Shadows of the Past Ch. 1 & 2

Fifteen years later
         
         It’s a quiet night in the city; the recent rains have chased away the clouds, leaving a dark and starless sky. In the distance the incessant music from the nightclubs on Bourbon Street can be heard. Between the cold and the late hour most of the streets are deserted. The puddles on the street and sidewalks reflect the orange streetlights. Water still drips off the awnings of the stores like small droplets of crystal. Everywhere the city is quiet and peaceful. Even the pigeons have quieted down for the night. It’s a typical January night in the city.

         Along one of the dimly lit streets of the French Quarter, a tall man with dark grey eyes walks consumed in thought. He can hardly remember a time that he had been able to sleep for more than a few hours at once. The only thing that works for him is to go for a walk. Travin walks briskly, unconsciously trying to escape the dark shadows of his past. Though, no matter how quickly or how far he walks he is unable to escape the memories that haunt him. He hears something behind him and pauses, the sound doesn’t belong to the rest of the night; it’s something completely different. He drops and Shifts just as razor sharp claws slash the air where his head was seconds ago. His silver colored claws stab into his attacker’s stomach. The smaller Shifter falls to the road. Suddenly claws dig into Travin’s back; blood mixes with his jet-black fur. He spins around and faces a gray Shifter who stands there, smiling. Travin slashes the other’s face, blood blinds him, Travin takes advantage of it and slams his claws into his attacker’s heart. The gray Shifter collapses, dead. Travin Shifts back to human form and slumps against the wall. After a moment he forces his dark grey eyes to focus, and his long legs to move. He pushes himself away from the wall and slowly continues down the street.

         Finally he sees the house, and looks around for what seems the hundredth time, to make sure no one followed him. Nothing. Crossing the final street he unlocks the front door. Walking into the kitchen he sees his wife, Emily, and his daughter Talla, sitting at the kitchen table, the thought crosses his mind of why they are up so late as well. Emily sees him and races over to him and helps him to a chair, “Talla go-” She stops, Talla is already back with the first-aid kit. She hands it to her mother and takes a seat out of the way. With quick and skilled hands Emily cleans and bandages his wound. Once done she pauses, “Where you followed?”
          “No.”
         “You need rest.”
         Slowly and stiffly he stands. Emily goes to help him but then stops herself. Knowing her husband doesn't want her help. he closes the bedroom door and lies down on the bed, staring up at the slightly dingy ceiling.

         Travin’s eyes open, he looks around the sparsely furnished bedroom, nothing looks out of place. Emily had joined him sometime as he slept, she looks so beautiful, so peaceful her long brown hair softly veiling her face. He realizes that he’s covered in sweat. He sits up and tries to push the images out of his head. Emily rolls over and faces him, “What’s wrong?”
         “Nothing.”
         She sits up and puts her arms around him, “Travin…” She leans her head against his chest.
         He puts one of his strong arms around her, “I’m ok.” He kisses her forehead, “Really.”
         Emily knows that he’s not OK, but says nothing. They sit there in the dark silence holding each other, like they have so many other nights. There’s a knock at the door,
         “Mom, dad?” Talla’s voice breaks the silence.
         “Yes?” Travin answers.
         “There’s some people outside.” Talla doesn’t even have to finish the sentence.
         “Let’s go.” He can hear Talla hurrying across the hall to her room. They climb out of bed and quickly dress.
         “What happened? Where you followed?” Emily asks pulling on a sweater.
         “I don’t know.” The words are ones Travin’s had to teach himself to say, “Anything could’ve happened.” He shoves his feet into his boots and grabs his coat off the chair. He takes Emily’s hand and joins Talla out in the narrow hall.

         “What do you want to do?” Talla asks.
         “Out the back. We can pick up the car down the block.” Travin leads his family to the back door of the small home, knowing that in a few days the landlord will wonder why the rent has not been paid and will come to find it completely empty as if they had never been there. Carefully he opens the door and looks out. Seeing nothing he opens the door the rest of the way and steps out. The three of them hurry across the heavily treed back yard. At the edge of the tree line they stop.
         “Wait.” Talla says stopping her parents. “Over there.” Talla points to a figure barely seen in the distance.
         The man stands too alert for any normal person this late at night, he watches their house too intently.
         “Wait here.” Like a ghost he disappears into the darkness.

         A moment later he hides in the shadows across from the man Talla saw. There’s no doubt in his mind that the man is meant to watch the house. He comes out of the shadows behind the lookout and draws out his knife. Travin sneaks across the short distance, grabs the man, covers his mouth and slits his throat. Noiselessly the man falls to the road. Without a thought of remorse he cleans the blade on the damp grass and returns it. He comes back to his family, “All clear, let’s go. There’s not much time before they’ll miss him.” The three of them rush down the street and find the waiting SUV. Emily climbs into the front passenger seat, Talla into the back. As he gets into the driver’s seat he sees a car flying around the corner, almost invisible with its lights off in the darkness. “Hold on.” He hits the gas and the SUV leaps forward. Gunshots shatter the back window. “Get down!” Talla pushes herself off the seat and onto the floor. Emily takes cover as well. A second car appears ahead of them, jumping the curb it sets itself on a collision course. Seconds before they hit Travin swerves onto a lawn, barely avoiding the other car. The other car whips around, it’s back end swerving a bit on the rain soaked grass and follows close behind. Travin seems to suddenly have changed his mind; he spins the SUV around another corner.

         The car rams them from behind. He pushes the SUV faster. They reach a narrow dead end road, surrounded on both sides by ominous looking old warehouses, at the end of the road, a river. “Talla,”
         The fifteen year-old looks up just enough and sees the river, “Dad…”
         “We’ll meet on the other side.” The SUV breaks through the barricade and plunges into the cold river. As water fills in around them he and Emily climb to the back with Talla. He breaks the remainder of the back window and helps Talla through. Emily goes next, followed by Travin. Bullets crash into the water all around them protected by the water it’s eerily quiet all around them. A moment later he breaks through the surface of the water, gasping for air he swims for the shore on the opposite side. Dragging himself out of the river he sees a few feet away Talla and Emily waiting. There’s a movement and lights across the river. “Come on.”

         Down the street several blocks they reach a small house, well, house is being generous, it’s more like a shack. It has bare plywood walls no electricity and it is questionable on whether it has running water or not. Once inside he grabs a candle and lights it. Talla pulls the blanket off one of the beds; wrapping herself in it she sits, Emily joins her. There’s flashlights just outside, the three of them freeze. The lights are coming closer. It didn’t take them long to get here. He glances through a small hole in the wall and sees a group of four men. “I’ll slow them down.”
         Emily and Talla nod.
         “We’ll meet at the house near the park.” He has the same kind of feeling he got when he would have to abort a hit, something bad is going to happen.
         “OK.” Emily and Talla hurry to the back door and wait. The light shines through the windows, the Valterra is searching for them. He can hear them talking. Silence, then a small click. “Down!” The three of them drop to the floor as bullets smash windows and shred the thin walls. The shooting continues for another minute then stops as suddenly as it began. Travin lifts his head just enough to look around then stands.

         “What are you doing?” Emily hisses.
         “They’ll be coming in here any second.” He helps Emily up and hurries to a few rotted out floor boards “Get down there.”
         Emily looks at him, not wanting to leave him.
         “We’re running out of time.” He insists quietly.
         Talla climbs down, a second later Emily follows.
         Travin gets the board in place as the doors burst open. A group of several men rush in from each door. They pause to let their eyes adjust, that second of hesitation is all he needs. He grabs the candle and plunges it into the nearest man’s face. The man falls to the floor screaming in pain. Quickly Travin grabs the man’s gun and shoots a second man blocking the door. He shoves another out of his way and rushes through the door. He can hear the other men chasing after him, good. He fires two shots back at them, trying to make sure they all follow him; giving Emily and Talla a chance to slip away.

         He races down the street, his pursuers quickly closing the gap. Quickly he climbs to the top of a fire escape, and crouches down behind the low wall of the building’s roof. Waiting until the men come in sight, he stands just enough to see, fires a shot then ducts back down as the remaining three men open fire. Travin waits for another pause then fires again. Two more men fall; he glances and sees the last man running away.

         Making it back to the house he finds Talla alone in the dark kitchen, looking worried. “Where’s your mom?” He asks quietly as his grey eyes make a quick search of the room.
         “…we got separated.” She answers faintly.
         He fights to control the fear that sits in the bottom of his stomach, “Where did you last see her?”
         “In the park…”
         “Wait here.” He runs out of the house, for once hoping he’s wrong.

         He reaches the city park and quickly searches, the trees and statues taking on a sinister glare, each second growing more desperate. Where is she? He steps off the path; and realizes, “Emily.” Suddenly the world seems to stop, running toward her he stops and falls next to her, cradling her head in his arms, “Emily, no.” He cries out seeing the pool of blood she lays in the fear in the pit of his stomach being confirmed.
         Her eyes slowly open, her beautiful brown eyes, “Hi.”
         “Hi sweetheart. You’re going to be ok.”
         “You never could lie very well to me.” She says with a forced smile.
         “I-”
         Her eyes slowly close as she grows still.
         “No. Don’t leave me alone.” He whispers, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” It feels as if a part of him has been ripped lose; a huge gaping chasm where there was once light and hope but is now only darkness. A void that can never be healed. The world around him fades into a mass of grey emptiness, where everything seems unreal, everything except the still body of his soul’s love, everything except her blood covering him. The woman he loves with everything he is, a woman so full of love and life now lies limp in his arms.

         He hears someone behind him but ignores them, nothing matters now. A hand is placed on his shoulder, “Sir?”
He forces himself to look up, dimly aware of a man standing next to him, concern on the man’s face.
         “Are you hurt?” The words seem to come from some other world.
         Numbly he shakes his head. He can hardly even register that there are people around him, that there is a world that is still moving and working because his is so completely broken. His head feels like someone has been pounding on it with a sledgehammer, every inch of his body aches, he’s never felt this way before. He can’t explain it, in every way worn down to the point of giving up; sinking into the empty blackness that calls to him.
         “Come on.”
         Travin stays there a long time, reluctant to let go of Emily.
         “Come on.” The EMT says again and helps Travin to his feet. Silently he’s led to where the ambulance and police cars are parked. Only vaguely does he see the cars and the small crowd gathered behind yellow police tape, their curiosity peaked by the grisly scene, everything is a blur of lights and motion, he is unable to focus on anything that is being said or done around him. He knows they are talking, but the words are muddled, it only sounds like noise to him. Time crawls by, finally another man walks up to him, “Is there someone we can call?”
         Disconnected from the world he runs his fingers through his hair, smearing blood across his forehead, “Uh… ya…” he gives them Walter’s phone number; Walter is his one friend that he still manages to keep in contact with, his job as a high profile lawyer has deterred the Valterra from going after him. He’s the only one I can trust…. The man walks away leaving Travin alone once more, not that he really notices that the man left, or even came.

         Sometime later, could have been hours, could have been minutes, or even a life time, he sees Walter coming toward him through the dim light.
         “I-” Walter stops himself seeing the emptiness in his friend’s eyes.
         “She’s… gone. What am I going to do?” he says not looking up from the damp paved walkway.
         “You’re going to go home and go to bed. When you wake up you’re going to call me.” Walter says knowing that his friend needs something to do, someone to be accountable to.
         “She’s…” He stops, unable to bring himself to say the words. “If I had just… it’s all my fault.”
         “No, it’s not. Come on.” Walter says as harshly as he can force himself to, knowing that he needs to at least temporarily snap his friend out of it. “Let’s go.” Walter grabs him and gets him to his feet and nearly propels the taller man away from the park. Travin is the first one through the front door.
         Talla, still sitting at the kitchen table sees the blood that covers her dad, “Mom?...” She looks around, knowing that her mom won’t be coming through that door.
         Unable to answer he quickly crosses the room and takes his daughter in his arms.
         “Dad, I…” the words come out in broken sobs, “if I-”
         “No.” he stops her, “don’t say that. There’s nothing you could’ve done.” He says trying to comfort her while struggling with his own hallow emptiness.

         That morning he lies there, in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. Silence blankets the room, nothing moves, not even him, if a person where to walk in, they would never know the room has an occupant. He lies there, lost in a world of thought. He moves, the first sign of life from him in a long while. He turns to glance at the door, a part of him foolishly, stupidly hoping that any moment Emily will come walking through that door. He know that will never happen, and yet a part of him still hopes that what had happened was all just a terrible dream; that at any moment he’ll wake from it and find Emily at his side. That he’ll feel her warm soft skin against his, hear her content, peaceful breathing. He knows that it’s all just a lie though, he held her lifeless body in his arms against his chest, her blood covering him. In his mind he knows that she will never come through those doors again, but his heart refuses to be convinced… except for the large, gapping chasm in his soul. That, in of itself is a confirmation that his mind is right. However, his stupid, foolish, stubborn heart refuses to accept reality. And so he lies there, torn between what he knows to be true, and what his heart hopes to be true.

         His arm grows stiff and uncomfortable as it often does in colder weather. Subconsciously he massages the long scar running from his wrist up to his shoulder blade. Rubbing the soreness he thinks of the night seventeen years ago he had gotten that scar… and had found Emily again. He stumbles down the dark street, his right arm holding his left in a vain effort to slow the bleeding. Unable to go further he pauses against a wall, he can hear police cars drawing closer. Through the haze that clouds his mind he searches for a place to hide. He starts trying doors, near collapsing he finds one unlocked. He pushes it open and stumbles in making his way through the house, supporting himself on whatever is available, leaving behind streaks of blood. He starts to fall, as he catches himself on the kitchen counter a glass dish crashes to the tiled floor. He takes cover behind the counter as a light is turned on. He sees a woman with long brown hair standing on the steps. He knows she’s seen him. Travin pulls himself up and takes a few steps. Then finally, the darkness he had been fighting takes him as he collapses on the floor.
         The woman was Emily, she had stitched up his arm and bandaged it. Slowly sleep takes him. Thoughts and dreams float like ghosts across his mind. Dreams that upon waking quickly vanish, leaving behind a feeling of unease. He finally breaks free from that hell, a noise in the house bringing him back to… what? A different kind of hell. He thinks grimly. He forces himself up onto his feet, the sudden stiffness and slight dizziness telling him he had lain there much longer than he realized. Again he massages his stiff left arm.

         Walter walks into the house and finds Talla, “Where’s your dad?”
         “Upstairs.” She sits on the couch and looks around aimlessly.
         “I need to talk with him, then I’ll be right back.” He hurries up the steps. Quietly he opens the door and sees Travin standing near the bed, staring at the wall.
         “I heard you down stairs.” He says not moving.
         Walter sits on a chair across from him, “You haven’t talked to Talla yet.”
         “What is there to talk about? What do you tell a fifteen year old when her mother was killed?”
         “You have to. This isn’t something that should stay bottled up inside”
         There is silence as Travin stares unblinkingly at the wall.
         “It’s not your fault.” Walter says abruptly.
         “How’s that?”
         “You didn’t do anything. They did. The Valterra killed her.”
         He sits on the bed dejectedly, “If it hadn’t been for me they wouldn’t have been after her.”
         “She made her choice.” Walter snaps, “She could have turned back at any time. But she didn’t.”
         The doorbell rings down stairs, “You should get that.” Walter says quietly.

         He slowly comes down the stairs, glancing out he sees two police officers. Naturally wary of the police he cautiously opens the door, “Yes?”
         “I’m detective Martin, this is detective Blackburn,” the younger of the two men says, “can we ask you some questions?”
         Travin takes a deep breath, “Yeah, sure.” He leads them into the dining room and sees Talla sitting there. “Talla, I need a minute.” He quietly says, not wanting Talla to have to go through talking to the police.
         Looking back and forth between her dad and the police Talla nods and leaves, relieved that she won’t have to talk to them about her mom.
         “Have a seat.” He says sitting down at the kitchen table.

         Detective Martin sits down, “My partner was hoping to ask your daughter a few questions.”
         “No.” He says flatly, “It’s too early for her to be grilled about what may have happened.” He stares at the officers, daring them to argue with him right now. They’re lucky he’s letting them in the house, the fact that he’s even talking to them is more than he really should do.
         Martin nods, “Ok, I understand.” Both detectives sit down opposite to him. “I’m sorry about your wife.” He adds watching Travin carefully with quick eyes.
         “Thank,” his voice catches, “thank you.”
         Blackburn pulls out a pad of paper, “I know this is hard, but we have some questions.”
         “I don’t know if I have any answers but I’ll try to help.” He lies. He knows who killed Emily, and why but he can’t exactly tell the police, he can imagine how the conversation would go, sir, can you tell us who would want your wife killed? Why yes officer, it was actually the criminal organization that I once worked for, and now wants me dead. He would then be promptly arrested and hauled off to jail. The mental image of the cop’s reactions would normally bring an amused smirk to his sharp face, but now he feels nothing.

         “Do you know of anyone who would want your wife hurt?” The detective asks breaking into Travin’s thoughts.
         “No…” he lies, “she was a great woman, always working to help the people around her.” He glances around at the empty house, for that’s exactly what it is without Emily there. With her any building, no matter how small or falling apart, became a home, without her, any building no matter how nice is an empty shack.
         “Do you know what she was doing in the park so late at night?”
         “She was coming home from visiting a friend.”
         “So late?” Blackburn asks skeptically.
         “She was supposed to be home before then, when she wasn’t I knew something was wrong, it was instinct I guess, that helped me find her. You know that feeling that you can’t explain, but tells you where to look, when you know someone you love is in trouble.” He shakes his head, unable to find a way to explain himself, and keep the police far from him.
         “It doesn’t look random, it was too violent for that but, to be honest, there’s not much for us to go on.” Martin says carefully watching for a reaction.
         He looks down at the table, twisting his wedding ring around his finger as he thinks, “you think you’ve got a hard job,” he slowly tells the detective, “I’ve got a fifteen year old girl that her mother’s been murdered…” He glances up at the other man, struggling to hold back the flood of emotion, “How do you do that?”
         “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to answer that.” The two police get to their feet, “Thank you for your help.” They show themselves out the door.

         Walter joins Travin once more, “Listen, you can’t stay here.” He sits down in one of the tall backed chairs, “They know where you are. They’re simply waiting for the right time.”
         Nothing, Travin remains thoughtfully quiet, studying his friend. Walter’s normally perfectly pressed light grey suit is quite rumpled.
         “You act as if you don’t care.” He rubs his tired blue eyes. “At any moment they’ll come here, kill Talla then you.”
         “You’re right.” He says abruptly.
         “What?” he asks surprised that Travin would agree so quickly.
         “You’re right,” he looks up, resolve and, something Walter can’t quite explain, burning in his eyes, “They’re not going to stop ‘till I’m dead. Or they are.”
         “You’re not going-”
         “I’m going to end this.” He gets to his feet and starts to leave. Turning to Walter he says, “I have to go out and take care of something. Can you stay with Talla?”
         Walter nods, “Sure.” He says, not liking the sudden change in attitude, it makes him feel uneasy.
         He can tell that his friend is trying hard not to ask what he is up to, Walter has learned over the many years they’ve been friends that he doesn’t always want to know.

         He drives down the street toward his sister’s house, trying to think of what he’ll say to her. Part of him looks forward to seeing her after so many years, part of him dreads it. He has no idea how she’ll actually react, most likely with anger though. He stops the Jeep by her house and sits there a long moment, studying the cheerful light yellow house with white wooden shutters. His sister has put a lot of effort into this house, to turn it into a home as the airy curtains the windows show. He tries to decide if this something he really needs to do, and if it’s a good idea if it’s right to suddenly come back into his sister’s life this way. He knows Talla needs a place to stay where the Valterra won’t look for her; his sister’s is the only option. Besides, it’s far past the time to see her again. He gets out of the car and walks to her front door, it’s only through the sheer force of will and discipline that he’s learned that his hand and mind remains steady. As he waits for Sate to answer the door his mind goes back to the last time his sister had tried to contact him. There was a lot of hurt in that letter, and anger.

         After what feels a long while Sate opens the door, seeing him she falls silent, her blue eyes staring wide at him then, without warning she slams the door shut, a little ‘welcome’ sign falls ironically on the ground. He knocks on the door again, “Sate.” Not willing to be deterred now that he’s come this far.
         No answer.
         He knocks louder, “Sate, open the door!” He fights back the urge to just break down the door, knowing it will only make things worse.
         Nothing.
         He knocks louder again, nearly pounding on the door, “Sate! Open the door. Talk to me!”

         She flings the door open and glares at him, “I haven’t seen you in over seventy years, and then one day you show up at my house and demand to talk to me! Where were you when we all needed you?!” She gets ready to slam the door on him again.
         “I know.” He grabs the door to stop his younger sister from closing it, “I was trying to protect you.”
         “Protect me?! From what?” She glares at his hand forcing the door to remain open.
         “From me!” He snaps in a rare outburst, “From the people I dealt with, from the things that I did.” There, Travin tells himself, I said it. No going back now.
         “You could have called, written.” She says close to tears, all the years of loneliness coming back to her.
         He knows the years have been hard on her, with him gone she’s the oldest; it wasn’t easy on her especially after their parents died leaving her with four younger sisters. “No, I couldn’t have. I did keep an eye on you though.”
         “Kept an eye on me?” She says skeptical of what her older brother says.
         “You remember when you nearly lost the house because you couldn’t make the payments? Then suddenly the bank was bought and refinanced the house? That bank didn’t do it out of the goodness of its heart. I had bought the bank and paid off your house. I knew you needed help, but no one could know it was me. I needed to keep you safe. I may not have always been there physically, but I always knew what was going on.” He tries to explain, tries to show how he does care.

         She stares at him in silence for a moment, “Why?”
         He smiles slightly, “You’re my sister, I wanted to take care of you.”
         There’s another long pause before she speaks again, “So why are you suddenly at my door after so many years?” She asks, her attitude decidedly more friendly.
         “Because, now I need your help.”
         “Need my help?” She asks a little surprised.
         He nods, “I have a daughter… It’s a long story but she needs a place to stay,” he pauses, “with a person I can trust.”

         She stares at him, lost for words, never thinking that her older brother might have a family of his own, “You, you have a daughter?” She says thrown off by her brother’s statement.
         “Yes. And we both need your help.” He says trying to force down his pride in asking for help.
         “I-” She glances down at the ground then looks up again, “do you want to come inside?” she asks stepping to the side.
         He nods and follows her through the long and narrow house to the cheerful kitchen in the back. Silently he studies the home as he walks on the walls are black and white photos of Sate, her husband and kids. The photos stand out against the light blue walls. Sate sits down in one of the kitchen chairs, he takes one of the stools at the island across from her. She sees the wedding ring Travin wears, “You’re married?” Then sensing that perhaps that was the wrong question she falls silent again.
There’s a long silence where they both stare down at the cream sun bathed tilled floor.
         Sate can tell something is wrong, “What happened?”
         “She was killed… yesterday.” He says just managing to get the words out and stay in control of himself, sadness and anger all swirling around in him.

         “I- I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say… It must be hard.”
         “Yes...” He says quietly, then after a moment continues, “I know it’s not convenient, and that you don’t owe me anything but my daughter, Talla, needs a place to stay for a while.”
         “It’s not about owing each other favors, we’re family and family helps each other. Bring Talla over; I’d love to meet her.” She sees the worried look on Travin’s face, “There’s something wrong.”
         He stares at the counter, “The people who killed my wife, I have a feeling will be coming after Talla as well.”
         “I know. Isis called and told me you’d be coming and trouble would follow.” She stops him, knowing how much he dislikes it when their youngest sister uses her fortune telling gifts, “She came over this morning and we Warded the house.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me? “The funeral is tomorrow afternoon... I’ll bring her over after. Thank you.”

Chapter 2

         The large building that is the New Orleans F.B.I field office looms above the street, a silent, stubble reminder of the government’s steady watch. The glass and steel is a cold and unfeeling face shown to the world, it seems almost on purpose, to dissuade any from approaching. This is the strong arm of Uncle Sam, to be respected and yes, to an extent feared. Inside is not any more welcoming. The wide-open entry floor has a large stone reception desk and stone floor. Metal detectors are well hidden, but despite that everyone is very aware they are there. Armed guards stand at many of the doors, their presence intimidating. This is an impersonal place to be and work.

         Once you reach the offices however, things change. There, one would find offices with family pictures on desks, awards or in other cases calendars with days until vacation ticked off hanging on walls. Here real people work. This place is full and has busy people moving about; interacting with each other. Some sit together, engrossed in work, others greet as they pass in the halls. Agent David Booker Jr. is one of the people walking down the hall, though he doesn’t return any of the greetings from the people, unintentionally he ignores them, his mind so full of thoughts. He heads straight to his office on the third floor. Once there he closes the door and starts to go through the papers on his desk, he frowns at the large stack, all calling for his attention that day. He sighs, maybe all this will take my mind off Ellenor. He tells himself, thinking of the argument they had just before leaving for work. Halfway through sorting all the papers Booker finds a large manila envelope bulging with papers. Picking it up he sees the return address is from a law firm. Not recognizing the firm he opens the envelope, then stares in disbelief at the contents. What? No, how can this happen? Things aren’t perfect but this? He thinks numbly as he stares at the nearly completed papers for divorce. After a moment he picks up the phone and calls Ellenor.

         “What happened?” He asks when she answers.
         “So you got the papers.”
         “Yeah, I got the papers!” Booker responds, surprised and hurt.
         “David, we both knew this was coming.” Her calm voice only serves to hurt more.
         “I didn’t.” Booker says so quietly it is almost to himself.
         "That’s because you could only ever see the case files in front of you and not your own family. All we do is argue.”
         Booker looks down at his desk full of papers and remembers back when they had just married. It didn’t exactly start well, but he loved her and had thought that would be enough. “What happened?”
         “With you always at work, we grew apart.” Ellenor accuses.
         “I worked so much so you wouldn’t have to. So you could be home more.”
         “I guess we had a lot to work out.”
         “We still can.” Booker says trying to keep his emotions in check.
         “I think we’re past that now.”
         The line goes dead.
         Booker stares at the far wall, numbly trying to sort through what just happened. He feels like his whole world is crumbling around him and there is nothing he can do to change it. The stacks of case files lay forgotten on his desk.

         He puts his head down on the desk fighting desperately to keep the tears of grief and frustration at bay. The phone rings, it’s abrasive sound intruding on his misery. He shoves it off, and for once hearing the annoying object crash to the floor isn’t satisfying. There’s a knock at his door, Just leave!  He ignores it, hoping they’ll go away not wanting to face anyone right now. Eithan Hardy opens the door and walks into the room. Saunters is more like it. Booker thinks glancing at the other’s grinning face, carefully groomed hair and perfectly ironed white shirt. Booker glares at the man.
         “How are ya Davey?”
         “Shut up. I’m not in the mood to talk.” Booker snaps angrily. The two of them have never gotten along and Eithan is the last person Booker wants to see or deal with right now.
         “Why?” He asks settling down on Booker’s small couch.
         “Leave…” he picks up a paperweight, ready to throw it at the other’s head. He knows it’s childish, but he really doesn’t care. Eithan’s presence only serves to make a bad day worse.
         “Ok, alright.” Eithan turns and leaves the room.
         Booker drops the weight; it lands with a dull thud. Once again he rests his head in his desk, not sure if he can or wants to finish the day.

         An hour or so later there’s another knock at his door, he grabs the paperweight again, I’m going to kill him… the door opens. Seeing Dobbin, he quickly sets it down; hoping his boss didn’t see.
         “Booker.” Dobbin says closing the office door.
         He remains staring down at his large wood desk, “What?”
         “Are you ok? People have been saying that you have been acting strangely.” He says concerned.
         No. “Yes. Fine.” Booker snaps, sick of hearing people ask him that. He runs his fingers through his redish brown hair, giving him a slightly disheveled look, “Yes. I’m fine.” He says again but more calmly.
         Dobbin studies Booker for a moment, guessing that he’s being lied to but he decides not to push the issue, at least not right now. “I’ve got some bad news.”
         Great, just what I need.
         Dobbin hands him a plastic evidence bag, in it a single bullet.

         Somehow knowing what it is Booker takes it and closely studies the bullet. As he had feared, carefully stamped on the side is one word, Phantom. “It can’t be.” This Phantom has always unnerved him. It always seemed to be a game to him.
         Dobbin sits down in the other office chair, “It is… After fifteen years.” He says slowly, both men had hoped they’d never hear of Phantom again.
         “Who was the victim?” Booker asks, finally looking away from the bullet.
         Saying nothing Dobbin hands Booker a report.
         “The woman who was killed in the park, Emily Conlin. Are there any leads as to why?”
         “None yet.” Dobbin shakes his head, “This isn’t good.”
         That’s an understatement. He reads more, “Why would he come back after all these years?”
         “That’s what worries me.” He leans back into the hard backed chair, “It must be something big… to come back when we’d heard nothing for so long, it’s a big risk.”
         Booker opens a large desk drawer and pulls out a thick file. Dobbin recognizes it as Phantom’s. “I had a feeling I’d need this close at hand again.”
         “I know. I’ve seen you looking through it every once in a while.”
         He flips through the worn, familiar pages, “We can’t let him get away this time.” He falls silent lost in his own thoughts. “The victims on these pages are more than just names and dates. I’ve talked to their friends, their families…”
         “You’ll get him. But, in the meantime, prepare for the worst. I think things will get worse before they get better.”
         “That’s comforting.” Booker mumbles.
         Dobbin stands, “Watch yourself kid… you might be on his agenda.”
         Booker nods, still not fully paying attention to his friend. Slowly he adds the Conlin reports to the top of the large file, let the game begin again.

         When Travin gets home he calls Talla into the kitchen with him, “We need to talk.”
         She sits down next to him, her grey eyes watching him closely.
         “You need to understand what’s going on.” He begins, not quite sure what to say.
         She nods and turns her attention to studying the table. She knows more than perhaps her dad realizes. She knows that the people they have been hiding from are the same people that her dad once worked for. She knows that what her dad did could not have been legal otherwise they would have gone to the police for help.
         “The people who’ve been chasing us, the people who-” He stops, who killed Emily…
         “I know.” She says fighting back tears, she can’t but feel partly responsible for what happened. The ironic thing is she realizes, is that her dad feels it is his fault.
         “They’re not going to stop unless I do something. But until then it’s not safe for you. That’s why you’re going stay with your aunt Sate for a little bit.” Even as he says it he knows she is not going to be happy with this bit of news.
         “But dad, I’ve never even met her before. You haven’t even talked to her in years.”
         “I know, but I just talked to her and she wants you to come.” He can tell his daughter is exhausted both physically and emotionally, “I need you to do this for me.”
         “This isn’t right! I should be here with you.”
         “Talla, this is not up for discussion. It’s the only way.” He says sharper than he meant to. He takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”
         “What, what are you going to do?” She looks up finally at her dad, there’s a look she hasn’t seen before, it worries her.
         “I’m going to try and stop them.”
         “Please, don’t leave me.” The tears now escape, “I need you here.”
         He wraps his arms around her, “I have to, or this isn’t going to stop.”

         The following afternoon he walks through the quiet cemetery, Walter on his right, Talla to his left. It’s raining again, the kind of soft drizzle that soaks through clothes and makes you feel cold and wet through to your bones. The three of them are silent, it seems that the time for words has past, now is the time for private thoughts. He glances ahead and sees Emily’s coffin, waiting before her final resting place, in walls of marble stone. He is surprised to find himself so calm, his mind clear and focused on what lies before him. Even now he knows that this will be hard for Talla to deal with, he realizes that he may even be killed, but he knows that he has to do something or it will only be a matter of time before they kill both Talla and him. Getting closer to the grave site he sees three people waiting. There should only be one… getting closer he sees Emily’s parents and the priest who had married him and Emily. He glances at Walter, he’s the only one who could have told them.
“They have a right to be here as well.” Walter says not looking up from the path.

         Travin looks at Emily’s parents, they watch him with eyes full of contempt and blaming eyes. They blame him for taking their daughter away. They blame him for the fact that they have not seen their daughter in fifteen years; and they blame him for their daughter’s death. He can tell from how they watch him. He had met them a few times before Talla was born, and that’s all he needed. From those few short meetings he could feel their dislike of him and how they wanted nothing to do with him. They made it very clear that they thought Emily should do the same. It’s all fine with him, they wanted nothing to do with him, and it was easier and safer for every one if he has nothing to do with them.

         Only the priest looks comfortably neutral, for some reason he’s always liked Travin; but it’s hard to imagine Father Winifred not liking someone. Winifred comes over to him, “I know any words I have will be of little or no comfort to you right now, but I am truly sorry.”
         “I know it would mean a lot to her that you are here.” he says slowly shaking Winifred’s hand.
         After a few words from Winifred Emily’s parents lay some flowers at the grave, followed by Talla. Last of all Travin comes, he places his hand softly on the smooth, polished casket. Guilt flooding him that this happened, not turning from his place he says, “Walter, will you please go with Talla?” There’s silence as everyone goes, leaving him alone.

         He sits on the low steps of a mausoleum across the narrow little path. His grey eyes stare intently at the large white stone, as if the marble holds the answers he is looking for. He sits there on the cold stone step for a long while, not even caring about the rain that is falling, slowly soaking through his coat and shirt. A few people pass by, not saying anything to the obviously exhausted and grief filled man, they are after all in a cemetery and such sights are common. Travin massages his stiff left arm, as his fingers work the muscle underneath the long scar he remembers. The Valterra once forced him to work with someone named Gid. The job quickly went south and he and Gid fought, Gid had gotten a lucky hit that caused the scar. Even though he and Gid had been ‘on the same side’, they hated each other. As evidenced by the scar they would have been quite happy to kill each other. He’s sloppy in everything he does; never thinking. Leaving behind evidence and thinking the police can do nothing…. He has no self-control. He remembers with disgust, ruled by his passions. He knows all the ways to make one’s death long and painful, and enjoyed it. Suddenly the pieces fall into place, he knows who killed Emily, Gid. He was probably hoping I would come while he was still there. 

         He closes his eyes, fighting back waves of grief, then rage. “I know you didn’t want me to do this. But things are different now. I don’t have a choice. If I don’t go after them they’ll take Talla away. And… who knows how many others.” He pauses, trying to find the right words, “I can stop him. I know I can. And, I’m the only one. Please forgive me.” I owe it to you. To Talla. “I love you. I always will.” He takes one more look at the resting place of the one he loves, than turns and leaves as the rain begins to pour down on him. As he walks he becomes more determined to find Gid, to once and for all settle the score. He actually smirks to himself, glad that he had kept loose tabs on Gid because now it won’t be hard to find him.

         Booker glances through the open door of his office and sees a man he doesn’t recognize coming toward him. Curious Booker gets up and meets him halfway, “Agent Booker, what can I help you with?”
         The man extends his hand to Booker, “Rob Baker, and I may be able to help you.”
         He shakes Rob’s hand, “Oh?”
         Rob smiles, “I understand your skepticism, I would be too if someone walked into my office to help with a case. I’m retired police and I think I worked a case that will help you.”
         “Let’s talk.” Booker leads Rob to his office, “So, what case are you talking about?”
         “The woman who was killed, Emily Conlin, I worked a missing person report for her.”
         Booker’s brown eyes widen in surprise, “When?”
         “About sixteen years ago.”
         Right around when Phantom went dark. “What happened?”

         Rob walks into the police station just as the night shift is going home. He sees an older woman sitting in a chair next to his desk, it’s easy to see she is worried. As soon as she catches sight of him she says, “My daughter is missing.”
         Rob sits at his desk, and grabs a pen and paper, “Ok, why do you think she’s missing?”
         “I haven’t heard from her in three days… oh, I knew this was going to happen!”
         “What makes you say that?” He can tell she’s angry about something.
         “A little over a year ago she got in contact again with a man she had been engaged to… I was relieved when he just disappeared. But he came back and they got married. Now they’re both gone, and with her pregnant… we have to find her!”
         “Do you think she’s in danger?”
         The woman nods, “Yes. There’s something I don’t trust in her husband, he would never hurt her, but the way he disappeared last time…”

         “A week later she actually came into the station,” Rob explains, “and said everything was fine, she just needed space from her family. The case was closed.”
         “You think something was going on.”
         Rob nods, “And now she’s dead… I know it’s a long time, most would say it’s not connected, but… I feel it is.”
         Booker leans back in his chair, “What do you think happened?”
         Rob shakes his head, “I don’t know.” He pulls a file from a briefcase at his side and hands it to Booker, “Here’s the file. There’s not much, but it may help.”
         “Thanks.”
         “I’ll let you get back to work. I can show myself out.”
         Booker opens the file and reads Rob’s notes. Rob had talked to neighbors; they hadn’t noticed anyone missing at the house; the husband they said traveled for months at a time. All the neighbors assumed the two of them had gone somewhere together. Tired of being behind his desk he walks out of his office to his car. Trying to decide where to go he unlocks the door and gets in. He sits there for a moment, questions swirling around his mind, and no answers. The more he learns about Emily Conlin, the more confused he becomes. He starts the car and just starts to drive.

         By the time Travin reaches his destination the rain is coming down hard. As he walks down the damp street the outline of a large shabby building looms before him in the semi-darkness. The thought crosses his mind about where all the money the Valterra pays Gid could be going if Gid is constantly living in such a hole as this building; no doubt to alcohol and prostitutes; he thinks cynically. Not that in this case the filthy habits of his are necessarily pointless. He shrugs, everyone does after all have some small use. He enters the shabby building, it was once a grand and beautiful hotel, but now is a pathetic shack. He closes the rickety door, muffling the roar of the storm and shakes the rain out of his face. The building is mostly dark, the air smells strongly of mold, he’s sure that if there was sufficient light, the ceiling would be covered in it. The air smells stale and judging from the cobwebs, it has been a long time since this place has seen any form of cleaning. Going into one of the many thickly shadowed corners, he waits.

         After a long time a prostitute enters. For the brief moment that the old rotting door is open he can tell it has stopped raining. The woman walks a few steps down the hall when Travin steps out of the shadows. She jumps, startled by his sudden appearance, seemingly from nowhere.
         “Can I help you?” she asks timidly, unsure of this stranger here where no other goes.
         “Tell Gid someone he works for is here.”
         She hesitates, afraid of Gid, but also afraid of him. Caught between the two men she knows are dangerous, she’s unsure what to do.
         He knows she needs to be more afraid of him than Gid. He glares down at the small, frail looking woman, “Tell him that someone he works for is here.” He insists forcefully.
         She stands there for a long moment, unmoving.
         He takes a menacing step toward her, ready to threaten if she doesn’t comply.
         Sensing the harm he intends to her if she doesn’t do as he says, her fear of him over powers her fear of Gid. She nods.
         He steps aside and lets her pass down the hall. As she enters the room where Gid must be, Travin returns to the shadows. His skin feels warm and he can feel every nerve taut with something beyond anger.