Virtual American Gothic - Third Season Episode Fifteen Fire and Ice Part Two of "Shine That Ever-Lovin Light" By Roguewriter NOT TO BE ARCHIVED TO A WEB PAGE WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S PRIOR CONSENT. Special Guest Stars: Helen Baldwin as Barbara Joy Flood John Shearin as Waylon Flood Richard Schiff as Dr. Edmond C. Ernst Harth as Pollins and Brent Spiner as Jonathan Virgilius Kane ********************************************** PROLOGUE Barbara Joy Flood gave birth to her only son in September of 1984. Her labor lasted 14 hours, and both an epidural and an episiotomy were necessary for the delivery to be accomplished. God, it hurt so much. It hurt like dying must hurt, she thought at the time. At one point, she closed her eyes, believing she was about to pass out, and the hot lamps in the delivery room turned the backs of her eyelids into a shifting orange and red kaleidoscope. Lost in the throes of that enormous, endless pain radiating up from the center of herself, it was like staring into the fires of Hell. And for that brief moment, she gladly would have plunged into those flames, if only to be released from that agony. Immolation. Incineration. Fiery annihilation must be preferable to this, she thought. ANYTHING must be preferable to this... Then her husband was there, holding her hand, gently bringing a sliver of ice to her dry lips as he murmured to her, non-words she could make no sense of, but comforting enough to drive down the flames behind her eyes, bringing her back to the Now, where their son waited to be delivered... * * * Waylon Flood was standing behind the heavy iron bars in the big front window, and he had Ben's son with him, holding what looked like a big revolver near the boy's head. "YOU'D BEST PONY UP, BENNY-BOY!" Waylon Flood bellowed, waving his revolver. "TIME FOR US TO SQUARE SOME OLD DEBTS, YOU AND ME!" Outside, on the west side of the building, Ben was inching toward another of the big windows, his gun up, trying to see what Waylon was doing inside. From here, it didn't appear the crazy bastard was alone. It looked like someone else was standing with him... Someone... "I'M GIVING YOU FIVE MINUTES TO GET UP HERE, BEN! OR I'LL JUST HAVE TO SETTLE MY BUSINESS WITH SOMEONE ELSE!" Ben crouched below the window, looking in. Looking at Waylon and the boy he was holding hostage. "Oh no," he whispered. "Benjie." Small face pinched with terror, his son stood there in the grip of the madman. Waiting to be delivered... ACT ONE Waylon was pacing from one of the big windows to the other and dragging Benjie along with him, watching as a second patrol car pulled up behind the first. He saw Buck's other sad sack deputy get out, along with another officer and two other people. "What are they doing..." he muttered furiously. "Where is he, what are they doing?" He could no longer see Ben at all. What, had he run off? Had he turned tail like the yellow coward he was? Or maybe, when Waylon had moved away from the window to surprise Benjie... Waylon turned, hurrying down the hallway. "Your daddy's tryin' to be sly, Benjie-boy," he growled to the boy, still holding tightly onto his small arm. "Tryin' to pull a fast one. He's going to regret that." * * * Lucas Buck was hauled to one of the big cells in the basement by the horde of Juniper House inmates who had formerly been housed down here in the violent ward. Pollins yanked him to a stop as one of the others brought out a keyring. "Luxury accommodations," Lucas observed. "But I think they're more your speed than mine, Pollins, what do you say?" He turned to look into the eyes of the mountainous patient, who blinked back at him with brute indifference. Lucas threw all the force of his concentration into his gaze. "You don't want to do this, Pollins. Smart money's on the Sheriff, son, you know that. Now why don't you have your friend here hand over those keys and we'll set things right-" "Sheriff!" someone inside the cell called. "Pollins, don't be a fool! Stop this at once!" The giant wavered on his feet, blinking rapidly, and Lucas felt the brief tether of control snap. Pollins glanced at the cell door and grunted. It was thrown open and Lucas was shoved roughly inside. He whirled. "Boy, you're making the worst mistake of your life. There won't be any kibble for you tonight!" The door was slammed in his face. Locked. "Sheriff? Are you all right?" Lucas turned to see Dr. Edmond standing there, rubbing his hands together nervously. He smiled slightly and shook his head. "I'm fine, Doc. We'd have both been a whole lot better off if you hadn't interrupted my little tete-a-tete with the mutt-muncher just now." "I'm sorry, I was afraid for your safety. Pollins is a very dangerous man-" "Lucas Buck is a dangerous man, Doctor," Lucas replied curtly. "I'm afraid your patients are going to find that out today." Edmond ran a hand through his hair, then folded his arms, nodding to himself. "Indeed." * * * Caleb and Merlyn followed Floyd and Reilly up to the rear of Ben's patrol car, which appeared to have been swiss-cheesed by small arms fire. "Holy cat," Caleb murmured. Rita was waving at all of them. "Stay down! He's got a gun!" The five of them crouched behind the car. "I can't see anyone," Floyd whispered. "He disappeared back inside," Rita replied. "But he's armed. Ben's gone around the back. He has a key to the service door in the loading bay." "Who's doing the shooting, Rita?" Floyd asked. "It's Waylon Flood," she said. "He's got Ben's son in there!" "Benjie?" Merlyn said in a voice tight with dismay. "Looks like the Sheriff's in there too," Rita added. Caleb bit his lip and looked at Merly, who returned his gaze wordlessly. Caleb nudged Floyd. "What're you gonna do? Get in there and do something!" Floyd looked like he was going to wet his pants. "Reilly, go get the bullhorn out of the trunk of my car. And radio the state police. We've got a hostage situation here and we need them to roll cars pronto." Reilly scurried away, keeping low. Floyd nodded to the women and Caleb. "They can be here in 30 minutes." Caleb gasped. "Benjie and my fa-... Benjie and Lucas could be dead in 30 minutes!" He rose from his crouch. "Miz Rita, you said Ben went around the back?" "No, Caleb!" Merlyn hissed, sensing his intentions. Caleb shook his head. "I'm not gonna do anything stupid. But Ben's gonna need some help." Hustling back with the bullhorn, Reilly accidentally triggered it, causing a squawking BREE-BOOOOP! sound that made them all jump. Caleb nodded. "See what I mean?" He gave his sister a reassuring smile, and took off running up the grass, in the direction Ben had gone. Merlyn and Rita looked after him, stunned into horrified silence. * * * Ben was climbing the steps to the loading bay, heading for the small door on the far side. He had his gun in one hand and the key Rita had given him in the other. He was watching the building above and around him, praying he didn't surprise anyone he might have to shoot, praying he was in time to save his son. He lifted the key to the lock and began sliding it in... * * * Lucas had been pacing the padded cell, his limp less pronounced here on the soft flooring, slowly circling and circling around Dr. Edmond until the doctor threw his hands in the air and said, "Would you mind?" Lucas stopped. "Doc, the only thing I mind right now is that my faithful deputies are taking so long to bring this little episode to a close. Might be in all our best interests for me to speed things along-" "Wait," Edmond whispered suddenly. "You hear that?" Lucas turned, listening. Most of the crazies were still down here, milling about, probably waiting for guidance from Flood, or maybe from Drummond, the orderly who apparently had been Vicki Madison's accomplice all along. Hell, Lucas thought, he'd been *inside* that woman and hadn't ever caught a whisper of thoughts about her partner in Caleb's kidnapping... "They're coming back," Edmond said, just before the door was unlocked and thrown open. Lucas strode forward. "You boys come to your senses, Pollins?" Pollins shoved him aside and several of them closed in on the doctor. "All right!" Edmond shouted. "All right, I'll come with you." He glanced at Lucas uncertainly. "Sheriff, whatever happens..." "Don't you worry about it, Doc," Lucas replied, trading stares with Pollins. "This'll all be an amusing anecdote by tomorrow morning." Edmond was escorted out. Lucas noted that none of the patients would actually touch the doctor, as if even turning the tables on their jailers like this was not freedom enough for them to lay hands on the man. Of course, they'd only been running the nuthouse for a few minutes now, Lucas thought. Wait til it came time for their next round of sedatives and anti-depressants. The key to the main door wasn't the only one he'd broken off in its lock. "Hope they don't tear you limb from limb when they start jonesing, Doc," Lucas murmured. He put his hands in his pockets and started pacing around the perimeter of the circular room again. "Ben, I hope you're bringing this foolishness to a halt about now," he muttered. * * * Ben pushed the service door open and peeked in. His eyes widened. Benjie was standing in a doorway on the other side of the room, looking at him with saucered eyes. He was shaking his head minutely. "Son," Ben whispered, and stepped forward - and that was when Waylon Flood stepped into the doorway behind Benjie and laid the barrel of the revolver against his temple. "Hello, stranger," he said. "Waylon!" Ben gasped. "Please, just let my boy go!" "Your boy?" Waylon snorted. "You been working on your parenting skills since Barbara Joy got blown into starshine, Ben?" He grinned. "Oh yeah, word gets around. Even in here. It gets around. And it gets in. And sometimes it gets out. And it ain't the only thing." "What do you want, Waylon?" Ben asked, trying to maintain his composure. The sight of his son with a gun to his head was unraveling Ben from the center outward. He felt like he was going to fall down from the force of his own sudden, savage rage. It took every ounce of himself to stand his ground, not to charge the maniac threatening Benjie's life. "What do I want..." Waylon said, seeming to ponder the question. "Hmm, that's not a bad question, Ben. What do you think I want?" He suddenly began to scream. "I WANT MY HAND BACK! I WANT HBO! I WANT A THREE COURSE MEAL AND TWO OF 'EM TO BE YOUR ASS!" Ben raised his hands in a placatory gesture, the keys in one and his gun in the other. "OK, Waylon, OK, just calm down." He looked at Benjie, who was doing his best to maintain his own composure. "It's gonna be all right, son," he said. "I'm real proud of you. It's gonna be OK." He had a sudden thought. "You're so pissed off at me, Waylon, whyn't we make a trade? Me for my boy?" Waylon seemed to consider that. He glanced behind himself, as if making sure no one was nearby to hear him, and then nodded. "Why not. I don't need this brat." He pointed the gun at Ben. "Get in here, Healy." Ben started to walk in, still patting the air in a calming motion. The keys jingled and jingled. "STOP THAT!" Waylon screamed. "Drop your gun!" Biting his lip, Ben did so, wondering if this would be the last thing he ever did. He looked at his son, tried to find the words. "Kick it out the door!" Waylon snarled, pushing Benjie forward. Ben glanced down at the gun, then turned to one side and booted it out the back door. He heard it skitter across the cement loading dock and fall to the pavement below. "Now let him go," Ben said evenly. "Keys," Waylon said. Ben made a disgusted sound, then looked at the keys in his hand, thinking hard. "NOW!" Waylon bellowed. He was still a dozen paces away. Ben looked up at him, and threw the keys. Waylon let go of Benjie with his hook hand, realizing too late he couldn't catch the keys with that hand. "Run, Benjie! Get away!" Ben shouted. Benjie jerked away from Waylon and ran for the unguarded hall door behind them, as his father lunged at his captor. Waylon screamed unintelligibly and clubbed Ben to the floor with his hook hand, splitting the skin above his right eyebrow. Benjie paused in the doorway, saw his father fall, and cried out, "DAD!" Waylon whirled on him, raising the gun again. Ben looked up, blinking through the blood. "Go, boy!" Benjie turned and ran. Waylon started after him. "Don't bother," said a voice. Waylon stopped. Ben looked up, and saw a wall-eyed man in orderly's whites stepping through the service door. "How'd you get out there?" Waylon growled. Ernie Drummond walked forward. "Don't be a fool." He stooped and retrieved the keys from the floor, glancing at Ben, who only watched him, mystified. Going back to the door, Drummond closed and relocked it, pocketing the keys. "Lapdog," he said to Ben, and smiled... ACT TWO Barbara Joy Flood left this life in September of 1997, strangling on gas from the broken connector on her kitchen stove, accidentally flipping a faulty light switch that sparked strongly enough to blow her fume-choked house into splinters. God, it hurt so much in those final milliseconds. It hurt like delivering her son had hurt, and she didn't even have to close her eyes. The fireball turned the kitchen and then the world into a shifting orange and red kaleidoscope, and there was heat, titanic, cataclysmic heat. Lost in the throes of that enormous, endless pain, drilling deep into the center of herself, it was like standing in the fires of Hell. In her last, brief moment, she regretted it all -- regretted her child, regretted her marriages, regretted her life. And when the heat and the pain were snuffed out, she was left with nothing but that regret, floating in a depthless darkness so vast as to be universal. Nothing there with her but regret... and it was like ice. It was like the ice her ex-husband had rubbed on her lips as she fought to bring their child into the world. It burned through her, cold fire like no flame she had ever known, worse than the flames that had ended her life. And she gladly would have been plunged back into those flames, if only to be released from this empty agony of regret. The fire would be preferable to this, she thought. ANYTHING must be preferable to this... * * * The cell door opened and Ben Healy was thrown in, his head still bleeding. He hit the floor, cursing. Pollins glowered in at him, smiled his enigmatic smile, and slammed the door once more. Lucas pushed away from the far wall and knelt by his deputy. "Ben, unless I'm mistaken, you haven't dealt with this situation in a satisfactory manner." Ben looked up at his boss incredulously. "And what have you been doing... group hugs with the loonies?" Lucas helped him to his feet, examining the gash over his eye. "You'll live." "Lucas, we've got a serious situation here. My boy, he-" "He's not your primary concern right now, Ben! How'd you get in here?" Ben dabbed at his head. "Rita had a set of keys." Lucas smiled strangely. "The things I do for my people... And where are they now?" "This crazy wall-eyed kid has them." Lucas shook his head. "Ben, the next time somebody hands you the keys, drive the damn car!" "They had my SON, Lucas!" Ben shouted. "I don't exactly remember you being calm and collected when Vicki Madison took yours!" Lucas's mouth tightened. "Ben, we're dealing with the same situation here. Looks like our orderly friend was in cahoots with Miss Madison." Ben moved around the cell, clenching his fists helplessly. "Right now, I'm more worried about Waylon Flood, Lucas. He's gone clean out of his mind!" "Waylon's a lapdog, Ben, he's not pulling the strings here." Ben looked over at him. "What did you say?" Lucas leaned back against the far wall. "I said someone else is pulling the strings here." "You said he's a lapdog," Ben said. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he recalled the orderly's words. Lucas folded his arms. "I think you need to keep focused here, Ben." He frowned suddenly, pushed away from the wall, and patted it. "Hell, I thought these padded rooms were supposed to cushion the wackos." He began to pace again. "So you've gone and left Floyd in charge," he said, bemused. "Hell, no, Lucas, THEY'RE in charge!" * * * Pollins climbed the stairs to find Waylon and Ernie Drummond peering out the front windows again. Ernie glanced over at him. "Both of them down there? Good." Waylon snorted, watching the cops on the lawn. "They still can't get the bullhorn to work." Ernie drew closer to Pollins, who took an involuntary step back. "Find the boy," the orderly whispered. "He ran up the corridor toward the second floor stairs. He'll be somewhere above us." Pollins nodded and turned away. "Oh, and Pollins..." The man-mountain turned back. "All in one piece, please. Ten fingers. Ten toes." Scowling, Pollins headed down the hall to retrieve the missing boy. * * * He was lost. Benjie crept through the second-level halls of Juniper House, trying doors, wondering at the vastness of the place. There seemed to be no one up here - or else the patients were all locked in their rooms, waiting for someone to come along and end this nightmare. He was so afraid for his father. There had been blood on his face, and the sight of that was almost enough to make Benjie cry. It wasn't something you ever wanted to see in life, your father, bleeding like that. He had made a desperate play to free Benjie from his crazy stepfather. But where was he now? What might Waylon do to him? "Daddy," he whispered. "Please, Daddy..." There was the sound of footsteps behind him. Heavy footsteps. Benjie whirled, gasping in renewed terror, then turned and dashed off into the depths of Juniper House, away from those heavy steps. * * * Floyd finally threw up his hands, gave the bullhorn back to Reilly, and said, "Maybe the state troopers'll have one that works." Rita rolled her eyes and turned away, pacing behind the vehicles. Merlyn Temple watched her. "I shouldn't have let Caleb go alone." Rita spun. "What does that mean? That I'm to blame for leaving Benjie alone? I'm NOT responsible!" Merlyn blinked at her in surprise. "I didn't mean anything like that. I'm worried about my br- about that child. About both of them. All of them. There's been enough violence done. Enough death." Shaking her head, Rita turned away. "I'm not responsible," she murmured again. "I'm not." Merlyn watched her warily. The nurse's hands were shaking. Probably the shock of being shot at. But it wasn't. Rita found herself thinking once more of Buck's threats. She had thought it was all behind her now, all those nights of sweating and crying in the throes of guilt, unable to dredge up reliable memory from her conscious mind. But it would never be over. And there were still the dreams. The dark dreams... * * * September. She'd been drinking after work. Drinking heavy. Damn that Ben Healy. DAMN him. She'd taken the plunge, booked that charming little bed and breakfast over in Charlotte, and he'd blown her off. Again. Barely even registered the embarrassing vulnerability she'd revealed to him by making such a bold offer. There'd been that terrible train wreck, of course, and he was up to his eyebrows in work and worry, but he couldn't even make time to TALK with her, damn him. He couldn't even be bothered to give her the courtesy he gave to that bitch of an ex-wife... Rita had started drinking down at the tavern, and wound herself into a pretty fair state. Too drunk to drive, she'd started walking, hoping to clear her head, but found herself growing only more and more furious. Had she known where she was going? Had she? The dreams always ended the same way... standing on the lawn outside Barbara Joy Healy's house, looking up at it with cold malevolence in her eye... * * * Clutching her forearms, Rita paced behind the patrol cars while Floyd got on the radio and implored the state troopers to get a move on. She was chewing her lower lip, wondering if there could ever be any release from this guilt. Any release at all... * * * Caleb Temple moved quickly to the service door and tried it. Locked. Damn. If Ben had a key, he'd used it and relocked the door behind him. He glanced around quickly... and spotted the gun on the ground below the loading dock. He jumped down and picked it up. THAT wasn't good... it was a police revolver. Ben's, probably. Lucas liked to make fun of Ben's skills as a lawman, Caleb knew, but not even Floyd would have tried storming this building without taking his weapon along. Caleb checked the chambers. A full load. He glanced around again, looking up at the building and the thick trees around it. Looked like they were placed purposely to hide the windows with their heavy iron bars... But maybe the ones on the roof weren't quite so well guarded. "Time to take the high ground," Caleb murmured. He tucked the gun into his belt and started toward one of the trees closest to the building. * * * The cell door opened. Lucas and Ben turned to see Waylon usher in Dr. Edmond. Lucas glanced at the one-handed man, noted he was still carrying the revolver, as well as a clipboard, clamped under his bad arm. "You figure out whether you want the plane to go to Cuba or Mars yet, Waylon?" Lucas asked dryly. Edmond crossed the room to examine Ben's wound, but the deputy waved him off. "Waylon, I hope you're in contact with Floyd," Ben said carefully. "He's out there to help you." Waylon blew disgusted air through his teeth. "Ben, the only cop in town stupider than you is that halfwit. They haven't even figured out their bullhorn yet." He chuckled and regarded his prisoners. "Well, well, well... the townkeeper and his flunky. Ain't this a picture." He gazed coldly at Lucas. "I was telling Ben earlier 'bout hearing the... TRAGIC news about his dear, departed ex-wife, Lucas. By any chance you ever figure out what happened, Buck?" "Faulty gas line," Lucas said shortly. He'd turned away as if disinterested, and was poking at one of the walls again, studying it closely. "Not unlike the one in your head." Waylon shook his head, then laughed malevolently. "That the story he fed you, Benny-boy?" Ben bit back an epithet, then said, "Wherever she is, Waylon, Barbara Joy's better off without you around." "Yes, I'm sure she is. She'd have been better off that night, too, I imagine." Lucas turned, his eyes suddenly narrowing. "Waylon!" Dr. Edmond said abruptly. Ben frowned. "What are you talking about?" Waylon crossed his arms, waggling the gun at Lucas and tapping the clipboard he had brought here for some reason. "I imagine with you all grief-stricken and out of sorts, Lucas handled the... 'investigation' himself, eh Ben?" he said slyly. Lucas considered rushing Waylon, but crazy as he might be, the gun never wavered more than an inch or two from the Sheriff's chest. "Ben, don't let this lunatic get to you." "Like Lucas let me get to Barbara Joy, he means," Waylon said, still smiling. "Waylon, that's enough," Edmond interrupted. "Gentlemen, I encourage you to remain calm. Remember that he's delusional." "I'm delusional," Waylon agreed, nodding strenuously. "Better delusional than dead." He looked straight at Ben. "It was so easy to kill her, Ben. With your boss pointing the way, all I had to do was walk out..." He made a sweeping move toward the door of the cell. "...And walk in." He swooped back to his former position. "She was asleep in Benjie's room, ohhhh how SWEET. Quick jaunt into the kitchen, yank the gas line, and... kaboom." Ben's jaw unhinged. He turned to look at Lucas, who was still glaring at Waylon. The Sheriff turned to regard his deputy, muscles jumping in his jaw. "Ask him, Ben," Waylon said. "He was there. In fact, he chauffeured." "Lucas?" Ben said weakly. Waylon took the clipboard from under his arm and pitched it onto the floor at Ben's feet. Ben stooped slowly, as if pushed, and picked it up. It was a sign-in sheet. The date at the top was the day Barbara Joy's house had exploded. The last entry read "Sheriff Lucas Buck. 12:14 a.m. Returning patient Waylon Flood." Ben glanced up. Edmond was studying his shoes. Waylon was still grinning, eyebrows raised. And Lucas... Ben dropped the clipboard and lunged at the Sheriff, swinging a solid right that caught Buck across the jaw and sent him sprawling against the far wall. "You sonofabitch," Ben whispered, wringing his hand. "I'll just leave you two to sort that out," Waylon said, and rapped on the door to be let out. Buck put a hand to his jaw, looking up at Ben with cold ice in his gaze... ACT THREE Barbara Joy Flood was reborn on All Hallows' Eve as the spirit guardian of the cemetery behind Reverend Coombs' church. She died a second time that winter, sacrificed by her former husband in that terrible, strange midwinter nightmare, played out against the backdrop of the frozen river. God, it hurt so much, that plunge into the icy depths. It hurt like the fire that had claimed her first, true life had hurt, as she clutched the jagged ice floe and pleaded with Ben to choose her over the other, the woman whom he now loved. The frigid water would have taken less than three minutes to kill a human woman, but the effect it had on her was more terrible still. The unbelievable cold turned her breath and then her entire form into a scintillant blue-white kaleidoscope, the cold drilling into the center of her, titanic, cataclysmic cold. Lost in the throes of that enormous, endless pain, it was like feeling her very soul freeze solid. In her last, brief moment, before the ice blew her spirit into a million sparkling fragments and blew her away across the dark waters, she hated them all -- hated her traitorous ex-husband, hated the woman he had chosen to save, hated the helpless unreal thing she had been reduced to. And when the cold and the pain were snuffed out, she was left with nothing but hate, her Self scattered into the depthless dark once more. Nothing there with her but hatred... and it burned. She burned. * * * Lucas got slowly to his feet. "Are you all right, Sheriff?" Edmond asked quietly. "Well, at the very least you've developed a good right hook, Ben," Lucas said evenly. "You want to go for the left?" Ben snapped. "I can't believe you'd accept that lunatic's version of what happened that night," Lucas said. "Versions? I don't want to hear VERSIONS, Lucas - I want to hear the truth!" He stooped and picked up the clipboard again, then flung it at Lucas, who caught it deftly. "What about that!" Lucas regarded the signature. It looked like his own, all right. Drummond was smarter than he looked. "Close," he said, "but it's a forgery, Ben. I never took Waylon Flood out of this place, for any reason. Personally, I was looking forward to seeing him rot here." "How can I believe you anymore? How can I ever know what really happened?" Lucas ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, examining the spot where Ben had struck him. "If you really want to know, you're going to have to talk to your former sweetheart." Ben looked at him, dumbfounded. "My former..." "Oh, that's right, I forget, Ben. You're Mr. Heartthrob these days. Hard to keep the ladies straight, isn't it?" He smiled thinly. "Rita Barber. Dear lovely Nurse Rita." Ben's eyes widened. "You're out of your mind." "Am I?" Lucas looked around. "Except for the Doc here, I seem to be the only person in this place who hasn't taken leave of his senses. Let me tell you exactly what I found when I got to your wife's house that night, Ben. Then you decide for yourself..." * * * He'd been on his way there to discuss Barbara Joy's financial crisis with her, and had just stepped out of the big Crown Victoria when the Flood house exploded right in front of him in a titanic geyser of flame. The blast threw lumber, brick, ruined furnishings and other debris a hundred feet into the air. Buck never flinched. He merely stood there, his jaw hanging open, eyes reflecting the firelight. He turned away to radio in, unable to understand how this could have happened without him knowing about it, and- Someone else was there. Lucas heard branches crackle and snap in the hedges. That was when he saw Rita Barber staggering away into the night... * * * "You're lying," Ben said, cutting him off. Lucas just looked at him. He had left out his own involvement in Barbara Joy's financial crisis, the deal he'd wrangled. "Jealous fits of passion can consume anyone, Deputy," he said. "They'll burn quicker'n gasoline. She was carrying a mighty high torch for you, and you weren't reciprocating." "Why didn't you arrest her?" Ben said incredulously. "You let her go?!" "I looked into her involvement," Lucas said slowly. "There wasn't any hard evidence." "Except, according to you, she was there!" "Circumstantial," Edmond said quietly. They both glanced at him. It was all too easy to forget he was there. Ben shook his head. "No. I know you, Lucas. You'd have pinned it on her just to watch me twist." "You were twisted enough," Lucas said, and he gave Ben the strangest look his deputy had ever seen on the face of Lucas Buck -- compassion. "Your ex-wife dead, your son distraught with grief... I didn't want to lay the blame on the only other person in your life." He shrugged. "Like I said... you and Rita will have to come to terms once we get out of here." "Maybe you and I will too," Ben said, squaring his shoulders and staring his boss down for the first time in his memory. "I don't know what to make of you, Lucas. That fire took everything from me." "Some say the world will end in fire..." Edmond murmured. They both looked at him. Edmond glanced up. "Robert Frost. Surely you know the poem? 'Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire'." They just stared at him. * * * Caleb took a deep breath, ignored the long space below that would embrace him if he misjudged it, and jumped. It was only three feet from the thick branch of the tree to the shingled roof, but it seemed like three dozen, and when his sneakers struck the rough surface, Caleb clung to it frantically, gasping with relief. "The things I do for my people," he muttered, and went to hunt for a way in. * * * Benjie was huddled under a desk in what looked like a secretary's office, the only open door he'd been able to find on this level. He squinched into as tight a ball as he could, praying for his father and the Sheriff to find a way to get them all out of here. Footsteps again, coming closer. Benjie gasped, listening to the sound of his pursuer trying each door in turn. He flashed on the story he'd told to Caleb, Boone and Rose that night before Halloween, the little girl hiding behind the door as some monstrous lurking thing shuffled and thumped its way toward her. Now HE was the little kid, cowering in the dark as the heavy footsteps thudded closer... closer... CLOSER... The doorknob turned. Benjie closed his eyes, shivering in fear. The door opened, and- Sirens. Sirens approaching the sanitarium. Distant, but still audible. Benjie heard Pollins grunt low in his throat, turn and hurry down the hall again. He opened his eyes and sighed in relief. * * * Floyd waved to the approaching state police vehicles, then caught sight of the television news van behind them. "Oh, lordy Christmas," he groaned. "How'd the newshounds get wind?" * * * Peering through the front window, Waylon grinned, watching the news van pull up even with the rest of the police vehicles. That was what he'd been waiting for. What he'd been told to wait for. He turned and ran toward the stairs again. * * * Ben was pacing, the level of his anger growing as he mulled over what Waylon and Lucas had told him. How long now? How many years had he been listening to the Sheriff's lies, wrapped in life lessons about driving and the subtle shades of gray? And what kind of deal had the bastard concocted with Waylon and Rita, for God's sake, to tear his whole world down? He glanced back at Buck again, but the Sheriff was merely leaning against the padded wall once more, staring at the stained white surface and brooding over his own thoughts. The key turned in the lock again, and all three men turned to see Waylon enter, flanked by a couple of the other crazies. With the door open, they could all make out the faint sound of police sirens in the distance. Waylon was still smiling his mad smile. "The news reporters are outside," he said. "Sounds like they're out there with about a half dozen state police vehicles," Lucas said. "That world of hurt you've stepped in is gettin mighty well populated, Flood." "They don't matter," Waylon said, and glanced at Dr. Edmond. "It's the newspeople that are important." * * * Benjie climbed out of the slot beneath the desk, listening closely. For several minutes now, he'd heard nothing but empty silence. The sirens had cut out. The man-mountain who had been pursuing him seemed to have departed. Perhaps he could get to a window, let the police know he was here. He went to the door and peeked out. No one. Slipping into the hall, Benjie headed for the stairs. * * * "What's so important about having the reporters here, Waylon?" Ben asked carefully. "A record," Edmond said, slipping his hands into his pockets and shaking his head. "You have a statement to make that you want recorded for all the world to see, don't you, Waylon?" Waylon nodded. "And what statement would that be?" Ben asked. "I think it probably has something to do with why this padded cell is so poorly padded, doesn't it, Waylon?" Lucas asked abruptly. They all looked at him. He stepped away from the wall, turned, regarded it for a moment, and then stretched up on tiptoes to reach for a seam in the thick padding. "What-?" Ben started to say. Lucas caught hold of the seam and ripped downward savagely, tearing away a wide panel of the material. "Lucas, what the hell are you doing?" Ben asked, then saw what was behind the padding. "Oh my God..." The entire wall was covered in sticks of dynamite, bracketed to the surface with thin metal bands. Lucas turned, but the person his steely gaze settled on was Dr. Richard Edmond. "Looks like Frost ain't the only one who favors fire, Doc." Ben whirled on Waylon, who raised the revolver to warn him off. "Don't be foolish, Deputy Ben. A bullet'll work just as well as a bomb." He waggled the gun at the wall. "Been saving this for a rainy day." * * * Benjie was almost to the top of the stairs, when he heard a whispered voice call his name. "Benjie!" He jumped, looking around wildly, and then saw the face at the window in the opposite wall. "Caleb!" he gasped. "What're you doing out there?" * * * All of them were staring at the dynamite-covered wall. "The whole cell's like that, 'less I'm mistaken," Lucas said. "It's a rough life, driving a truck," Waylon said seriously. "Stuff falls off, invoices get lost... You know how it can be, Sheriff." "Lazy shipping agents, a few carefully applied rolls of cash," Lucas ventured. "Only question remains... how'd you get it all in here, Waylon. Same person sign you in and out that time as the night Barbara Joy when to the great hereafter?" "The very same," Waylon said. Ben looked at Lucas. "All this...?" Lucas rolled his eyes. "Ben, do you think I'd give this crackpot access to this kind of firepower?" Ben put his hands to his temples, turning to face Waylon again. His head was whirling, compounded by the aching from the blow Waylon had dealt him. He tried to form words, could only come up with the most basic of questions. "WHY?" he asked. "To kill you," Waylon said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "Oh, nonsense, Waylon, enough of this dance," Edmond said abruptly, and it was as if a switch was turned off in Waylon Flood's brain. His face went slack, and his head nodded forward onto his chest. Ben and Lucas watched this, then looked back at the doctor. Edmond had his arms folded, and was shaking his head with a strange expression of bemusement on his face. "Do you think an arrangement this complex, this calculated, would be wasted on this pitiful lapdog?" Dead silence in the room. Ben looked from Edmond to Lucas, and saw the Sheriff's face color with fury. "YOU," Lucas hissed. Ben's gaze tracked back to Edmond, and he saw a terrible, miraculous thing. Edmond's face began to melt, to run together like warm candlewax, then reformed into the face of Ernie Drummond, the wall-eyed orderly. "Surprised?" he asked Ben with a smug grin. But before Ben could r espond, before he could even begin to process what he was seeing, that strange wax face began to shift again, becoming the twitchy features of Elliott Drabble, Trinity's newest slumlord. Another transformation, and he was Ed Dickey, the pinched, mealy-mouthed insurance salesman who had surprised Sheriff Buck with the news of the windfall from the Flood house. "It was you all along," Lucas said. "Since the moment the pillar fell," Dickey said enigmatically, and then he shapeshifted once more, the flesh of his face sliding, swirling... then settling into a final, unforgettable configuration. Jonathan Virgilius Kane regarded them with grinning, lunatic malevolence, rubbing his hands together. "Now," he intoned, "ALL the pillars will fall..." * * * "The windows are all barred or locked!" Caleb told Benjie. He was crouched on the first-story roof, where it overhung the second floor. Using the butt of the pistol, he'd broken the glass, but the bars were solid steel. "I can't get in!" he said. "Can you shoot em off?" Benjie asked, stepping closer. Caleb glanced up from studying the bars, and his eyes widened. "BENJIE!" Benjie stared to turn, when Pollins' huge hand closed over his mouth. Benjie screamed, struggling. The two of them did a mad dance in the hall as he fought to free himself. "Let him go, you bastard!" Caleb shouted. He lifted the gun, but there was no way he could take a shot without the risk of hitting Benjie. "Let him go!" he shouted again, helplessly. Benjie bit down hard on the fleshy hand over his mouth. Pollins yelled in pain, shoving the boy away. "BENJIE!" Caleb cried out. Benjie wheeled backward, found only open space behind him, and toppled down the stairs, screaming. He landed at the bottom in a boneless heap and lay very still... ACT FOUR Barbara Joy Flood was neither shape nor spirit, neither in this world nor in the next. In a town that bred ghosts like stray cats, she was unique, invisible on both the human and spectral plane. And God, it hurt so much. She had tasted human suffering during the difficult pain of her son's birth. She had tasted death in the fiery blast that had obliterated her home. She had tasted empty, spiritual desolation when her former husband had abandoned her for another. But this was a different kind of suffering. It had started almost immediately after Ben had left her to die in the river. She had managed to go to him one time only, wanting to encourage him, to praise him for the progress he'd made with their son, but even then, she was beginning to lose touch with the world, and she hadn't been able to return to him. She had watched them romp in the snow together, Ben and Benjie, reminding her of some past moment the three of them had shared... something she couldn't quite recall here in the darkness. Her consciousness was a thready, disconnected thing, as if all the hurt and suffering and rage she had experienced in life and death had sucked all feeling, all purpose from her. She was trapped in nothingness, awaiting the terrible final chapter in the shadowplay Trinity was now relentlessly sliding toward. Her Self had scattered to the hungry, lustful dark, and she lingered there, frozen. Frozen. And then she heard her son's cries of pain as he tumbled down the dark staircase at Juniper House. * * * "Benjie!" Caleb shouted through the broken window. "BENJIE!" Pollins looked dumbly at the child at the bottom of the steps. "Don't just stand there!" Caleb shouted. "Help him!" Pollins blinked at him, not comprehending. "Dammit!" Caleb shouted, and lunged away from the window, running across the roof. * * * Pain. A long corridor of pain, dark with it, heavy with it, and Benjie, lost there and frightened. He stumbled blindly forward, seeking a way out of it, and found thick material under his fingers. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew where he was. From the smell. The smell of the fine new material. He was back in the forest of coats. Pushing his way through them, aching with the pain in his head and limbs, Benjie struggled to find his way out of the darkness. * * * "It was you who set up the whole insurance deal, 'Dickey'," Lucas said coldly, "and you gave Vicki the help she needed to steal my boy." "Call it a backup plan," Kane said, and did a brief, surprisingly pretty two-step in place. "I meant for you to die in that house, Buck. You and the woman. A handful of cash. Oh, the gossip and stories that would have sprung up around that one!" He glanced at Waylon. "Unfortunately, despite all my best efforts, Mrs. Flood ruined the surprise. At least my emissary escaped unscathed to help me plan this little surprise party." "You sonofabitch!" Ben snarled, lunging at Kane. The slim figure moved faster than either Ben or Lucas could see, one arm flashing upward with an unreal swirl of supernatural light that caught Ben across the side of the head, knocking him backward. Lucas caught him before he could fall, keeping him on his feet. "Easy, Ben," he murmured. "Yes, take it easy, lapdog," Kane chortled. "Don't bite the hand that frees you." He glanced at Waylon. "Snap out of it," he said. Waylon's head came up again. "To kill you," he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "That's right," Kane told him soothingly. "Shall we get to the main event, then?" * * * Floyd was watching uncertainly as the senior state trooper barked orders at his men, preparing them to move into place around the perimeter of the building. "HEY!" someone yelled. They all turned. Merlyn shielded her eyes against the sunlight. Rita moved up next to her, jaw dropping. Caleb was standing on the roof, waving frantically. "I be go-to-hell, it's the Temple kid," Floyd said, disbelievingly. "Help!" Caleb shouted. "Please! It's Benjie! He fell, and he's hurt bad!" Merlyn glanced at Rita, who moved without thinking, hurrying around the side of the police car and running up the lawn. Shaking off Floyd's protesting grasp, Merlyn ran after her. * * * Benjie Healy is fourteen, he is lost in the forest of coats that once swallowed him up ten years before, and he thinks he must be dying. He expects to hear John Fogerty wailing that same damned song in the cloying darkness, but there is no sound whatsoever. Just his heartbeat. And a figure in the distance. He pauses, swallowing hard, terrified again. "Who- who's that?" he calls, as bravely as he can muster. The figure steps forward, and beckons to him. He recognizes her. "MAMA!" Benjie runs into his mother's arms. * * * With Merlyn following somewhere below her, Rita was climbing as fast as she could, cursing her age. It had been twenty years since she last shinnied up a tree, and the circumstances were much less stressful. "Hurry!" Caleb shouted to her from the roof. She stepped out onto the branch he had used to jump across, heard it creak dangerously under her weight. She felt as if she'd come unglued, as if her mind was beginning to fray apart at last, under the burden of guilt and confusion she'd carried all these months. There was a terrible gunshot CRACK! under her feet. Rita looked down. The ground was so far below. "The branch is cracking!" Caleb shouted. "Now! Jump now!" * * * Waylon was using Ben's handcuffs to bind his hands behind him. "Waylon," Ben said desperately, "whatever reasons you think you might have for doing this, that maniac is just using you for his own purposes!" Kane snorted. "Never you mind him, Mr. Flood. You're going to 'rescue' the poor wounded deputy and be a hero after all this, fancy that! You'll have your old life back, and the authorities will lay everything at the feet of our late, lamented Sheriff." Waylon spun Ben around to face him, and for the first time, Ben could clearly see how completely empty Waylon's eyes were, under the hypnotic control of the malevolent demonmaster. "I'm going to be a hero!" he parroted. "Rescue the poor wounded deputy! Fancy that!" Lucas glanced at the gash in Ben's forehead. "He ain't all that wounded," he said sarcastically. Waylon lifted the revolver and jabbed it into Ben's belly, making him grunt. "Sadly," Kane said, "it will appear the stalwart deputy was shot in the melee. Despite all best efforts, he'll die before Waylon can get him into the capable hands of the good nurse Rita." "Sorry, Ben, I spoke too soon," Lucas said, going back to studying the wall of dynamite. "For Pete's sake, would you DO something about all this?" Ben shouted at him. "I'm busy," Lucas murmured. He was rubbing that damned ring of his, Ben saw. Rubbing it the way other men might rub a rosary, pondering his fate... * * * Caleb led Rita across the roof toward the window, explaining to her what had happened inside. They crouched together at the window, and to Caleb's surprise, the gigantic patient was still standing there at the top of the stairs, looking down at the huddled figure below, rocking slightly on his feet. "What do we do?" Rita asked. Caleb grasped the thick steel bars and shook them. "We can't get through these!" Pollins suddenly turned on his heels and looked up at them. "Help us," Caleb implored him. The man-mountain took a slow, uncertain step forward. * * * "I've missed you so much," Benjie said, hugging his mother tightly, never wanting to let go. Barbara Joy stroked his hair, looking around at the dark forest of coats. "It's all going to be all right, baby," she murmured. "I'm sorry I had to go away without getting to say goodbye." He looked up at her. "Can you come back with me?" She smiled sadly. "I wish I could. More than anything, I wish that. But I can't, Benjie. It isn't possible." "Then can I come with you?" She gazed into his tearful eyes, then hugged him tightly again. * * * "You know what to do," Kane told Waylon. "Get upstairs, shoot the lapdog, and wait for my signal." "What about the doors?" Waylon asked. "They're still locked." Kane smiled, and in the distance, there was the echo of two dozen locks snapping open. "I think you'll find no trouble getting out now," he said. "Herd the rest of the patients together, and get them all out." He shrugged at Ben. "Can't have unnecessary deaths on my conscience." Pushing Ben ahead of him, Waylon started out, looking back at Lucas. "Burn in hell, Buck," he snarled. "If there's burning to be done, Waylon, I'll be sure to save you a seat by the fire," Lucas replied. He still wasn't facing them, looking up at the wall as if contemplating the last moments of his life. Waylon snorted and pushed Ben out. "Lucas!" Ben gasped. "Go on, Ben," Lucas replied. He turned his head, and caught his deputy's eye. "We'll sort it out." "But-!" And then Waylon was pushing him up the corridor. Kane smiled at Lucas and went to another of the walls, ripping away the panel to reveal the detonator. "He really is a handy tool," he said. "Stupid as frozen lambchops, but handy just the same." "Those do make the best tools," Lucas replied. * * * Pollins threw back his head and strained mightily at the bars, thick cords standing out in his neck as he wrenched at the heavy steel. Caleb and Rita just looked at each other in disbelief. The entire steel grating came loose, and Pollins staggered back, throwing it to the floor. He reached up and pulled Caleb inside, then raised his hands to help Rita down. "Come on!" Caleb urged them, already starting down the steps. Benjie still lay below them, unmoving. * * * "You can't come with me, Benjie," Barbara Joy said quietly. "You have a whole life ahead of you. You're going to find so many wonderful moments ahead..." She broke off, remembering all the pain, all the suffering. The agony, the rejection, the jealousy and rage. "You're going to experience good AND bad," she told him. "I wish I could tell you it will all be good, but that's never true." "It's been so hard," he told her. "It's been so awful without you!" She smiled and kissed the top of his head. "That's not true, honey. You and your daddy have had some good times together, haven't you? And you've made good friends, too." She felt him shaking his head in stubborn negation. And that was when she remembered the thing she'd been unable to recall, watching her son and his father frolic in the snow that day... The thing the three of them had done together so long ago. "Do you remember the rain, Benjie?" He looked up at her. "Do you remember the day you got lost in the Ascension Gallery?" He nodded, looking around at the forest of coats once more. "I never forgot," he whispered. "Do you remember what we did after?" she asked. Benjie thought about it, thought hard... * * * Rita knelt over the crumpled boy. He was breathing, but one of his arms was obviously broken, and from the swollen knot on his forehead, he probably had a concussion. She gently checked his neck. "Is he OK?" Caleb asked tensely. * * * Benjie Healy is four, and after the forest of coats, there is the rescuing comfort of Daddy's arms, and Mama is there, and the three of them start for home. But it's started to rain outside, steady drenching rain, and Daddy stops, with Benjie in his arms, and looks at Mama. "You want to wait it out?" he asks her. And Mama laughs and pulls at his hand, and the three of them run out into the rain, and Mama's laughing, jumping in puddles, and Daddy lets Benjie down to emulate her, splashing merrily, the three of them together... happy together... In the dark place, Benjie opens his eyes and looks up at his mother again. "I remember," he says. "I remember playing in the rain." "There will be so many moments like those, baby," she tells him. "I promise you. Moments perfect enough to carry you for a thousand years." She leaned down and kissed his cheeks, each in turn, then again, more delicately, on the aching place on his forehead. The pain diminished at once. "Go on," she told him. "I'll always be here for you." "Cross your heart?" he said, his voice trembling. She brushed the hair out of his eyes and stepped away from him. "Hope to die," she said. * * * Rita was gently patting Benjie's cheeks, and she gasped in relief when he let out a low moan. "He's going to be OK," she said. "But we've got to get him out of here, Caleb." She gently picked Benjie up and started toward the front door, when they heard movement on the steps leading down to the violent ward. Rita looked around wildly. "In there!" she said to Caleb, and urged him toward the supply closet. Pollins followed mutely, apparently still remorseful for injuring Benjie. Caleb pulled the door to behind them... ... just as Waylon pushed open the door and shoved Ben Healy through it, leading the pack of Juniper House patients into the main hall. Peeking through the crack in the door, Caleb whispered, "It's Benjie's stepdad! And he's got Ben prisoner!" Holding the boy in her arms, Rita could only stare at him wordlessly. * * * Lucas turned to look at Kane. "Waylon's up there waiting for a signal that will never come," he said. Kane shrugged. "You didn't really think I'd leave ANY witnesses, do you?" He began to pace slowly around Lucas. "He's served his purpose. I'd say they all have." He turned abruptly and that neon blur of movement was flashing out at Lucas before he could dodge it. He caught it full force in the chest and was slammed back against the wall. "Do you think I'm stupid?!" Kane bellowed at him. "I know you've been manipulating that slack-jawed behemoth Pollins to aid Healy's son. What is that... COMPASSION?" He snorted. "All you've done is draw your own flesh and blood into this again, Buck." Lucas looked up at him wordlessly. "Caleb," Kane said helpfully. "He's up there too. Looks like I get all the Bucks after all." He lunged forward and clutched Buck by the lapels, lifting him and hurling across the padded room. * * * In the supply closet, Pollins suddenly began to blink rapidly, swaying on his feet again. * * * Hands locked behind his back, Ben barely managed to keep his feet as one of the patients bumped into him. They were all milling about, waiting for Kane's signal. He looked at Waylon, who was watching the cops through the front window. "You can't really believe Kane will make you a hero," he called to him. "Shut up, Healy, you're going to be dead in a few minutes." "Dammit, Waylon, we're ALL going to be dead in a few minutes!" He glanced around, saw that Waylon was still intent on the scene outside the window, and began backing up, hoping he could sneak away, maybe find some other way out. He knew it was futile, but... He turned, and walked right into a mountain. Pollins looked grimly down at him. "Oh hell," Ben said. * * * Lucas struck the wall hard for the third time and slid to the ground, clutching his bad leg. * * * Waylon turned to see Pollins shoving Ben toward him again. "Where have you been?" he snapped. "Did you find the boy?" Pollins nodded. He brought his fists together in a choking motion. Waylon chuckled. "I believe you were supposed to bring him back in one piece. But no matter. Get ready to lead everybody out of here." He sneered at Ben. "I've got to settle accounts with the deputy here." Pollins went to the door. Put his hand on the handle. * * * Kane hauled Lucas to his feet again, pinning him against the wall beside the detonator. He reached over and punched a series of numbers into the keypad. Lucas was unable to see what he was doing. "I hope you're enjoying yourself," he said through gritted teeth, not struggling. "What's to stop all of them from getting out while you're down here wasting your energy on me, Kane?" Kane laughed, punching in a final command. "Wasting my energy?" He whirled and threw Buck again. "It occurred to me that when you were pretending to be that insurance salesman that the reason he keep nodding off wasn't narcolepsy. You didn't have the strength to maintain the facade too long, did you?" "I've grown a hundred times more powerful since then, Buck," Kane snarled. His face shifted suddenly, becoming Dickey, becoming Drabble, becoming Drummond, and Edmond. "You think I'd let those lunatics out into the world? What kind of mayor would I be!" He grinned his bright, shuddery grin again. * * * "Say goodbye, Benny-boy," Waylon said, and leveled the gun at Ben's midsection. Just then, the locks all slammed back into place. Pollins tugged at the door. It was locked down tight again. Waylon whirled, eyes wide. "What was that?!" he shouted. He stormed over to the door and yanked at the handle. "NO!" he screamed. "No, it isn't fair!" "You were expecting fair from that... THING?" Ben said behind him. Waylon whirled and brought the gun up once more. "One way or the other, Benny-boy, you are goin' straight to hell!" A huge hand came down on his, pushing the gun downward. Waylon looked up in shock at the dumb brutish face of Pollins. "Wha-?" he started, and then the giant raised his other colossal fist and brought it down directly in the lunatic's face. Ben watched Waylon drop to the floor, his mouth open in surprise. "Well, you waited long enough," Caleb Temple said behind him. Ben whirled to see the boy coming out of the supply closet, with Rita behind him. And she had Ben's son in her arms. "Benjie!" he gasped. "We still have a small problem," someone else said. They all turned to see Pollins rubbing his knuckles. He gestured at the door. "It's locked again." His voice was soft, almost melodious, an unexpected anachronism in the titanic frame. "Drummond," Ben said suddenly. "I mean Kane... he has Rita's keys to the back door!" * * * Kane dropped Lucas to the floor. "I'm surprised, Buck. I'd expected you to put up a bit more of a fight. You've been a pitiful excuse for a sheriff lately. Not to mention a pitiful excuse for whatever else you are." Lucas rose painfully to his feet. "A hundred times more powerful, did you say, Kane?" Unbelievably, he smiled. "You're not nodding off from the amount of energy you're expending lately, but you sure aren't fully aware of what's going on, are you?" And Ben Healy appeared in the doorway, covering Kane with his service revolver. "Don't move." Kane's eye widened. Lucas chuckled. "You've spread the wealth around a bit too much, Kane," Lucas said. He glanced at Ben. "Deputy?" "This is for Barbara Joy, you sonofabitch," Ben said, and shot Kane three times. Lucas looked down at the crumpled figure and spat. "Never underestimate the lapdog." Ben looked up at this, and Lucas winked at him. "Good work, Ben. Nice tight pattern." He limped over to the detonator. "I'll have to up your firearms qualifi-..." Examining the readout, he broke off. "Oh hell..." Ben glanced at him again. "What?" He stepped over to the small device, saw what Lucas saw. The dynamite was set to explode in 90 seconds. The timer was running. 89. 88. 87... Ben turned and rushed over to Kane's body, kneeling and searching through his pants pockets for Rita's keys. As he did so, he watched the features begin to melt again, dissolving into the face of the doctor, then melting away altogether as Kane's power dissipated. He found the keys. "Come on!" he shouted, and hurried out the door. "Right behind you," Lucas said. He gave Kane's body one more glance, and departed. * * * Pollins, Rita and Caleb had herded all the patients into the back room, crowding around the service door. "Where are they?" Caleb said anxiously. * * * Ben reached the top of the stairs and rushed through, pelting down the corridor with the keys. He paused, looking back for Lucas, who was limping through the doorway. He gasped. "LUCAS!" The Sheriff looked up just as Waylon sprang off the floor and piled into him, driving him back toward the stairs once more. Ben started back toward them. "No!" Lucas shouted, struggling with the shrieking maniac. "Get them out, Ben! Go on!" He yanked Waylon backward into the stairwell and out of sight. Cursing, Ben turned and ran down the hall. In the stairwell, Waylon had his hands around Buck's neck, trying to throttle him. "You ruined it!" he screamed. "You ruined everything!" Lucas broke his hold and pinned his arms. "Waylon, you sorry sack of manure, that room is about to go up in a ball of fire and take us with it!" "Some say the world will end in fire," Kane said from below them. They both turned. He had no face. The figure came slowly up the steps toward them. * * * The senior state trooper was preparing to use the bullhorn when Merlyn gasped and pointed. "Look! Around the side of the building!" They all turned to look. "Hot damn!" Floyd said in surprise. Ben and Rita were leading a crowd of patients toward them, almost running. Ben had Benjie in his arms, and Caleb was running alongside him. * * * Waylon suddenly went rigid in Buck's grasp, as though electrified. Then he let go of the Sheriff and looked at him with spiraling, unreal eyes. "Get out," he said, and it was the same unexpected, softly melodious voice Pollins had used in the hall a moment earlier. Nothing like his usual Puppy Chow growl. Buck stared at Waylon in surprise as the inmate stepped toward the approaching figure. "Some say the world will end in fire," Kane said, the words surfacing like ripples in that empty, fluid face. It made Buck wonder just how low Kane's gas gauge really was, if he could still muster the reserves to manage this. "Some say in ice," the figure continued. "From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire..." "But if it had to perish twice," Waylon said, "I think I know enough of hate/to say that for destruction, ice/is also great... and would suffice." Kane paused, looking blindly up at the tool of his rage. "I've already died twice," Barbara Joy told Lucas through her former husband's mouth. "Once in fire and once in ice." She looked at Lucas. "Get out, or come with us. It makes no difference to me." Lucas stepped away from her, glanced down at Kane, then went through the doorway. "I'm sorry, Waylon," Barbara Joy whispered. "But this is better than you deserve." Below, Kane's face suddenly reformed into that of Waylon himself. "NO-OOOOOOOO!" he shrieked. The two figures lunged at each other, and tumbled together down the long steps toward the waiting bomb. * * * Ben was still telling them all at the top of his lungs to get down behind the cars, when there was a titanic WHOOOOOM! from somewhere in the earth below, and then he didn't have to tell anybody anymore. Everyone - cops, patients, and onlookers - hit the dirt. A second later, all the windows on the first floor blew outward as the explosion disintegrated everything inside. The front door of Juniper House was blown off its hinges and flew over their heads like a magic carpet, whirling away into the distance. Merlyn struggled to hold Caleb down as chaos roared around them. "Lucas!" he was shouting. "LUCAS!" The blast threw lumber, brick, ruined furnishings and other debris both organic and inorganic a hundred feet into the air. Debris rained down all around them, narrowly missing squashing several of the stunned patients as they cowered alongside their rescuers. When the last echoes of the explosion had faded away, Ben and Merlyn raised their heads, looking at one another. She squeezed his hand briefly but hard, then grabbed for Caleb as her brother bounded to his feet, staring at the fiery inferno that was all that remained of Juniper House. Ben checked on Benjie, who seemed to be coming around. "Daddy?" "It's OK, boy. It's gonna be all right." He glanced at Rita, lying prone beside him. She looked back at him with a mixture of sorrow and shame. "Thank you," he said slowly. "Ben," she whispered. "I never told you, because I never knew for sure. I was so drunk that night, the night Barbara Joy died..." He smiled, and squeezed her shoulder. "It's OK, Rita." "No, it's not. I've hardly been able to bear it, Ben! I was there that night. I was drunk, and angry. But I didn't see her. I didn't go into the house, I SWEAR to you! It blew up in front of me!" Ben nodded, and drew her to her feet, still holding Benjie in his arms. He squeezed her hand tightly. "It's OK, Rita. I know. I know you better than that." She put her hands to her face, and nodded. Merlyn watched, holding Caleb against her. She bit her lip, but didn't say anything, understanding this was closure between them. This was necessary for all of them to get on. Ben held up the keys. "You saved our lives," he told Rita. She looked at them, puzzled. "What do you mean?" "The key to the service door. Left over from when you worked here. It saved our lives." Rita looked mystified. "I never worked here, Ben. I started at Fulton right out of high school." Ben frowned. "But you said..." he started. "Then how..." He broke off, shaking his head. Both of them said it at the same time: "Lucas." "LUCAS!" Caleb shouted suddenly, making them all turn. Through the haze of smoke and fire, Sheriff Lucas Buck was limping toward them from the rear of the ruined building. His face was streaked with soot, but he was smiling. Caleb broke away from his sister and ran to him. "The things we do for our people," Lucas intoned when his boy reached him. Caleb grinned up at him, then slipped his arm around Buck's waist, helping to support his bad leg. The two of them went down to join the rest, but Lucas glanced back once, looking at the roiling flames and wondering if they'd really seen the last of the Magic Man... EPILOGUE Barbara Joy Flood left Trinity for good in March of 1998, grappling with a demon to save the lives of her son and the good man who had fathered him. God, it hurt so much, to say goodbye. It hurt beyond any birthing, beyond any dying. She looked out across her reality now, trying to see what lay beyond the shifting orange and red kaleidoscope of hellfire she was leaving behind in the burning asylum. Was this the final death? The end of all consciousness? Would it come this time as burning fire, or as the deadly cold of ice? Instead, there was something wet, kissing her face. Barbara Joy lifted her head, felt the soft rains come down. She smiled, rejoicing in the welcome wetness in her eyelashes, on her lips. It was that day in the parking lot, that day with her small son and her good husband, the three of them laughing like loons and splashing in the puddles. That day stretched into an infinity of warm rain, of laughter and love. A moment that would carry her for a thousand years... THE END 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!!