." Paris smiled at him, but it was tinged with a regretful sadness.

Both of them were silent the rest of the way to Izzy's.

# # # #

"Gage! Come on in, you crazy boy!" Izzy was about six feet tall and muscular, with white-blond hair and a huge smile that he displayed the moment he saw Gage stop the car. Gage got out, and Izzy enveloped him in a tight hug. Paris saw Gage wince. Izzy did too. "What's wrong?"

"Let's go inside. I'll explain there."

Izzy nodded. "Fair enough."

Gage told his friend the whole story over a big mug of coffee, excluding only the mysterious offender's name, settled on a leather couch in Izzy's little house. When he was done, Izzy just stared at him, shock evident in his slack face.

"You've not got the best luck, boy, but this is incredible!"

"Yeah. I'm always finding ways to get myself into trouble, aren't I?" Gage mumbled.

"You can say that again!" Izzy suddenly frowned deeply, as if he had committed some terrible sin. He stood, addressing Paris apologetically. "I didn't catch your name! I'm so rude! I'm Israel O'Malley."

"Paris." Despite the circumstances, she found her body relaxing in the company of this strange, happy, eccentric man. "It's nice to meet you."

"Beautiful name. Beautiful city. Paris." Izzy grinned, taking his seat again. "It's a wonderful day for a picnic."

"Izzy..." Gage moaned.

"After I fix you up, my friend, how does a picnic sound?"

Paris stood. "It sounds great!"

"Good," Izzy said. "I have an excellent selection of music. Would you like to listen while I fix up our accident-prone little guy here?"

Paris caught Gage's sullen glare, and she grinned. "Can you handle him?"

"I'll ground the bloody bugger if I can't!" It was funny, because Izzy was about in his late thirties, nowhere near old enough to play Dad. Izzy grabbed Gage's arm and began to drag him away.

Gage mouthed, "Help!"

# # # #

Paris had fallen alseep to beautiful Celtic music when Izzy bustled in two hours later, a satisfied look on his face. "Our boy will be fine. He had a couple broken ribs, one bloody concussion, and it would seem that he hasn't slept much in days, but he'll be good as new soon. Would you like to come with me to get some picnic things? Gage is sleeping. I tried to talk the boy into just resting forever, but he wouldn't listen. I force fed the little goat a sleeping pill!"

Paris smiled, getting to her feet, following Izzy out to his spacious, doorless green Wrangler. "I know a really awesome store. My best friend works there. They have lots and lots of great stuff for pennies," Paris said.

"Save me some money. Great. Lead the way, Paris!"

They arrived sooner than Paris would have expected, due to Izzy's crazy driving. Paris got out, her uneven hair wild and windblown. Izzy's own pale mop was twisted in knots. Paris skipped across the lot, Izzy following behind her, yelling, "I can't keep up with you, girl, slow down!"

# # # #

Liam sat in the large parking lot of Great's. Jasmine Dell worked there. She and Paris Sullivan had been friends since the first grade. If the panicked girl went anywhere, it would be here. Jasmine didn't get off until five, though, a good three hours away.

Liam looked up to see an olive green Jeep swing into the lot, parking with a screech. He was about to look back down, but then he saw the occupants. One was just a man, with whitish hair and cold eyes, but the other was Miss Paris Sullivan. Liam knew this was his chance. He knew what he would do. Casually getting out of the police car he'd hitchhiked in, adjusting the patrolman's hat over his eyes, he walked up to the store as they entered. Once he thought he heard a muffled noise, and turned, wondering if the policeman he'd locked in the trunk was awake, but it was just some kids playing.

# # # #

Paris stood at the counter, leaning over the plastic bag rack as she chatted with Jasmine. The strain around her eyes had worn away completely to reveal calm, deep emerald eyes, and she laughed as she glanced at Izzy. It was good that she was calm now. It had hurt him to see her so tense and afraid when she'd arrived with Gage. He let her stay with her friend, and wandered off to shop.

Walking away, Izzy heard Jasmine giggle. "What is he, Irish? He's hot!"

"I'm Jewish, if you must know." Izzy said tolerantly. "My mother, however, was Irish, the good Lord bless her soul." He winked at Jasmine as he walked away, and he heard her giggle again. He shook his head. In the refrigerated aisle, he took some cheese and a salad, shivering in shirtsleeves. On his way out, he bumped into a man, and looked up to see a policeman, with angry eyes that were calm like ice at the same time. Careful, premeditated. Like his. "Sorry, officer."

"Do you own that Wrangler out there?" asked the cop, walking forward.

Izzy backed up. "Mine. What did I do?" He wished he'd brought his pistol, but he'd left it in his jacket at the house. The little thing couldn't kill anyone, and only had two shots loaded, but it was what he had.

"We seem to have a warrant out on it. I'd appreciate it if you would follow me outside, please. I'd like to speak with you."

Izzy knew subconsciously that something was wrong, but he couldn't find any reason not to go, so he followed the officer out, prepared for anything but what happened. Right outside of the door in the shadows, the cop pointed at the Jeep. "That one?"

"Yup."

The cop nodded. From nowhere, a gun was in his hand. The cop swung it before Izzy could duck, and it slammed into his skull. Rainbow colors exploded in front of his eyes, and he felt a sickening pain in his head, right before he didn't feel anything at all.

# # # #

"Hey, I think your boyfriend abandoned you," giggled Jasmine, pointing as she saw the fair-haired man leave.

Paris turned in time to see a young officer race in. His hat covered most of his face, and his uniform fit loosely. There was blood on his hands. "I need help!" he cried. "Call 911! There's been a man mugged! He's hurt."

Oh, no! Izzy! Paris raced outside with the cop. "Where is he?"

The cop pointed into the dark nook to the right of the door, and Paris walked in. "Izzy? Izzy, what happened?" There was silence. Paris' eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw nothing there.

She heard the soft footsteps behind her, but didn't mind them. Suddenly there was an arm around her face, preventing her from screaming, even breathing. The innocent, frightened voice the cop had put on before was gone, and the one Paris heard was familiar when it said, "Get into the car. If you scream then I'll kill you right here."

She nodded, somehow walking to the police car before collapsing into the open passenger door.
When she looked into the back to see a pool of blood around Izzy's body, prone on the backseat, she did scream. Liam was out of the parking lot, though, so it didn't matter. Paris had never fainted in her life, but the sight of Izzy, added to all the things she'd seen in the last tweny-four hours, was more than she could take. Her world crumpled into blackness.

# # # #

Gage was awakened out of a drugged sleep three hours later by the shrill sound of Izzy's cell phone. He'd slept? What...? Izzy! That pill. The sly idiot. The phone rang again, and he picked it up. "I would have slept anyway, Iz," he said dryly, his vision blurred from whatever Izzy had given him.

"This isn't Izzy," said the voice on the other end. "He is here, though. You took your precious time answering."

Gage recognized the voice, saw the time, and a wave of ice washed through him. Sitting upright, alert now, Gage demanded, "Where are Paris and Izzy?"

The assassin was not going to be interrupted. "Would you like Paris to live?"

"Yes!"

"Then I'll see you at the warehouse, won't I?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. You've been there before. A long time ago, but still. It's a place I don't suspect you'd forget."

It wasn't. It was the place where Gage's best childhood friend had committed suicide. "What will you do to them?"

"Nothing, if you come. As soon as I see your car, they will be let free, and then you'll come in."

Gage knew he could not let anything happen to Paris, and Izzy was like a father to him. He got out of bed, taking Izzy's brown leather jacket and putting it on. The warehouse was only about ten miles away. Gage wished that there was a last call he could make, but the only two people he cared about, he realized, were the ones he would die to save.

The car was in the driveway where it had been when they arrived, and Gage got in, driving out onto the tree-shadowed road, feeling a numbing sense of regret and resignation sweep over him like the dark clouds that were coming in on the horizon.

# # # #

It was unusually dark when he pulled into the big drive. The warehouse was made of old, rust-streaked tin, and there were piles of gravel in front of it, and even an old machine. All of it had been abandoned decades ago. Barrels of bright-colored waste had been put far inside the building, watching him like tens of fluorescent eyes.

Above Gage, the sky had become a solemn, steel gray in anticipation of the coming storm. He got out of the stolen car, standing beside it until he saw Paris walk out of the huge open door. In the shadows was the assassin, and he laid a limp body on the ground. Izzy. Seeing his friend so vulnerable, Gage felt a molten rush of anger. His hand gripped the car door.

The phone rang again. The assassin said, "Glad to see you could make it. Your friends are going to leave, but as they do, I want you to walk toward me. I have a gun trained on Paris' beautiful head right now, and if you deviate one step fron the plan, she dies." And he hung up.

With semiconscious Izzy's arm around her shoulder, Paris began to walk. Once, she stopped, looking toward the car. She seemed frozen. She turned her head away, and it sunk to her chest as she hurried off. They disappeared behind a pile of gravel, and Gage heard an engine start and pull away as he walked forward. An image of Izzy stopped him halfway. He saw the man leaning over him for his fourteenth birthday, smiling, filling Gage's heart with joy, even though his father had just died.

Walk. You started this. End it. Gage forced himself to take another step, and another. How did I get myself into this? Why does it have to end this way? I'm such an idiot... Gage prayed, if there was a God, that he would keep Izzy and Paris safe.

Finally he was near enough to see the assassin's face. He walked forward more, stopping about twenty feet from the man.

A cold wind blew through, twisting the leaf-laden branches of the trees and making them seem alive. The clouds had deepened to black, and hung like they would fall down. The storm would be big. Gage shivered. He stuffed his hands inside the spacious leather jacket.

The assassin looked him over when he stopped. "I'm Liam," he said. "I'm glad you came."

Gage was careful to keep his face expressionless. Inside, he was burning, melting, dying. Terrified of what would happen, wondering how it would feel.

Oblivious to Gage's thoughts, Liam looked at Gage, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "Are you really willing to give your life for a girl who you barely know?"

Yes. God, yes. "She almost gave hers for mine."

"Did you tell anyone anything that you heard?"

This had been why he hadn't told either of them the specifics. "No."

Liam nodded. "Kneel." Gage fell to his knees. He felt like he was dying already, and emotion was building up inside of him, threatening to burst the stony dam with which Gage kept it inside.

"I don't like doing this. You're right, for what it's worth. I wouldn't be able to do what you're doing." But he was still going to kill him. Liam leveled the gun.

Two tears leaked unbidden out of Gage's eyes. He clenched his teeth, and closed his eyes tight, lowering his head. Waiting.

# # # #

"I can't do this!" Less than a minute out of the parking lot, Paris slammed on the brakes of the police car, wrenching the wheel hard left, so that the car skidded into a crude U-turn. It ground on the gravel that led down to a slope on the side of the road, but Paris pressed the accelerator, and the car sped out, back towards the warehouse.

In the seat beside her, Izzy gripped the bar on the side of the door, muttering a husky string of cursewords that Paris knew she had no hope of understanding. He had begun to wake just a bit ago, but Paris didn't expect anything coherent out of him for a bit. He opened his eyes, blinking several times, grabbing Paris' gaze as she drove. "What did I miss?" he asked. After a moment of intense scrutiny, he said, "Something's wrong. What happened?"

Paris couldn't look at him. She whispered, "I left him behind. I was afraid that he would kill me... and... I'm so stupid!" There were tears in her eyes suddenly, and she wiped at them angrily, pressing harder on the accelerator. The speedometer needle jumped to fifty, and continued rising steadily.

"Whoa. Remember that I've been out for a while. Who? I don't quite remember--"

"The assassin got me, and you. He called Gage, told him that he'd let us go if Gage came. He's going to kill him! Gage knew that and he came!"

There was no color in Izzy's face. He looked to Paris like he wanted to speak, but it took him a few tries. "Please tell me we're going back."

Paris just nodded. She didn't look at him, knew she'd be babbling tearstained apologies if she met his eyes, so she just looked at the road. The car was doused in blackness as she drove under the canopy of trees that shaded the back road that they had come in by. She slowed down. Vision was almost impossible, but the smell of age and rust that drifted in the windows told her she was close. When the trees parted, she saw washed-out gray light from the sky. Ahead was the warehouse, and in front of it she saw the assassin, standing stiffly with his hands outstretched, holding something that glimmered dully. The assassin heard the car coming, glancing their way briefly.

Paris jerked the car to a stop. Just as Izzy stumbled out, they heard the sound of an explosion that seared the damp air. The assassin ran into the building. The rain began at that moment, falling hard and sudden, biting into Paris' bare arms like frozen knives. Their vision was limited, and they could not even see Gage fall.

Paris ran forward, and Izzy followed her. The rain just got harder as they got closer, but they could see Gage clearly when they stopped. "Oh, God." Izzy choked.

The assassin had hit him in the chest, and already there was blood everywhere, bright red, mixing with puddles of rain and spreading out. Gage's eyes flickered, and he shivered. Paris cried out and knelt down in the mud. Izzy did nothing. The look on his face was not grief, but anger. "Reach into the coat," he ordered. "The right pocket."

Paris sobbed, looking into eyes she didn't know, a fiery amber filled with a calm hatred that seemed somehow so much worse than rage.

"Do it."

The assassin was escaping into the warehouse. Paris plunged her hand into the big pocket of Izzy's coat. She felt the warmth of Gage's blood, and bit her lip. Her fingers touched something cold, sliding down it until they found a grip. She pulled Izzy's gun out, unable to stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Izzy took the gun.

"Now get Gage to the car, and go as fast as you can to the nearest hospital."

"What are you going to--"

"Now!"

Paris nodded, unable to speak. Izzy ran into the building.

Paris drove the car up to Gage because she knew she couldn't carry him, and she put him into the passenger seat. When she touched him, he was cold. Gravelly mud smeared the seats, mingling with Gage's blood.

Paris went as fast as the car could go out of the parking lot, wiper blades laboring tirelessly, but not helping a bit. Each time they arced over the windows, a thousand new raindrops took the place of the ones before. Turning on the sirens and lights of the police car, Paris navigated by memory.

# # # #

It was even darker inside of the building than out. The dark was almost a living thing, thick with the odor of rot and chemicals, and each creak on the floor was like a cry for help.

As Izzy walked around the building, his footsteps were no more than a soft whisper on the grimy floor. Somewhere, a second set of footsteps echoed, but though Izzy tried, he couldn't place them. Maybe... Somewhere to his left? There were so many rooms, nooks, and holes in this place the sound could have come from anywhere. Izzy held his gun out, ready, this time, for anything the assassin could try.

A creak to his left made Izzy spin in that direction. As his eyes got used to the darkness, he was able to make out blackish shadows. None were moving, but he was sure the assassin was near. He probably wouldn't be much of a problem. Izzy thought it was very unprofessional to head back in here. The only escape was the unstable ladder that led down the back. Izzy knew this place well. Following Gage's friend's suicide, he often had to drag the boy out of here. Izzy had gotten worried when Gage stayed here for hours, doing nothing but sitting and thinking. Izzy sighed. Gage didn't deserve what had happened to him. His mother had been in jail, his father taken by a wasting disease, and his best friend had killed himself by jumping off of the rafters here. That was a lot for one boy to have to bear. A surge of familiar anger rose in Izzy at the world in general, and at God, if there was one, for heaping the world's troubles on the shoulders of such a fragile boy. Izzy had loved the boy that Gage had been, optimistic, and even though one could see the tragedy he had endured in the depth of his young eyes, his smile lifted a person's spirits even more because of it. Slowly, his optimism was replaced by a weary resignation, and Izzy could see that Gage was terrified of it. Terrified of not caring. He'd endured more than anyone Izzy knew, and God had dropped one last thing on Gage's shoulders carelessly, and it had killed him not to be able to help. Even when he had ordered Paris off, he had known that Gage would probably not survive this final injustice.

At the house, Izzy had seen Gage battling with himself, fighting two impossible decisions. It was clear he wanted to tell everything he had seen and bring the offender to justice, but at the same time, he didn't want to hurt anyone else with what he knew. Izzy felt sick just thinking about it, and he cursed the God who had let this happen.

Feeling his hands shake, Izzy calmed himself. It would do no good to lose it in here. One slip could mean his death, because though Izzy thought the assassin was impulsive, he knew the man was a good aim, and had a good ear. But so did Izzy.

A groan of something heavy on metal sent Izzy to the back of the warehouse, toward...

The staircase. Maybe the assassin wasn't as impulsive as Izzy had imagined. Right at the top of the staircase was a grimy window, and outside of it was the ladder. Izzy saw the window, and he waited. After a minute that took years and painful memories, he saw a faint shadow pass across the window. Taking aim, Izzy fired. The glass shattered, letting a whistling breeze blow in, but the assassin rolled out of the way just in time.

Izzy's shot had given away his position, and the assassin got up, firing.

# # # #

Paris cold hardly see because of the tears that filled her eyes, blurring the thick darkness around her. She was almost hysterical when she stopped slammed the car to a stop in a handicapped space in the ER. She opened the back door as she screamed for help, rain pouring down her face, hiding the frantic tears. The light of the car illuminated Gage's pale, still face, and the blood that completely covered his chest and spilled onto the seats. She tried to pull him out, but her wet hands slipped on the blood-soaked jacket.

"Help! Someone!" Paris ran to the automatic doors, screaming as they opened.

A few doctors broke away and ran outside. When they saw Gage, they took over, pushing her away from the door.

"We have a chest wound. No breath sounds in his left lung--"

She heard, "I've got a faint pulse! We need to get him--"

A doctor ran out with a gurney and several men lifted Gage onto it, still yelling stats as they raced back in. The rain was falling harder now, but Paris didn't feel the pain, didn't see the blood that was washed from her hands and hair swirl around her on the ground.

A hand was on her suddenly, and she turned to see a young woman, dressed in a clean, flowery shirt. "Here. Follow me. I'm going to get you something to eat."

"I've eaten," Pais muttered tonelessly. Had she? When? Oh, yeah. Breakfast. Why didn't she feel hungry?

"You look like you're starving," the woman said compassionately. "I work here. I'll get you something from the cafeteria--it's not the best, but it's better than nothing. I'm sure we have some low-fat stuff. Come on."

"See, Gage, a stereotype. I'm a stereotype."

The woman led Paris inside, looking worried. "Are you okay?"

Paris saw the doctors slam through a door to a trauma room, already streaked with scarlet.

"No."

# # # #

Izzy slipped on the slick floor as he tried to scramble for cover. As he fell, Liam heard another explosion. It was near enough to him, but too far away to have been intentional. Apparently Izzy had misfired. Liam shot several times at the man who was no more than a shadow in the dark. He stepped aside, trying to stay away from the light from the window. He had this. The car that the girl, Paris, had stolen from him was right outside. If he could just get Izzy in the open, if only for a second...

# # # #

Out of bullets, Izzy crawled between the barrels. Though his gun was empty he still carried it, and was shuffling on his hands and knees to get a clear view of the staircase. Though he was at a disadvantage without bullets, everything was going as planned. When he'd ducked out of the assassin's way, the bullet he had fired was not accidental. Finally, he was close enough. Cocking his arm back, Izzy tossed the gun toward the staircase.

On the ground, mixing with the grime and dust, liquid spread like fingers stretching out. Izzy's last bullet had been used to puncture one
of the orange barrels in the back. He had known for a long time of their existence--about six years--and even though it was pretty dark he could almost make out the warning sign on the crude tags. It was a little flame.

If the assassin fired, the barrels would explode, and the old wooden staircase would be the first thing to go. The warehouse was so old, though. It might only take minutes for the rotten frame to burn. Izzy would have to get out fast.

As soon as the empty pistol clattered to the ground, shots sounded. Nothing happened. Izzy was sure he'd thrown the pistol in the right place.

Suddenly, a little flame sprang up, eating the liquid, tracing it hungrily to its source. Izzy began to run. So close...

He was about at the door when the first barrel exploded. Izzy was knocked to the ground by the force of it. Falling hard, he lost his breath, and the air he dragged in made him choke and gasp as it burned his lungs. The fire lit the room up with a bright red light, gone as fast as it had appeared. Another barrel followed, and another. The second floor collapsed into the raging fire that searched for more fuel, and Izzy heard a scream that made his skin tingle. He didn't feel happy that the assassin was dead, but he had known that he wouldn't. No matter what, he just couldn't have let the assassin get away from hurting Gage so much. The man was professional, like Izzy was, and knew what could happen. Izzy felt a surge of respect for the professional that the assassin had been. Izzy was no longer in that kind of life. He figured that no matter what, the most courageous thing a person like that could do was give it up.

Smoke made the darkness thicker and the light waver. There was a loud crash that made Izzy spin toward the front.

In the midst of a spreading fire, Izzy felt suddenly, inexplicably cold. The explosion had damaged the pulley that kept the door open. The sound he heard was it crashing down.

# # # #

"So. I'm Debbie. Who are you?"

Paris looked up at the woman, her mouth full of cheeseburger. Nothing in the cafeteria was appealing, so they had gone to the MacDonalds across the street. Debbie had been surprised when Paris had ordered two double cheeseburgers, and she had ordered the same. "Paris," she muttered when she swallowed. Debbie had calmed her down a bit, but still it was hard to concentrate on eating.

"That's pretty." Paris was aware of Debbie's scrutiny. Her name fit with the whole supermodel bit, and, not for the first time in her life, she wished she was named Sarah or Barbara.

"I work as a nurse at the hospital there, you see. My shift was just ending when you came in. Fat gives you a warm fuzzy feeling, huh?"

"What?"

"Eating something like this--a salad never cuts it."

Paris didn't get it but she nodded.

Approaching with tact, Debbie inquired gently, "So, was he your boyfriend?"

Gage? Well... Maybe. No! "I don't know. I know him." Maybe I like him. Love him?

"What happened?" Debbie was sounding more like an interrogator and less like a nurse.

"I was...walking with him. Some guy jumped out. Gage jumped in front of me and..."

"You're lying. It's okay. You don't have to tell. It's just the police are probably going to come and ask questions."

"Oh." Paris ached to ask Debbie just one question. It passed her lips as just a mumble. "Is Gage going to be okay?"

The hesitance she saw in Debbie's eyes was an answer. They both finished their burgers and left. Suddenly they were stopped by a call. Apparently, Debbie recognized the voice, because she turned around. "Mike?"

"Where's the girl came in with that guy...? the one with--" Seeing Paris, the man broke off. "Oh," he whispered.

"What is it?" Paris demanded.

"He's, um, you might want to sit down."

"Oh, God!"

"Alive!" the man boomed.

Paris looked at him, afraid she'd drifted off and he was talking about someone else. "Huh?"

"Mike!" Debbie yelled. "What are you doing? This is no time for jokes. This isn't a party. So stop it."

Mike muttered an apology, thinking that his joke was very funny, still. "He's alive, but that's all I can say. He's breathing on a ventilator, and he's in a coma at the moment."

Paris didn't hear anything but one word. Alive...

"Can I see him?"

# # # #

The building was collapsing. The rotten wooden frame had practically fallen already, and Izzy was feeling dizzy, but at the same time was agonizingly alive with pain in his lungs. He was sure that he'd breathed in way too much smoke. Tears came to his burning eyes. The tin of the building was already so hot it would sear anything that touched it: Izzy had to get out.

There were windows. Where? Izzy's vision swam. He wiped at his eyes. His mind was as murky as the air around him. He knew this place! He could get out! Think!

There was one by the door. If he could find it he could get out. Izzy was tempted to run his hands along to find the window, but he knew that would be stupid. By memory, he stepped quickly to where he thought it was. The fire was spreading, coming his way. Taking his shirt into his hands, he slammed his fist into the window--the glass was old, fragile. He only made a little crack in it. Izzy began to realize then just how gone he was. He tried again, his vision blackening. And again. On his third try, he was rewarded with fresh air and a burst of rain. Almost blinded by the smoke, he lurched out of the window, taking in huge breaths of air. He coughed hard trying to rid his body of everything he'd breathed in. Somewhere that seemed miles away, he saw the car.

Gage...

He would make it there. No matter what, he would be there to see if his friend was dead or alive.

That was what kept Izzy conscious all the way to the car, and then to the nearest hospital.

# # # #

Paris saw the car coming into the drive where she sat with Mike and Debbie, and she thought that it was the assassin. She jumped to her feet, nearly falling over with relief when it was Izzy, and not the assasssin, who stepped out. She ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Izzy!"

He smelled strongly of smoke. Stepping back, Paris saw that his skin was grayish, and his clothed were definitely smoke-blackened. She didn't have much time to think anything more. She hadn't noticed how he was breathing until then--which was hardly at all. Izzy almost fell to the ground, refusing help when Mike came over. He insisted he was fine. Or would be.

Mike advised him to take deep breaths.

After a few minutes, Izzy seemed to be back to himself. He got up and fell into the bench the three had been sitting on. When he spoke, he whispered, though. "He's gone. How's Gage?"

Debbie mouthed to Paris. "You have weird friends!"

Paris said, "Gage is alive. He's in a coma, though. Debbie thinks he'll make it."

Izzy nodded. "If he's still alive, then he'll make it. He's too stubborn to give up." Izzy looked Mike square in the eye and said, "Do you have some spare clothes?"

Mike replied, "Got some in my locker. I'll bring them to you."

"Yeah... thanks."

# # # #

The police came soon, questioning Izzy and Paris separately. Izzy had taken a shower--three actually, when Mike had sneaked him into the locker room--and there was little hint that he'd almost died in a fire.

Izzy asked for a smoke in a husky, ragged voice, and the policeman questioning him said no. Izzy had smiled to himself. He didn't smoke, anyway.

He and Paris had thought up their story: They'd been hunting together out of town when Gage had surprised them, and Izzy had misfired. It was believable, as the clothes Mike had loaned him were hunting colors, and the policeman put it down as an accident, after a little convincing crying and careful seduction on Paris' part.

As the secretary of a lawyer, Paris knew they could be tried for manslaughter if Gage died. Izzy seemed certain he would wake up, but the news from the doctors was that Gage's chance of living was very small. Still, Izzy whispered, "He'll make it."

Paris hoped so.

They spent the night at Mike's later, because he lived close to the hospital. They spun an elaborate lie for Mike and Debbie, and both of them believed it willingly, swearing themselves to silence. As far as the police were concerned, Izzy and Paris were off the hook.

Now, they just had to wait.

# # # # ( Three Months Later )

Reporter Trisha Cole stood outside of a large house, where ivy grew wild and summer flowers bloomed bright. She smoothed her charcoal miniskirt, and spoke to the camera.

"Everyone's heard of Senator Ronald Feldman. Trusted and held up as an example of old-time ethics and possessive of a gentle charm, the good Senator is the last person anyone would expect to see charged with murder. But he was. Several weeks ago, the police got an anonymous letter detailing where a body could be found. The police went to the scene to find Darla Feldman, Senator Ron Feldman's wife, dead, murdered by Feldman's own gun. Apparently, the woman was killed when the Senator arrived home to find her with another woman. In his rage, Feldman stole his gun from a rack, killing his wife and her lover. The woman was found with Darla. The anonymous letter details this, and so far the police have found nothing to contradict it. There is no clue as to where the letter came from. At his arraignment, Feldman pled guilty to all charges, to the surprise of his lawyers. He will probably serve life in prison."

Gage sat on the sofa with Izzy and Paris, watching the flickering television. Paris leaned unabashedly against Gage, relaxed on him. Diego sat on Gage's lap, snarling when either Paris or Izzy got too close.

Everything was pretty much back to normal. Gage's road to recovery had been all uphill, and there had been times when both Izzy and Paris thought he wasn't going to make it. But he was back. He was alive, against all of the doctor's grim predictions. Just the other day, he'd gotten out of the hospital, and already he was pushing himself. This was a rare moment of silence, but every time Feldman was mentioned on the news, the three crowded around.

They had found the note Gage had written when they had returned to Izzy's house. Right before he'd gone to the warehouse, Gage had scribbled a letter to them, and they had sent it off anonymously.

Paris smiled contentedly, nestled into Gage's side. When she looked into his eyes now, she didn't see the pain he had suffered, but the chance for a future. He seemed much younger now that the burden of his secret was gone, and Paris had found he was a load when you got him going--playful and sarcastic in a dark kind of way. Things were fine now.

Izzy watched the two, grinning. Finally, he spoke up.

"So, how about that picnic?"