Virtual American Gothic - Third Season 
Episode Ten

AND ALSO WITH YOU

By Roguewriter and Queribus

NOT TO BE ARCHIVED TO A WEB PAGE WITHOUT 
THE AUTHOR'S PRIOR CONSENT.

TV-MA: Due to some graphic content, the following episode 
may not be suitable for some viewers. Parental guidance is suggested.

**********************************************

PROLOGUE

Selena, alone in the dark.

Her nightdress was hiked up to her waist, her knees up on either side of 
her big belly. She propped her elbows on them and rested her forehead 
against the hot skin of her arms, trying to breathe through the bout of 
nausea. She was sweating despite the cold air, determined not to be sick, 
determined not to let her physical discomfort erode her precarious mental 
balance any further. 

She'd awakened, sick, from sickening dreams. Dreams of her father. Dreams 
of Ash Wednesday.

"Almighty and everlasting Father, who hatest nothing that thou hast 
made..."

Her father's voice, taking her back...

"Oh Lord, who dost forgive the sins of all those who are penitent," the 
Reverend Hezekiah Coombs intones, "Create and make in us new and contrite 
hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our 
wretchedness, may obtain of thee - the God of all mercy - perfect 
remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

He finishes the Ash Wednesday ritual of the Collect with hands out, 
supplicating, face turned up to the dark balcony at the rear of the nave, 
and for a brief, terrified moment, Selena Coombs, sixteen, locked in the 
strong embrace of the man she still only calls "Sheriff" at this point in 
her life, can swear her father is looking directly at her. That's crazy, 
of course - almost as crazy as what they're doing up here. The shadows 
are deep. Daddy can't see them, can't see her fall from grace, her 
submission to the old call of her blood. 

Lucas pulls her deeper into the shadows, his hands moving roughly over 
her body the way she has dreamed of for so long, her back pressed to his 
chest as his mouth works its way up the side of her neck to her jaw.

"Please," she gasps. "Please."

"Yes," Lucas murmurs, and she can feel his smile against the skin of her 
throat. Plea granted...

In bed, alone, Selena put one hand to her cheek, remembering...

* * *

Caleb, dreaming he is not alone.

Her hands are warm on his cheeks, her smile kind, forgiving, seeking his 
forgiveness in turn.

"Merly?" he whispers, and when he looks up, it IS her. She pulls him to 
her and hugs him, crushes him into her embrace, and he hugs back, 
relieved to feel her alive and warm once more. "Merly," he murmurs. "Oh 
Merly, I missed you so much."

But when she pulls away again, she's not Merly anymore. She's Miss Vicki. 

Caleb gasps as her warm hands slide up his cheeks once more, her smile 
different from his sister's - fuller somehow, lush with... promise... and 
she leans forward and kisses him. He wants to pull away but he doesn't 
want to pull away, and the kiss keeps going, keeps going, and somehow 
he's tall enough to kiss her right, tongues twining, bodies close, and 
his hands are moving, moving...

Crying out, Caleb woke, bathed in sweat, chest heaving, looking around 
wildly. Something was wrong, something different, some sea-change in 
himself...

Wetness. Wetness on his belly. Caleb threw off his covers and stared down 
in horror, expecting blood, expecting some great wound opened up in his 
guts- 

Guilt so big it was smothering washed over him. He understood 
instinctively what had happened. He looked around again, wanting to call 
to someone, wanting to find somewhere to hide from himself, wanting to...

Wanting to return to the dream.

Caleb used the sheet to clean himself, then crumpled it into a ball and 
threw it aside, face twisted in shame. He lay back down again, wiping 
sweat from his forehead, and sleep was a long time in coming...


ACT ONE

"You're up early, Father."

Lifting his surplice from the cedar chest, Reverend Hezekiah Coombs 
looked up to see Ben Tramer walk into the sacristy, carrying a stack of 
Bibles. He nodded to Ben, who did odd jobs around the church and played 
the organ at Sunday services. "Up fairly early yourself, aren't you, 
Bennett?"

Ben smiled. "I'm always here this time of the morning, Father. I'm 
shipping these Bibles off today."

"The mission shipment?" Unfolding the surplice, Reverend Coombs kissed 
the raiment and laid it over his shoulders to complete his formal attire 
for morning confessions.

"That's right. I don't understand it, you know, Father - there's nothing 
wrong with them beside the covers being a little frayed and beat up."

"Important to keep up appearances in God's house, Bennett," the Reverend 
said sternly. His head was pounding fiercely, and he wasn't in the mood 
to discuss matters of church policy with his assistant.

"I suppose so," Tramer was saying. "Good thing there's a lotta folks in 
the third world who don't mind their Bibles having tattered covers. Oh, 
and I've got the pyre going out back. We'll have plenty for tomorrow."

"Plenty?" Coombs repeated, uncertainly.

A cautious look. "The ashes? For the ceremony? You'll need to bless them 
tonight."

Ash Wednesday, the Reverend remembered, and black remorse streaked 
through him. "Of course, of course..." 

"Can I get you some coffee, Father?"

Reverend Coombs glanced up sternly to gauge Ben's awareness of his 
condition, but the young man had his back to him again. If he'd meant 
anything by the remark, he was hiding it well. "Yes, that would be very 
nice, Bennett. And put some peppermints in the dish in the confessional, 
if you please. Mrs. Coleridge comes on Tuesdays."

"Blecch," Ben answered. "Denture stench."

Reverend Coombs shot him another sharp look, but Ben was already heading 
out of the sacristy.

* * *

Matt Crower was spiking his scrambled eggs with Tabasco sauce and 
laughing at Rose, who was trying to hang a spoon from the tip of her nose 
the way he'd done a moment earlier. "It's not long enough!" Rose said in 
frustration, pinching her small nose as if to squash it into a more 
amenable spoon-hanging shape.

"With all the fibbing you've done in your short life?" Loris said wryly, 
drying her hands on a dishtowel and coming to join them. She smiled. "I 
'spect it's plenty long enough, Miss Thing!" 

Footsteps, coming downstairs, hard. Matt lifted a bite to his mouth, 
paused as Caleb hurried through the kitchen, a double-armful of linens 
trying gamely to trip him up. As he passed them without a word, going 
into the laundry room, Loris looked at Matt and raised an eyebrow. 
"Washday already?" Matt asked.

"Judgment day, I'm led to believe," Loris said. "Or maybe pigs taking 
wing... Caleb?" she called.

They could hear him crashing around in there. "Ma'am?" A querulous note.

"You decide to take a personal interest in the laundry?"

They heard the washer kick on. Caleb came back in, grabbed a piece of 
toast and shrugged. "Just wanted to help you out this mornin." He was 
beet red, sweating. Meeting no one's eyes, he scooted toward the hall.

"Caleb?" Matt asked.

"No time, Doctor Matt, got to get to school!" The front door slammed. 
Loris and Matt looked at each other.

"It's just no use!" Rose groused. She was stroking her nose, pulling at 
it. "It just won't grow!"

Matt watched her for a second, watched what she was doing. He listened to 
the laundry churning. Then he flushed straight up from his collar to the 
part in his hair. "Oh!" he said.

* * *

Caleb drummed down the steps, lugging his bookbag, when he heard his 
father say, "There's a new smell in the air today."

Caleb stopped short, drawing back as he saw Lucas Buck in front of him, 
leaning against the hood of his car and cleaning his fingernails with his 
penknife.

"What... whaddya mean?"

Lucas put the knife away and smiled, sliding his hands into his pockets. 
He was dressed all in black, except for the gray vest with the star 
shining on the breast. "Spring has sprung, Caleb," he said. "I think 
serious winter's about ready to give up the ghost."

"Oh," Caleb replied, casting his eyes away. He could still feel the red 
heat in his cheeks. "Well, I got to get to school-"

"Hop in, I'll give you a lift. We could talk. You look like a fellow with 
something on his mind this morning. Something... sticky."

Caleb gave him a wary shrug. "Not me. I'm just fine."

Lucas put one bootheel against the frame of the Crown Vic and pushed 
himself away from it, stepping lazily over to the boy. Caleb shifted from 
one foot to the other. "Well, if there's anything you want to unburden 
yourself of, you know where to find me. Tis the season for it, you know. 
Unburdening." The word came out as if it tasted bad. "Folks walking 
around for 40 days with ashes on their heads to match the ones in their 
hearts."

"That's Lent," Caleb said. "I know about that. Miz Holt tole me all about 
it. Givin' up your vices. It doesn't sound so bad to me." He thought 
suddenly about the dream, and the sheets. His flush deepened. "It's part 
of bein' forgiven."

Lucas smiled, opening the car door to depart. "You've got to sin to be 
forgiven, Caleb." He seated himself and started the car, then tipped the 
boy a wink. "Kind of a vicious circle, isn't it?" 

Face twisted with shame and confusion, Caleb watched the sheriff drive 
away...

* * *

Selena woke late, hearing the phone ringing. Disoriented, shaking off the 
shadow-filled dreams that had plagued her all night, she rolled over and 
fumbled to answer it.

"Yes."

"Miss Coombs?"

She didn't recognize the voice right away. "Yes?"

"This is Rita, Miss Coombs, down at the hospital. Wanted to remind you 
about your ultrasound today."

"Yes, Rita. I'll be there promptly at noon." 

"Very good. Have a good morning."

Selena hung up, pushing her hair out of her face and glancing down at the 
triangle of pale belly visible between the flaps of her pajama top. 
"Bastard," she murmured.

* * *

Miss Vicki was running them through their spelling homework when the 
memory of his dream seized Caleb again. He'd been doodling in his 
notebook, barely paying attention, when Miss Vicki called his name. 
"Caleb?"

He looked up, blinking. "Yes ma'am?"

"Can you give us the correct spelling of 'succulent,' please?"

Something about the way she said it, and he was once more feeling her 
hands slipping over his cheeks, the press of her lips, the sweet 
dizziness of his dream. Caleb felt a feverblast of embarrassment. He 
caught Boone and Josh looking at him curiously.

"Caleb?" Miss Vicki asked encouragingly. He looked back at her. Her face 
was inviting, different from the way she normally looked at him. It was 
as if she knew. "Succ-u-lent," she said, drawing it out. Suck. You. Lent.

"S-U... S-U-C... I'm, uh... not sure, ma'am," Caleb said hesitantly. 
There were sniggers of laughter.

Miss Vicki put her hands behind her back and started walking slowly down 
the row toward his desk. "Perhaps it would be easier if you tried writing 
it out on the board?"

Flash terror. Caleb shifted in his seat, realized what the stir of memory 
had done to him, and looked up at her once more with panic in his eyes. 
He tried to shake his head no, could only stare pleadingly at her.

Victoria stopped, reading the boy's distress as clearly as if he'd fired 
a flare gun. Something appeared to be flaring up, all right. She smiled, 
diverted attention by pointing a ruby-tipped fingernail at another 
student. "Mickey Stratham, if you're not too busy reading that comic 
you've got hidden inside your notebook, maybe you'd like to take a crack 
at the word?"

Caleb closed his eyes in relief, hearing Mickey groan as he rose and 
trudged up to the board. He opened them again fast when Miss Vicki laid a 
brief, understanding hand on his shoulder as she passed by him. He looked 
up, found her smiling at him in a strange way.

"Nature's first green is gold," she murmured, and continued around the 
room. Caleb's blush deepened.

* * *

Lucas strode into the office and tipped Floyd a nod. "Mornin, Deputy. 
How's my town?"

"Still yours, Lucas," Floyd replied promptly.

"Damn right. Quiet morning?"

"Nothing since I came on at two-thirty." He glanced at a Post-It note. 
"Oh, Reverend Coombs called to ask that we mark off some reserved parking 
tomorrow along Sixth and Charity. He's expecting to overflow his parking 
lot."

Lucas paused, snorted. "Ash Wednesday."

Floyd shrugged. "According to statistics, it's one of the biggest 
churchgoing days of the year for Catholics, Lutherans and Episcopalians."

Lucas blinked, bemused. "You among the devout, Floyd?"

"Shoot, Lucas, I'm as Baptist as John The! Won't catch a Carolina cracker 
like me near a church between Sundays."

Lucas smiled and went into his office, closing the door behind him.

* * *

"Have you thought about a name?" Dr. Crower asked abruptly.

Selena blinked up at him. She was lying on her back with the 
hospital-issue shift pushed up to just below her breasts, a sheet 
covering her thighs. "A name?"

Matt smiled, indicating her swollen belly. "For your baby." He stepped 
over to a cabinet to retrieve the contact gel.

Selena blinked. "Oh! No. No, I guess I haven't put much thought into it."

"Well," he said, coming back, "after this, you can cut your choices in 
half, at least."

"It's a girl," she replied. "I know that already."

Matt unscrewed the cap on the white tube. "Well, better to be sure, 
right? I mean, you don't want to name the baby Penelope... only to 
discover you've given birth to Trinity High's future all-star linebacker, 
right?" 

She smiled dutifully, and he decided to quit trying to boost her spirits 
- it didn't seem to be working at all. "This is going to be cold," he 
warned her, and squirted bluish glop on her stomach, coating it 
thoroughly.

* * *

The last of the morning's faithful had departed, and none too soon. The 
Reverend was shaking so badly he was sure Mrs. Coleridge had heard the 
chattering of his teeth, and his nervous sweat was already beginning to 
take on the smell of withdrawal. He stepped out of the confessional, 
knelt before the crucifix and crossed himself - and then staggered as he 
got to his feet.

"The flames are all out, Father," he heard his assistant say behind him. 
"Once the ashes cool, I'll prepare them for your blessing."

"Thank you, Bennett," Reverend Coombs said tremulously. "I think that 
will be all for the morning. Why don't you come in around four to check 
on the ashes?"

"All right. Father? Can I get paid?"

The Reverend looked up at him, pale and drawn, and offered Tramer a wry 
smile. "Why don't you come in at six instead of four, Bennett."

The young man snorted and made his exit, and the Reverend went upstairs. 
Up to the needle and the rubber hose. Up to find the morphine sea.

* * *

Lucas was scrawling his signature across the last of the previous day's 
paperwork when the gloom in the office perceptibly brightened. "Hello, 
Judith," he said without looking up.

She was standing against one wall, her hands clasped as she regarded him. 
"Your son comes to you for guidance, you give him dirty jokes."

Buck put down the pen and glared at her. "Judith, you don't know anything 
about men. I told him I'm here if he wants to talk. I'm not going to push 
the boy. He needs to experience this. Desire helps shape a man."

Her gaze was deep, penetrating. "It could overwhelm him, Lucas-"

"How would you know?" he spat. "If there's any fire at all in Caleb, it 
certainly didn't come from your side of the family. Heaven probably suits 
you to a tee - not a flame to be found."

"Don't try to sidetrack me with insults, it won't work. It's the Buck 
fire I'm worried about."

"I have it under control."

Her eyes seemed to pierce through to the heart of him. "You told me to be 
reasonable, Lucas," she said. "YOU need to try being honest."

He surged to his feet. "I'm so damned sick of dead women-"

"Then you should stop making them that way."

Buck snarled and surged around the desk toward her, but she vanished 
before he could reach her, leaving him helpless with fury, helpless to 
refute her words.

* * *


"The pictures turned out fine," Matt said cheerfully, coming into the 
room as Selena finished buttoning her blouse. He held them up. "Proof you 
were right."

"Told you so," she said, and smiled shyly at him. Her mood had improved 
considerably as Matt performed the ultrasound, guiding her view of the 
baby via the monitor. He had pointed out the fetus's small arms, the 
delicate curve of her cranium, the gentle cleft of her sex. Selena smiled 
again as Matt handed her the ultrasound snapshots. "She's beautiful," she 
said.

"Like I said, she's doing just fine," Matt told her. "And you're right on 
track. You should deliver on schedule."

"Can I keep these?" Selena asked, pressing the pictures to her chest.

"Sure," Matt replied. "Show your daughter off to all your friends and 
family..." He paused, broke off entirely, and his gaze faltered when she 
raised her eyes to his. He rubbed his hands together and looked around 
himself, embarrassed.

Selena felt her good mood drain away like bathwater. She held the 
pictures up again, regarded the tiny shape of her daughter, and then 
slowly turned them so Matt could look at them. "I'm a little short on 
friends these days, but..."

He smiled and put a hand on her upper arm. "I'm flattered." He studied 
the pictures again, as if for the first time, and meant it when he said, 
"She's going to be a beautiful child, Selena."

"Yes. She is." Her shield of bravado wavered, and she tucked the pictures 
into her purse. "Give my best to Loris, Matt," she said, and fled.

In the parking lot, she had to lean against the doorframe, one hand over 
her eyes, as she gasped for air, almost hyperventilating. Matt had summed 
it up for her. There was no one in her life - no one - to whom she could 
show the ultrasound images. Not family, not friends, not the baby's 
father. Her daughter had no father. Just like Selena herself.

A wild, desperate sound escaped her, and then the tears were there, 
caustic, unstoppable.

Across the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, Lucas Buck 
watched her, rubbing the empty place on his ring finger, glowering 
unpleasantly...


ACT TWO

The other kids decided to take advantage of the warm spell with a pick-up 
softball game after school, but Caleb begged off, citing chores he needed 
to do for Miss Holt. Rose looked at him curiously - she hadn't paid 
attention to the grownups' discussion at the breakfast table after Caleb 
had fled this morning - but she knew it wasn't much like Caleb to dash 
home for chores.

He walked along Main Street with his bookbag over one shoulder, looking 
into the windows of the shops and enjoying the feel of the sunshine on 
his face - good heat, as opposed to the shameful flush he'd been unable 
to quell during class. The whole experience was troubling. What the heck 
was wrong with him?

"There's my golden boy," a voice behind him said, and he turned to see 
Vicki Madison coming out of Walgreens with a sack of goods and waving to 
him. His heart seemed to stop in his chest for a moment, and everything 
else clenched reflexively, jaw, fists and-

She was walking up to him. "Isn't it a beautiful evening, Caleb?"

"Yes'm, it sure is."

Her smile was very bright, and as warm as the sun beginning to drop 
behind the trees. "Are you feeling better? You seemed pretty flustered 
today."

"I guess I just wasn't feeling so good," Caleb said evasively.

"Walk with me a ways?"

"Yes, ma'am." Despite his renewed embarrassment, the flush that shivered 
over him now felt good. He extended his hands for her sack of purchases, 
and she smiled and gave it to him with a little tilt of her head. Caleb 
found the gesture both funny and exciting in a strange way. She fell into 
step beside him, and they walked together.

"Ma'am?" Caleb said after they'd gone a ways.

"You don't have to call me 'Ma'am' after school's over, Caleb, that's all 
right. Call me Vicki."

Caleb nodded, and found himself remembering the afternoon he'd gone to 
Miss Coombs' for tutoring, remembered her telling him she was still his 
teacher, but after school she could be Selena to him, too...

"What is it, Caleb?"

He glanced up at her. "You said something in class. About nature being 
green and gold-"

"Nature's first green is gold," she quoted. "'Her hardest hue to hold. 
Her early leaf's a flower, but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to 
leaf, so Eden sank to grief. So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can 
stay." 

"That's Robert Frost, isn't it?" Caleb said. "The same guy who wrote that 
poem we did for the Winter Festival?"

"That's right, Caleb. You're developing quite a taste for poetry."

"I like Frost. But I don't reckon I understand that nature poem too well."

"It's about innocence. The flowering of youth."

"Oh." He nodded, thinking about that, and then felt her hand on his arm 
again, warm, so warm. He looked up at her.

"You're a fine young man, Caleb," she said. Her eyes held his, and he 
felt dizzy. The poem was crashing around in his head.

"Why grief?" he asked her.

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"So Eden sank to grief... what caused the grief?"

"Some lady with an apple," Lucas Buck answered, coming out of the 
Sheriff's Department and smiling at them as he approached. "Caleb Temple, 
is there a beautiful woman from here to Ascension you've yet to bewitch?"

"One or two," Caleb shot back, scowling at him.

Lucas chuckled, watching Victoria's face. "Thought you two might like a 
ride. Beats hoofin."

"That's all right," Caleb said. "I best get on home." He looked at his 
teacher. "Good night... Vicki."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for the company, kind sir." 
Caleb smiled and handed over her shopping bag, then glanced at Lucas 
again and headed for the boarding house, not looking back. 

Lucas watched him go, then looked back at Victoria with folded arms. 
"Boy's not wasting any time. But it's going to take more than fluffy 
poetry about flowers and leaves to show him the way out of Eden."

"And why would you be so eager to see that happen?" she asked warily.

Lucas smiled broadly. Then he glanced to his left and saw a figure in 
white reflected there - Judith, watching him with silent disapproval. 
Buck turned his head quickly to the right. No one in the street.

Victoria lifted an eyebrow curiously. "Sheriff Buck?"

The specter reflected in the glass was gone. To hell with her, Lucas 
thought. He stepped forward and relieved Victoria of the shopping bag. 
"What would you say to dinner?"

She regarded him a moment. "I'd say that if you want me in your bed, 
Sheriff, don't waste my time with evasive approaches."

His smile returned. He offered her an arm, and she took it.

* * *

At home, Selena moved restlessly through her house, scattering the cats 
before her. She was holding the ultrasound pictures and chewing at her 
fingernails. Finally, she stopped in the kitchen and put a hand on the 
telephone. Lifted it. Dialed.

* * *

The phone in the rectory office rang. The man sitting at the desk did not 
move, did not even register the sound. The phone rang, and rang, and 
rang...

* * *

Twelve rings, and Selena slammed the phone down, running her hands into 
her hair and leaning back against the wall. She glanced at the ultrasound 
pictures again, at the tiny shape of the unborn child limned there in 
bluish-black and white.

"Slut's daughter," she bit out, and then crumpled the photos savagely, 
hurling them across the kitchen.

* * *

Morphine dreams. The sweet arterial pull of blankness, rushing up the big 
vein in his arm, swallowing him from inside out as it swept through him 
and ate away time, grief, memory, shame...

The doctors had diagnosed Delia Coombs with abdominal cancer when Selena 
was six, and despite all their ministrations and Hezekiah's prayers, the 
black rot ate its way through Delia's system, settling in her intestines, 
her uterus, her bones... And then it just stayed there, festering, 
dancing in malignant delight as she wasted away but did not die. 

Hezekiah prayed over her, laid hands on her, watched the woman who was 
his life in this world transform from a delicate and beautiful woman into 
a shriveled, skeletal thing that wept and shrieked and moaned almost 
constantly. They gave her morphine for her pain... sweet chemical 
blankness. The good Reverend first learned to handle the needle on 
Delia's wasted limbs, and then when even the morphine could do her no 
more good, he used the needle on himself. 

And Delia lived three more years, in more pain than any human being 
should have been able to withstand.

Swimming the morphine sea, the Reverend remembered, but felt no pain. He 
should have ended it for her, given her an overdose of the drug. It 
wouldn't have taken much - in the last year, Delia weighed less than 80 
pounds. A slight overdose... and then peace. But he could not do it. His 
faith, his office... he could not. Instead, he swam the blank sea with 
her. 

And when she finally died, he could no longer pull himself from the 
depths.

The Reverend was leaning back in his chair, mouth agape, eyes closed, the 
rubber tubing around his upper arm slackening as the morphine sluiced 
through his veins. No pain. No pain. Oh dear Father in heaven, who hatest 
nothing thou hast made...

Reverend Coombs was completely unaware of the tears coursing down his 
cheeks.

* * *

Vicki Madison rolled over and kissed the hollow at the base of Buck's 
throat, the place where other men might wear a cross. Pulling up the 
sheet, she settled, naked, against the hard warmth of his chest. "Thank 
you," she murmured.

Looking up at the ceiling, Lucas was not smiling. "My pleasure, darlin."

"Was it? Is that really why you asked me here?" She lifted her head 
abruptly, and saw his expression before he had time to hide it. "You were 
trying to make sure Caleb Temple didn't walk me the rest of the way home, 
weren't you, Sheriff?"

He chuckled. "You weren't planning on giving him a bite of that apple, 
were you, Miss Madison?"

"I hadn't thought about it," she replied. "Until you brought it up."

"The boy's coming of age."

"I know that as well as you do. He had an... episode... in class today."

In spite of himself, Lucas laughed. "A sizable episode?"

"For his youth." She abruptly rolled over and sat up, reaching for her 
skirt.

"Leaving so soon?" Lucas asked her. "I really did mean that offer of 
dinner."

"I've had my fill," she replied shortly. She stood up to continue 
dressing. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't embarrass me again in front of 
Caleb. I'm his teacher."

"And I hope you'll keep that relationship within the classroom setting," 
Lucas said, his gaze hardening.

"Are you feeling threatened in some way?" Victoria asked incredulously.

"Don't be a fool. I won't have Caleb confused about... this subject."

Buttoning her blouse, Vicki leveled an icy stare at him. "Like I said... 
the thought hadn't occurred to me, Lucas, until you brought it up. I 
guess that makes you the snake in the Garden."

She walked out of the room, leaving Lucas to roll over and glare 
furiously at the wall.

* * *

Caleb was shucking corn on the porch when Doctor Matt pushed open the 
screen door and leaned out. "Need some help?"

"Think I just about got 'er," Caleb replied. "I got us enough here to eat 
corn every meal for a week."

"It was nice of you to offer to do that," Matt said, walking to the edge 
of the porch and leaning against the railing, hands in his pockets. 
"School okay?"

"When you were my age, was it okay with you?"

"No way. I guess that's why I went to medical school and prolonged the 
agony as long as possible."

Caleb offered a small grin at that, and dropped another clean ear on the 
small pile beside him. "Not me," he said. "I cain't get done with it soon 
enough to suit me."

"Do you like that new teacher, the one that replaced Miss Coombs?"

Caleb paused, and felt his collar heat up. He threw Matt a sidelong 
glance. "She's all right."

"I saw Miss Coombs today, forgot to tell you. She came in for the 
ultrasound. The baby's doing very well."

A bigger smile. "That's good. I sure do wish she'd come back to school."

"It's hard for her because of the way some people... perceive her 
condition," Matt said carefully.

"You mean 'cause she doesn't have a husband?" Caleb asked gruffly.

"Something like that."

"Don't seem right. You reckon her baby'll have a hard time too?"

Matt shrugged, then nodded.

"Sex gets people in trouble," Caleb ventured. Another ear of corn hit the 
pile.

"Sometimes." 

"You ever wonder what it would have been like, trying to explain sex to 
your little girl?"

An innocent question, Matt understood, and he nodded. "Yeah, sometimes I 
think about that."

"It's different for girls and boys," Caleb said.

"Double standards," Matt agreed. "But it's not an easy thing for anyone."

"My daddy tole me one thing once," Caleb said reflectively, and it 
disturbed Matt to see how old the boy looked suddenly. "We had a ole 
bluetick hound awhile, and she got loose of her chain once and run off. 
When she showed up a week later, she was pregnant." There was a sharp 
ripping sound as he stripped husk from another piece of corn. "One day 
Daddy called me outside. She was having her puppies. We stood there and 
watched for a spell, and then he told me something."

"What was that?"

"He said nothing good ever come out of having a woman, 'cause nothing 
good ever come out of a woman afterward." He looked up at Matt with his 
ancient face, and Matt saw the depths of confusion and dismay in the boy. 
Depths that went leagues deeper than a simple wet dream. 

"Caleb... it's not that way. It doesn't have to be."

The boy nodded, but he continued to savagely rip the husks from the corn. 
Matt looked away, at the dark settling over Trinity, and then added, 
"What'd you name the puppies?"

"I didn't. He took 'em away and drowned 'em."

They looked at each other for a time, and then Caleb went back to 
shucking the corn, almost savagely ripping the husks away, exposing the 
tender places beneath.

* * *

Lucas felt the mattress creak a bit under the weight of a body, and he 
smiled, starting to roll over once more. "You took your time deciding to 
come back--" He broke off, almost gasping.

"I would say twelve years was long enough," Judith replied as she rolled 
over to meet him halfway, pressing her body -- her all-too-real body -- 
against him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked her.

"Being... reasonable."

Buck recoiled. She was real, she was here, in his arms, molding her body 
to his. He felt himself giving under that pressure, lying back as she 
pushed him down, her flesh and her will overriding his own.

"I thought you had that halo tacked on tight," he gasped. "This qualifies 
as a sin, Judith, remember that."

"I'm not a married woman anymore. And you have to sin to be forgiven, 
isn't that what you told Caleb?" She drew closer still, and he could 
taste his own lust for her, taste desire on her soft breaths.

"Too little too late." Buck said. "Been a lot of water and women under 
the bridge. I don't want you anymore."

Her smile was like a shellburst. "There are some lies you shouldn't tell 
naked, Lucas Buck."

Flat on his back with this solar flare of a woman lying on top of him, 
Buck felt exposed, vulnerable. Almost raped. "N-no," he said, struggling 
to get out from under her.

"Rage isn't the only dangerous element of your power you have to teach 
our son to deal with," Judith whispered. "How many years did it take you 
to learn to control your Lust, Lucas?"

"Long before I got tangled up with you," he fired back.

"If you say so," she whispered, her eyes the deepest blue, her lips wet 
and parted, her body... her body...

Desire overcame him, and Lucas leaned forward, straining for one real 
kiss- 

"Stop dangling that woman in front of him, Lucas," Judith whispered. "Or 
you'll damn them both."

-and her lips dissolved under his. Then she was gone, leaving him wild 
with the wanting of her.

"Damn YOU!" He was on his knees on the bed and shaking his fists at the 
darkness. "Damn you, Judith!" He repeated it again and again. As if the 
words could make it true.


ACT THREE

Sleep would not come. The baby had kicked her almost continuously since 
her loss of control in the kitchen, as if annoyed with her for disturbing 
its submerged slumber with the slur about its parentage.

And now Selena lay naked in her bed, crazy with discomfort and 
unhappiness, haunted by memories of a time when she was not alone. When 
she was not the town slut.

Memories of Ash Wednesday...

* * *

Selena Coombs, sixteen years old, stands in the shadows of the balcony, 
listening to her father delivering his Ash Wednesday sermon. She despises 
the hollow words of comfort, longs for her daddy to speak real ones to 
her, and to her alone. Why is it he can speak so intimately to a throng, 
but can't say a word to settle the misgivings and unrest churning within 
the daughter he has made?

She paces like a panther up here in the dark space, smoothing her dress 
again and again over her thighs, unable to go down and take a seat among 
the penitent, unable to flee to the world outside, caught here in this 
holy limbo, feeling anything but holy. The words, all those WORDS... 
"This is my body," her father says, and "Take of my flesh," her father 
says, and Selena pacing in the shadows, stroking the good, cool material 
covering her thighs, her body, her FLESH...

"Sinful thoughts," someone says, "or prayers?"

Selena stops, whirls, gasps. The tall man with the star on his vest is 
there, standing in shadows deeper than any she moves through. "Sheriff!" 
she whispers.

"Why don't you go down?" he asks, beginning to circle her slowly in the 
deep well of darkness.

"I can't."

Circling. Eyes shining like gray ice. "The promises sound good."

"I don't understand them."

Still circling, closing in on her. "Pray for guidance."

"I- I have..."

"But there's no answer."

Dizzying, her head swimming. "No," she chokes. "Nothing."

A smile as cold as magma, as hot as ice. "Someone's standing between you 
and God, then?"

Selena closes her eyes, dizziness overcoming her, and she starts to tip 
backward. And then his strong arms are around her, catching her before 
she can fall. She jerks upright in them, opening her arms to find Sheriff 
Buck holding her inches from his own face.

"S-someone..." she gasps.

"Do something about it," he urges her. His breath is sweet, redolent of 
cinnamon and something else... something that makes the heat in her 
thighs explode into full blaze. She thinks fleetingly of her mother, long 
dead, and then gives in to the lust in her blood, pressing herself to the 
sheriff, clinging to him as his hands begin to move on her, scorching her 
everywhere they're laid upon her.

"Please," she gasps. "PLEASE..."

She feels him smile as his mouth works against her throat. Prayer 
answered. Promise granted.

And then he is lifting her, kissing her, drowning her in cinnamon and 
dark promises, and Selena Coombs surrenders to her own free will, 
surrenders her virginity in the house of God, with the voice of her 
father booming and echoing all around her...

And now here is the line of the penitent, moving slowly forward toward 
the man in the robes, seeking the ash and the absolution it promises, 
seeking a father who never hates. And Selena in line with them, smoothing 
her short dress over thighs that still tremble, fingers rubbing at lips 
still swollen with dark kisses. The sea-change in her is written across 
her face, she knows, written in a way she can never erase. 

Yet she moves forward, moves toward her father, toward the man of God who 
awaits her with the chalice of ashes, fingers soiled with them. Promising 
to clean her soul with them...

By rote, mechanized, looking into the chalice and not yet recognizing the 
next penitent in line, he is already beginning the litany. "The Lord be 
with y-" Then he breaks off.

She stands before him, Hezekiah Coombs' forgotten daughter, Selena 
daughter of Delia, virgin no more. Is it her swollen lips, the last faint 
traces of her lipstick? Is it the wrinkles in her dress, the chafed 
places on her arms and knees? Can he smell it on her?

Whatever - the question is moot. He knows. She sees it in his face, 
standing over her with the first finger of his right hand dipped into the 
chalice of ash, and he sees her, really SEES her, for the first time 
since before the sickness claimed her mother. It has taken this final act 
of desperation for her to make him see her, and because she is young, she 
does not yet know that being invisible and being shunned are not the same 
thing. She does not know there are worse things than being forgotten.

But as the chalice drops from his hand and clangs ringingly on the steps, 
as his face coils into disbelieving horror and rage, as the hand with the 
soiled fingers draws back and then descends toward her, gathering speed - 
she begins to understand.

So Eden sank to grief. So dawn goes down to day. 

The slap is the beginning, and the end. 

* * *

Selena was rocking on the bed, holding one hand to the place where her 
father had struck her, remembering how he had chased her, shrieking, from 
the church, right in front of all the Ash Wednesday churchgoers. 
Remembered how she had sworn never to speak to him again, never to speak 
to either of them again-

A creak of floorboards. "Too many years to still feel that sting," Lucas 
said from the hall shadows.

She dropped the hand, drew a shuddery breath. "You could have made him 
love me again," she whispered.

"The needle's a jealous mistress."

Selena lowered her gaze, miserably. "You did that to him."

Lucas came into the room and stood at the foot of the bed. "I never spent 
a moment's thought on your father, darlin." He raised his left arm, palm 
up, and slapped his forearm twice, as if searching for a vein. "Poor 
coward couldn't even wait til your mother was gone to start his 
grieving." His voice dropped to a growl. "After that, I reckon the 
shaming he suffered at the hands of his little girl did the rest."

Selena lunged forward on her knees and slapped him, slapped Buck across 
the face with all the force she could muster. He rocked back, flailing, 
and caught her hand, pulling her forward as if to retaliate-

-and then they were kissing, clawing hungrily at one another, and Lucas's 
strong hands were on her, around her, burning her with the same scorching 
touch he'd possessed all these years, and he pushed her back onto the bed 
and began to undress her, desperate to loose his need upon her, desperate 
to escape his thoughts within her.

"Please," she gasped. "PLEASE..."

Prayer answered. Promise granted. 

Are you watching, Judith? Lucas threw out into the nether, a mental 
hammerblow. Are you? Are you watching?

* * *

Their shadows spun and merged on the window curtains - an amorphous 
coupling observed by a solitary figure standing on the rear lawn. Female 
shape, indistinct. Watching. Silent.

* * *

Caleb had been in bed for several minutes when Loris tapped on his door 
and stepped in. "Asleep yet?"

"Nowhere near." He sat up. She entered and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday," she said. "I thought you might like to come 
to church with me."

"I got school," he replied.

"You can miss an hour or two," Loris replied. "It could be a good 
experience for you, Caleb."

"It's like confession?"

"No, it doesn't have to be. You have that opportunity, but you can keep 
your prayers between you and God if you like."

"Then what's the point of going to church and getting ashes put on your 
face?"

"It's a symbol," Loris told him. "It's a way of showing others you're 
aware of your sins, and repentant of them."

"Sounds like a way to show people you're ashamed of yourself."

"There is no shame in asking forgiveness, Caleb."

He thought about it. "Maybe I'll meet you there," he said cautiously. 
"I'll think about it, Miss Holt. I promise."

She nodded and kissed his forehead, then got up and departed, leaving him 
staring at the ceiling and considering her words. No shame in asking 
forgiveness. 

But there was shame in the actions that made asking necessary.

* * *

Despite the hour, the church was ablaze with candlelight. The Reverend 
Coombs moved through the darkened , hyper after the waning of the 
morphine high. He would sleep soon, sleep hard and dreamlessly, but right 
now he was twitching, manic. He moved through the church as if he was 
looking for something. Something that had not been there for years and 
years.

There was a knock on the doors, ringing hollowly through the vast chamber.

He paused, looked toward the doors, and heard a woman's muffled voice 
say, "Father?"

Selena. Selena, on the eve of the anniversary of her fall from grace.

He moved haltingly toward the vestibule and approached the great doors, 
hearing the knock and the question repeated. His throat was locked. He 
put his hands on the doors, but could not open them.

* * *

She stood out there in her shawl, feeling her own pulse in the rawness of 
her lips, in the bruises on her body, in the kick of the infant growing 
inside her. She had a white envelope in her hands. "I can't ever take it 
back, Daddy," she said quietly to the closed doors, overcome with remorse 
and deja vu. "I can't ever undo it. But I'm sorry. Oh Daddy, I'm so 
sorry."

She stooped and slid the envelope under the heavy door, then straightened 
up again.

"And I forgive you, too." She waited a moment longer, then turned and 
made her way home.

* * *

The Reverend bent to retrieve the envelope with shaking hands, breathing 
raggedly as he listened to her footsteps receding into the night. He tore 
the end of the envelope off and shook the contents into his hand. The 
pictures had been crumpled, then smoothed, but they were unmistakably 
ultrasounds.

Reverend Coombs put one hand to his mouth, and held the pictures tightly 
to his chest...


ACT FOUR

Ben Tramer came in early and found the Reverend already busy in the 
sacristy, immaculately dressed, shaven, looking better than he had in 
years. He was unpacking one of the big boxes of Bibles.

"Father?" Tramer asked cautiously.

"How about seeing to the candle room first thing, Bennett, and then come 
back in here and give me a hand. I want all these Bibles back in the pews 
before services this morning."

"You want me to put them back? But the new ones are on order-"

"And when they arrive, you send THEM off for the mission shipment." 
Reverend Coombs smiled cheerfully and patted the stack of well-worn 
books. "These Bibles are the ones I want in my pews."

Ben Tramer shook his head in wonder and went to see to the candles.

* * *

Victoria Madison stepped out of her apartment, tucking her sack lunch 
into the bag over her shoulder, and found Lucas Buck standing in front of 
the Crown Vic at the curb.

"Hello, Sheriff."

"Happy Wednesday, Miz Madison... Hump day, as they say."

"Just another day for you then, I suspect." She started down the steps 
past him, and he caught her arm. She tried to wrench free.

"Something wrong?" Lucas asked. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but you were 
the one who walked out on me yesterday evening." He conned her face, and 
when she turned her eyes up to him again, he saw the knowledge in them. 
His jaw tightened.

"I couldn't sleep last night," she said, "so I took a walk. I happened to 
notice your car parked over on Elm. At Selena Coombs' house." She didn't 
tell him she'd stood out on the lawn, watching them through the thin 
curtains on the bedroom window. She could see by his face she didn't have 
to.

Lucas started to say something, but she jerked away and shut him up with 
a deadly glare. "I understand now why you're so concerned about Caleb's 
confusion about sex. You're quite a role model."

She turned and stalked away, walking stiffly and fast, leaving Lucas 
standing by the car, bewildered.

"You're a fool, Lucas Buck," Judith said from behind him. He whirled on 
her.

"Go away, damn you-"

"You think you've spent years playing God in this town, but you haven't. 
You're not God. You're the serpent."

"Judith, I'm warning you."

"You know how I know that, Lucas? You dangle poison apples in front of 
your son, in front of that woman, in front of them all! But you can't 
control the size of the bites they take!"

"Stop," he said shakily. "Stop right now."

"And you can't forgive them once they've eaten of it! You won't forgive 
Caleb, either. You don't have that power!"

He snarled and lunged at her, swinging, and she evaporated into mist. He 
swung around and brought his fist down on the roof of the Crown Vic hard 
enough to dent it.

* * *

Selena woke early and rolled her big belly out of bed. Her good dress was 
hanging from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, freshly pressed. 
She ran a hand down the good fabric and went to shower.

* * *

The assistant principal was in their classroom when Caleb got there, 
running late. He skidded to a halt outside the door, listened to Mr. 
Arroyo tell the seated students he would be taking over the morning 
classes for Miss Vicki. Apparently, she wasn't feeling up to snuff this 
morning.

Caleb turned away, and headed out of the school.

* * *

The desk in the office of the Reverend Hezekiah Coombs was abnormally 
neat. He kept the door locked whether he was in there or not, and he had 
the only key, so normally he wasn't too careful about tidiness. Rubber 
hosing. Needle wrappers. The paraphernalia of blankness.

But there was none of that here today. The only thing on the blotter was 
the crumpled ultrasound pictures, smoothed again and again by a 
grandfatherly hand.

Something moved in the darkened chamber, shadows casting shadows. The 
pictures of the enwombed fetus fluttered as if brushed by an unseen hand. 
Nothing grandfatherly about it.

The pictures burst into flame, disintegrating into smoky ash.

* * *

"Almighty and everlasting Father, who hatest nothing that thou hast 
made," Reverend Coombs said, delivering the Collect that would precede 
the administering of the ashes. "Oh Lord, who dost forgive the sins of 
all those who are penitent, create and make in us new and contrite 
hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our 
wretchedness, may obtain of thee - the God of all mercy - perfect 
remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," repeated the crowd in the pews.

Caleb heard the echoes of that word as he slipped into the vestibule, 
which was otherwise empty. He stood on tiptoe, peeking through the 
doorway into the nave, searching the pews for heads he could identify as 
Miss Holt and Doctor Matt. He didn't see them-

"Caleb?"

He turned. It was Miss Vicki, standing in the shadowy alcove leading to 
the balcony. He opened his mouth to say something to her, and she stepped 
backward, vanishing in the black hole of the stairwell. Curious, he 
followed her, climbing the stairs as the sound of Reverend Coombs's voice 
echoed around him, bidding the faithful to come forward and receive the 
ashes of forgiveness. To begin the redemptive season of Lent. 

When he got to the top, she was standing in the gloom of the high 
chamber, ignoring the sound of the congregation below as they rose from 
their seats, beginning to move toward the platform.

"Miss Vicki?" Caleb asked cautiously. "Are you all right?"

She put out a hand, and he went to her. He gasped when she put her hands 
on his cheeks. The dream, he thought, it was his dream-

"Please," he whispered. "Please..."

Her hands on his cheeks, so warm. Her face, so lush with promise. She 
leaned forward, drawing down to him, and despite himself, Caleb tilted 
his head to hers, and parted his lips, and-

"NO."

He felt someone push between them, shoving Miss Vicki away rudely. Caleb 
staggered, felt strong arms bear him up. He glanced around, dazed, and 
saw Selena Coombs, beautiful and fierce, her face set as she glared at 
the other woman.

"NO,"  she repeated.  "You can't have this first.  Not with him." Her 
eyes caressed Caleb's face with a gentle, friendly look.  "He'll make his 
own choices."

Vicki was breathing hard, bright spots of color burning in her cheeks. 
She stepped past them, turned and fled the balcony chamber. The sound of 
her heels disappeared down the stairs.

"Miss Coombs?" Caleb bleated, feeling sensation rush back into his body. 
It was as though Vicki had hypnotized him somehow. He blushed to his 
roots, his head dropping as shame overwhelmed him.

Selena looked down at him, and her eyes were bright with emotion. "No, 
Caleb." She bent down as well as she could around the expanse of her 
belly. "No, honey. Don't. It isn't your fault." 

He shook his head. "I... I wanted-"

"Caleb, you are a normal boy. You're going through a normal time of your 
life. But for a grownup to want to spoil that for you? To push you into 
adulthood before you're ready? It's wrong, Caleb. THEY'RE wrong. You 
remember that, OK?"

He hugged her suddenly, his arms going around her neck, and she kissed 
his cheek. "It's all right," she whispered. "It's all right. You're going 
to make a fine man, Caleb Temple."

"This looks familiar," Lucas said. They turned. He was standing at the 
top of the stairs, looking at them.

Selena straightened up. Regarded Buck coldly. "Go ahead. Make some 
accusation you know isn't true."

Lucas didn't say anything. Caleb glanced from the Sheriff to Selena. "I 
need to go down, receive my ashes," he said awkwardly.

"No you don't, boy," Lucas said, and looked directly at his son. "Like I 
told you... you have to sin in order to be forgiven."

Caleb's face relaxed a bit, and he glanced up at Miss Coombs again, 
giving her a small smile. She returned it, and he left. Lucas ruffled his 
hair as the boy passed him, thumping down the stairs to get into line.

Selena smoothed her dress and licked her lips, then started to follow 
Caleb. She stopped when Lucas put a hand on her arm, and after a moment, 
she looked up into his face. And saw something there she had never seen 
before.

"Thank you," he said.

Shock, then understanding. She nodded and went past him down the stairs.

Lucas stood there for a time, waiting for Judith to show up. But she 
never did.

* * *

Most of the crowd had gone through and departed by the time Selena got 
herself composed in the vestibule. The organist was droning through "Just 
As I Am" for the tenth or fifteenth time when she walked into her 
father's church. 

The air was heavy with the smell of burning candles and incense. The 
church was ablaze with candlelight. Selena saw Matt Crower and Loris Holt 
coming out, each of them with an ash cross on their foreheads, and they 
both smiled and nodded to her as she passed. Others, less cordial - Jane 
Peet, Ann Townsend - whose shock was written broadly below the hypocrisy 
of their marks.

Caleb passed her, wearing the mark of redemption. The face beneath it was 
guiltless, peaceful.

She was the last to come. The last of the penitent. 

And her father stood waiting for her.

She went to him as she should have gone that day when she was sixteen, 
instead of fleeing to the shadows and the false comfort of the man in the 
vest. She went forward with tears streaming down her face, watching him 
stand there in his robes and surplice, holding the chalice of ashes 
expectantly.

Selena Coombs knelt before her father. He seemed overcome, unable to find 
the words. She closed her eyes and said the first thing that came to her 
mind. "The Lord be with you." She felt his strong finger paint the sign 
of the cross on her forehead, feeling the old, lonely pain in her heart 
break apart as he did so, as he...

Wetness. Trickling wetness on the sides of her nose. It didn't feel like 
ashes at all. Selena opened her eyes and touched the bridge of her nose. 
Her fingers came away red. Bloody.

She looked up in horror.

"AND ALSO WITH YOU," hissed Jonathan Virgilius Kane, smiling evilly at 
her from the folds of the surplice. He had dipped the blood not from the 
chalice, but from the smashed left side of his cranium. He was standing 
in a pool of his own blood, and she was kneeling in it.

Selena fell backward, screaming. There were several answering shouts of 
surprise from elsewhere in the cathedral - other straggling churchgoers 
running up to find the source of the shrieks. 

To her right, the confessional doors opened. Her father, the Reverend 
Hezekiah Coombs, burst out, ignoring Sherry Lomax's soap opera sins. He 
registered Selena, lying on her back at the foot of the dais with blood 
running down her face, and slumped back against the confessional door, 
his face awash in shock and despair.

Selena could only look at him, shaking her head in sorrow and disbelief. 
Then she looked back at Kane.

But he was gone. So was all the blood, except for the red X on her 
forehead.

Selena Coombs could only shake her head in horror.

FADE TO BLACK


DISCLAIMER:  Any story/episode appearing that states it is part of 
Virtual AG-Season Three is based upon the Television show, "American 
Gothic", which is the property of Shaun Cassidy, Renaissance Productions, 
and CBS (apparently).  The characters added to support this concept, and 
the storylines, are the property of the writers acknowledged as such.  
PLEASE, DON'T SUE US!!