By Absinthe Disclaimer: The characters of Melinda Pappas, Janice Covington, Xena, Sheriff Lucas Buck, Gail Emory, Caleb, and "Dr. Matt" belong to Universal and Renaisance and all those great people. My apologies for borrowing them. The rest of this goop, however, belongs to me, Absinthe. This is an Alternative story, meaning we've got some lesbian romo going on, if this bothers you, TURN BACK NOW. Thanks. Soundtrack: Sheriff Buck's theme song is undoubtedly "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones, "Precious Things" by Tori Amos belongs to Maia, and "Tiger" by Paula Cole goes to Gillian. Prologue: They conditioned you to ignore pain. Or maybe you conditioned yourself. Sometimes it even worked. Maia was running on a broken ankle, but she wouldn't realize that until the adrenaline left her system. It seemed that when things went wrong, they went all the way wrong. She stopped to take the revolver from the cooling body of a dead security guard. The hit wasn't going as planned; that stupid old man wasn't supposed to have died. The echo of footsteps in the hallway in front of her stopped, and there was a sound of boots scrabbling on tile as Maia's quarry struggled to regain his footing. Maia cocked the serviceman's revolver, increasing her speed in spite of the growing numbness in her left foot. She rounded a corner and her eyes met those of a rich bureaucrat who was dead in the instant that he realized the beautiful woman with the gun was his lady Death. Maia wiped off the revolver and returned to the corpse of the security guard. She wrapped his stiffening fingers around it, and left him where he lay. Let the authorities try to figure out what the hell happened. She stood up and straightened her vest. Limping a little now, the woman with the shockingly blue eyes calmly got into an elevator and left the building. She feigned deafness as her reason for not having heard gunshots. Maia walked half a block and just barely made it to the nearest stop in time to catch a bus as planned. Sitting in a sticky pea green vinyl seat, she tugged a rubber band out of her hair, releasing the long black strands from a tight ponytail. A half an hour later Maia, with a worsening limp, stumbled off the bus and slowly made her way to a public parking lot. Leaning heavily on the parked cars, she made her way across the lot, and at last into the safe haven of her slate grey ‘91 Pontiac Bonneville. She hated the car ordinarily, the big, bulky thing that it was, but this day, it was heaven. She flopped into the plush driver's seat with a sigh. She slipped her foot out of its shoe and gently probed her ankle, and finally concluded that it was indeed fractured. Swearing colorfully, she turned the key in the ignition, and peeled out of the lot. The heavy car strained against the laws of physics. Chapter One: It's Awful Quiet Here It was a perfect day in mid-June. Sunlight flickered off the surface of the reservoir in Trinity's County Park. A woman with wild black hair and blank blue eyes sat at the end of the pier, her left lower leg encased in a cast. She drummed her boyishly short nails on the plastic, her mindless stare directed in general at the school of pumpkin seed fish that had congregated in her shadow. Her foot itched unbearably, and Maia couldn't wait to be rid of the cast. Even here, in the relative safety of a small town she was paranoid and wanted to move on. She felt too out of the loop here. A ridiculous idea of course, she had her cellular phone and little Toshiba Satellite laptop with its internal modem to keep up with the rest of her world. Maia was, at the time, waiting for word from her current client. She was still formulating viable reasons for postponing the hit. Maia couldn't afford to let word of her little accident leak out. The dark realm of murder and intrigue that she inhabited would eat her alive if it suspected the slightest weakness in one of its most... well hidden denizens. On the shore of the lake, not far behind Maia, a young woman was setting up her easel. She had planned on doing a study of the movement of the water, and the play of the light off of its rippled surface, but for some reason the figure of the lone woman slumped on the dock had captured her imagination and the in depth study of the lake's surface became merely a splashy background for the stranger. Maia covertly watched the painter long enough to discern that the woman meant her no harm, then fell back into her musings. The pumpkinseed fish scattered, however, at the startling electronic screech of a cellular phone. Maia's hand darted into the front pocket of her bag and produced the offending mechanism. She flicked it open and barked "Yeah?" into the receiver. "Maia? Its me, Steve." "What is it now?" "They want to meet you." Maia made no reply. "WELL?" The voice on the other end demanded. "You shouldn't even have to ask me that. You know how I work." "Yes, but it's a very lucrative contract, and they're insisting...." "Tell them to either send me the information, or forget it. I don't need this," she calmly hung up on her "friend." The dark skinned woman squinted up to discover that she was no longer alone on the pier. A tall man in a voluminous brown duster stood uncomfortably close. To make matters worse, Maia couldn't seem to remember how he had gotten there. She stared at him, realizing that he wore a coat and long sleeves even though it was June. The heat didn't faze him one bit. On shore, the petite artist waited impatiently for the town's sheriff to get out of her painting. She pushed her hair out of her eyes. The curly dark mass seemed to have a life of its own sometimes. "New in town huh?" the sheriff asked familiarly as he settled himself cross legged on the weathered wood of the public boat dock. He moved with a strange, vaguely unsettling grace. "Staying for a while?" "Long enough," Maia tersely replied, bored already. "M' name's Lucas Buck, County Sheriff," he held out one of his big hands. Maia rubbed the bridge of her nose with a calloused fingertip and quietly said, "Is there something I can do for you Sheriff?" "Just thought I'd get acquainted with you; Trinity doesn't get too many visitors," he drawled, "You staying at the boarding house?" "I was told that was the only place there was TO stay," Maia returned, still not looking directly at the sheriff. She was hoping he'd get tired of playing this game and leave, but he continued to prod. "True. True. True," Sheriff Lucas Buck rested his hand on Maia's shoulder to get her full attention. He had a feeling about this woman; that she might be useful to him -- or dangerous. Buck's instincts were never wrong. Icy blue eyes froze the words in his throat. He removed his hand, and Maia returned her gaze to the water. The fish still had not returned. "What brings you to Trinity?" Buck finally asked. Maia sat silently for a moment, running down a long list of lies that came instantly to mind. "I'm on a therapeutic hiatus from work," she ran her tongue over her teeth. "Ah," the Sheriff said, well aware that Maia wasn't telling the whole truth. But no matter. He'd find out, as he always did, and find some way to use her to his advantage, as he always did. Buck tucked a business card into the top of Maia's cast, winning another angry glare. "My cel' phone number is there. If you need me for anything, don't hesitate to call..." he trailed off as he rose and backed away. Maia did not watch him leave. The sheriff made a flirtatious comment to Maia's audience, then sped away in his midnight blue sedan. At last, when the fish abandoned the pier for more fertile hunting grounds, Maia heaved herself up onto her crutches. She stopped to examine the artist's canvas. The painting looked exactly like she felt; quiet and tense. "That's beautiful," she said. The brunette grinned broadly, surprised at how pleased she was that the tall stranger approved. Ordinarily, a compliment like that from someone apparently uneducated in the arts meant next to nothing. As Maia started to limp off, on impulse, the artist turned and shouted, "Wait!" She didn't want this woman to leave. Not yet. Maia carefully turned around, surefooted even on the crutches. "Yes?" she asked politely. "Um," The young woman groped for an answer, "Do...do you think you would consider sitting for me? For a drawing?" "I just did, Didn't I?" Maia teased, but something about this woman made her loath to disappoint, "What's your name?" "Oh, yeah," she blushed at her lack of etiquette, "My name is Gillian. Look, if you don't want to pose for me, maybe you'd let me show you around town tomorrow? Get you in on all the gossip?" Gillian winked. "I'm Maia," Maia held out her hand, somehow managing not to drop the crutch. "That sounds like...fun,"she said warily, wondering how much the Trinity natives had already heard about her, "And we'll talk about that picture ok?" She didn't know what possessed her to add that promise. "Great!" Gillian seemed pleased, "I'll be at the boarding house at...ten tomorrow morning?" "Ten," Maia nodded. Gillian watched the stranger hobble away before she started packing up her supplies. A black ‘85 Trans-Am sat welcomingly in the parking lot; the crouching beast of a car gleamed malignantly in the summer sun. It was one of Maia's few frivolous expenditures, and she loved it. Only on rare occasions such as this one could she actually use the high-profile vehicle, which made her time behind its wheel all the more valuable to her. The car had belonged to her father. Originally, it had been banana yellow, battered and worn out. Maia had seen to it that the dents were beaten out and the body was given a flawless new paint job. She had the original, slowly dying engine replaced with one taken out of a ‘92 Trans-Am; she had the entire interior replaced, and added all the other necessities of life. The car was luxurious yet vicious, beautiful yet dangerous -- not unlike its owner. The black leather of the driver's seat was uncomfortably hot from the summer sun. The engine roared to life, causing the car's heavy frame to vibrate madly. Maia grinned in feline satisfaction. Out on the main road, she pushed the car relentlessly. Her only regret was that the drive came to an end. She screeched to a halt in front of an immense antebellum house. She checked her watch. Just on time. A brunette in a sundress sat in a rocking chair on the porch, and a little boy in a striped t-shirt and jeans paced up and down the stairs. The two seemed to be in deep conversation. Maia made her careful way up the gravel walk and onto the steps. "And you were right about ‘im too ya know. He was just sad ‘bout his dog," the boy was explaining in a heavy southern accent. "I'm just glad you finally went over there and talked to him, Caleb," the woman smiled as she stood up to greet Maia, "Hi! I'm Gail Emory, are you the new boarder?" She extended her hand. "Yes, I'm Maia Pappas, how d'you do?" Maia did not think that she'd ever get used to the open manner of these people. "This's Caleb, my nephew," Gail said as she ushered both the boy and Maia into the house, "You're here just in time for dinner." These southerners set a fantastic spread for dinner, one which Maia did not allow herself to enjoy. She spent her time at the table sizing up her fellow boarders. Caleb seemed a typical boy, but Maia's knowledge of children was so lacking as to render her observations on him worthless. Gail was an obvious transplant. She had a tinge of the city about her, and she didn't seem completely happy with staying in Trinity, but not unhappy either. There was something more than her nephew holding her in the small town. The thin, wan, sad looking man was a doctor. "Dr. Matt" as Caleb called him. There was something about his past that had damaged him irreparably. He was intelligent, and his mind was sharp but his emotions were not under his control. The woman who ran the boarding house was quiet as well, she kept to herself. Judging by the decor, she had a fascination with African lore and art. The others were animated, ordinary people. Static as far as Maia was concerned. They barraged their new house mate relentlessly with friendly questions. "Where are you from?" "What do you do?" "Where's your family from? How're they? Are you married?" Maia answered these with the usual, automatic story. She was from Colorado, she ran a financial consulting service. No, she wasn't married, and her close relatives died a few years back. It was a great cover really. There was no one to deny her story. She had an ingenious setup which would allow her to step into that life whenever she chose. At dusk, Maia made a foray onto the front porch of the house. Caleb appeared and insisted on "helping" her settle into a chair and propping her foot on the porch railing. She had her back safely to the wall, and a commanding view of the rest of the porch as well as the street. It seemed that he wanted to ask something, but he was interrupted when a shiny blue four-door pulled up at the end of the walk. The man from the park, Sheriff Buck, stepped out of the car. "H'Lo Caleb, Miss Pappas," he nodded his head in Maia's direction before sweeping onto the porch and crouching near Caleb. "Hey," the boy said, not particularly happy to see the sheriff. Maia examined a red mustang parked nearby, feigning disinterest in the conversation. Caleb was telling the sheriff that he didn't want any of "your kind of help" on his project, and that maybe he better go see if one of his friends didn't wanna do something. Caleb bounced off the porch and down the road as quickly as he could without being TOO rude. Buck watched him disappear, a rueful smile on his leathery face. Gail stuck her head out the door and demanded to know what he wanted, hostility evident in her posture and tone of voice. Maia was puzzled, but not totally surprised. She didn't like him too much either. "Came to see Caleb, Ma'am," his manner verged on the sarcastic as he tipped his hat and swept out as abruptly as he'd swept in. Once he was in his car and completely gone, Gail joined Maia on the porch. A boxwood-scented breeze did very little to stir the humid air, and did absolutely nothing to blow the mosquitoes away. "I don't know why that man can't just leave Caleb alone. He knows he isn't welcome here," Gail complained, settling into another ladder-backed chair. The floor creaked a little as the painted floorboards shifted against each other. "I don't trust him." Maia said nothing, and they sat in companionable silence until the shadows vanished into the night. The hum of the cicadas outside and the songs of the tree frogs lulled Maia into the first real sleep she'd had in months. In later years, she would wonder how she could have slept so peacefully. The predawn air was humid and sticky, somehow no better than the heat of the day. Maia managed to dress and escape her room without waking anyone. Outside, she breathed easier. The streets were empty with the exception of a boy indifferently tossing newspapers into people's yards. The town was silent. The back yard of the boarding house offered ample open space. Bordering the wooden fence that surrounded the manicured lawn was a fragrant garden. Foxgloves and some white lilies were resplendent with flowers. Lush green ivy vines clung to the fence and snaked a few tendrils out into the grass. Everything was covered with droplets of dew, graying out some colors, and intensifying others; lending everything a hint of unreality. Quietly, and hampered by her aching foot, Maia launched into her morning workout. She tossed her crutches aside and stood gingerly on both feet. Her movements were almost balletic as she ran through several improvised katas. By the time she was done, her bare legs were soaked up to the knees from the dew on the grass, and the rest of her was thoroughly damp. She wiped her face, breathing hard. The sun had just risen, along with some of the other occupants of the boarding house. Maia returned to her room to wait for a chance to get into the bathroom. When at last a sopping Caleb emerged, she pounced. She hated taking showers with the cast on, it was such a bother to keep the thing dry. The mirror was fogged over, so Maia took off her t-shirt and wiped it off. The reflection now showed her dark skin and hair in stark contrast to the white wall behind her. She had her father's reddish skin tone and thick black hair, and her mother's blue eyes and tall, powerful build. Her mother was the youngest daughter of Albert Pappas, who was the grandson a well known archeologist. Maia's father was an Indian immigrant. His grandfather had known a member of the Pappas family, and they had given him a job so that he could get his green card. Unfortunately, Maia's father had managed to fall into a debt that wiped out the last of her share of the Pappas fortune. Maia closed her eyes against the image of his smiling face. She couldn't think about him anymore. By nine forty-five, Maia was dressed in a pair of hastily hacked off shorts and a black tank top. It was Tuesday, and breakfast had already been served. The house was nearly empty. Munching on a pear from the fridge, she hobbled back outside. It was barely ten A.M. but the temperature outside was rising fast. Maia glanced around, and saw no signs of Gillian's arrival. She hated it when people failed to be punctual. Leaning against the side of the Trans-Am, Maia hummed softly to herself. Her good mood was shattered by the reappearance of the big dark blue luxury car. The sheriff must be a bored man to frequent this end of town. The monstrosity of a vehicle pulled into the wrong lane, and was within inches of Maia's extended foot when it came to a halt. The driver's side window buzzed down. The Sheriff smiled out. "You've got potential honey," he announced as he handed her a stuffed manilla file. Maia frowned at him, but didn't have a chance to reply before the car lurched forward and was gone. Narrowing her eyes a little, Maia opened the folder and riffled through its contents. What she saw alarmed her enough to make her drop her crutches. They were newspaper clippings and obituaries from papers all over the world, some were not in English. Each article or death notice contained familiar names. By this time Gillian had sauntered up, and was peering over Maia's shoulder. "Hi...." she started, unsure of where she stood. "Umhhmm," Maia pursed her lips, her eyes glued to the clippings in her hand. A Post-it note adhered to one read, "Shall we talk?" "What does he mean?" Gillian asked, baffled by the articles. "I don't kno,." Maia sighed, then in a fit of anger shredded the newspapers and scattered them on the breeze. Chapter 2: The Darkness Has a Hunger that's Insatiable The bits of bad news formed little dust devils in the wake of Buck's Crown Victoria. When the dervishes spun themselves out, Maia opened the passenger door of the Trans-Am for her guest. They roared off, sending the torn paper in the street into convulsions again. "Where to?" Maia asked. "Um," Gillian chewed her lip thoughtfully. She'd given the matter a lot of consideration, seeing as how there really wasn't that much to do in Trinity, "Turn left up there," she pointed. "Where are we going?" Maia demanded. "You'll see when we get there," Gillian grinned. Maia gritted her teeth. She didn't like being led around like this, it went against her grain. Gillian started off awkwardly, then launched into all the sordid gossip surrounding the other inhabitants of the boarding house. "You might not believe it, but you're living in a positive hotbed of strangeness," the artist laughed, "Gail...Gail Emory? Well, her parents died in a fire under mysterious circumstances when she was young, and she's been living in Charleston, working as a journalist. She only came back because of the kid, Caleb? Well his family's house burned down, pretty weird coincidence, huh? And he was the only survivor. Rumor has it that the Sheriff claims to be the kid's father...." they approached another intersection, "Keep going straight." Gillian interrupted her own monologue to give directions, "There was a big hoopla over where he was going to live, and who should have custody of him. I'm not sure exactly how that worked out, he's living with Gail, but I think he's more the common son of all the permanent boarders or something. Rumor ALSO has it that Caleb's sister, Merlyn, isn't dead. My landlady claims to have seen her. Who knows?" Gillian kept up the pleasant chatter for the next ten minutes or so. Finally, she pointed to a dirt road off to the left. There were a few old cars parked along it. Maia pulled up behind one of them. The old oaks of South Carolina provided heavy shade, but the humidity was still nearly unbearable. Gillian led her new found object of curiosity out of the trees and onto the edge of a stream. A railroad trestle traversed its banks, and a wooden, floating platform provided a haven for bathers. The trestle's cement top was just wide enough for Maia to limp across if she used only one of the crutches. She tested her foot gingerly, deciding that maybe she'd abandon the supports in a week or so anyway. They passed by a group of old men fishing, and settled down in the shade on the uninhabited side of the stream. "It's lovely here," Maia said automatically. "It's a great place to swim too," Gillian smiled, "Maybe we can come back when you're out of that cast huh? Speaking of which, how'd you do that?" "I was just being careless. Tripped," Maia drew circles in the sand with a twig. "I've run on all this time... what do you do?" Gillian pried, as eager for information on the newcomer as any of the other occupants of the town. "I'm . . ." Maia found it hard to lie to the candid young woman, "I'm a financial consultant. I have a business in Denver, but you get tired of the landscape sometimes, you know?" "I can understand that," Gillian replied, and then blithely went on with her narrative about the people of Trinity. Maia listened intently, not overly interested in the subject matter, but fascinated by the delivery. Gillian had a gentle southern accent and a soothing voice. The day passed quickly and peacefully. For a while, Maia managed to stop worrying. They had a picnic lunch and took a canoe out. When they returned to dry land the shadows were growing long. Shouts of panic came from the direction of the parking lot. Gillian dropped the paddle she was carrying and ran for the source of the sounds. Maia frowned and followed suit. The smaller, unencumbered woman arrived first. A few people were milling uncertainly around a man in a lawn chair. He'd been sitting, carving a piece of wood and enjoying the breeze off the reservoir, when someone bumped his chair and the knife slipped. He was bleeding profusely from a deep gash in his wrist. He was staring at his arm in a daze while someone was trying to get him to squeeze it. Gillian shoved her way to him, checked the gash gently and tried to reassure the old man. In one swift motion she hit two spots in his upper arm. His body jerked, but the bleeding ceased. When the EMTs arrived, Gillian repeated the jabbing motion and the blood flow resumed, though now the man was well cared for. Once Maia had retrieved the paddles, she asked, "What did you do to him?" Gillian shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I stopped off the flow of blood to his arm. It's something my mother taught me how to do. She called them pressure points," seeing that she had a rapt audience, she went on, "Mom knew them all, I learned most. They are, like most things, a two edged skill though. You can kill using the pressure points in the neck." "Teach me?" "I don't know..." the artist paused, it was a potentially dangerous skill... but who would use it like that anyway? "Yeah, sure, but it's not as easy as it looks." Gillian insisted that they hang around the reservoir to watch the sunset, and once that show was over, they parted. It wasn't until then that thoughts of the sheriff popped back into Maia's head. She would call him tonight. She had to. She fingered the business card in her pocket. Maia found a pay phone outside of the gas station, and made the call. The Sheriff was at home and told her that his evening was free. Maia didn't like the idea of meeting the lion in his den so to speak, but she found herself outside of his door anyway. It was a singularly impressive house, for a sheriff. It wasn't locked, so she crept inside. The lighting was low but she could make out a bust at the end of the hallway and a chandelier overhead. Once Maia was over the threshold, the door blew shut with an air of finality. Uneasy, she knotted her hair behind her head and slowly stepped forward. "Welcome to my humble abode," Buck appeared as if from nowhere. He ushered her into the den. There were chairs all over the place, set in circles and lining the walls. Bookshelves were crammed with old and well loved volumes. A preserved raven glared balefully at nothing, its glass eyes gleaming dully. "What do you want from me?" Maia demanded immediately. The house felt strange. It had an atmosphere of...wrongness...to it. The sheriff smiled again, but his eyes did not reflect it. "Not much. Just you." "Why?" "Because I know what you can do. And I want you with me, where I can keep my eye on you," he drawled, seated then on the arm of a chair. "What's that supposed to mean?!" "You know what I mean," Buck snorted, growing tired of this game. "Enlighten me." "You kill people for a living, is that right?" "No, I'm a-" "Of course that's right. I am giving you a choice Miss Pappas." "A choice?" Maia cocked an eyebrow as she paced the length of the room. "Yes. I'm offering you a chance to work for me," he was standing behind her all of a sudden with his hands on her shoulders. Maia could smell leather and human, a delicious combination that reminded her just how primitive people were under their thin disguise of civilization. "This town is mine, along with everything in it," Buck grinned as he felt Maia's shoulders tense, "I could use someone like you. Life can be very . . . rewarding here. All you have to do is make the right decisions." Maia sighed. She didn't entirely understand, but she felt herself inexorably drawn to the idea. Abruptly however, she gave herself a mental shake and jerked away, whirling on him. "What? I get YOU? That's supposed to be enticing?" she snapped. Buck laughed. "There's more to it than that. Stick around for a while. You'll see." Maia smirked. "Like what?!" Maia had a long discussion with the Sheriff of Trinity. The man had plans, and if she stayed around long enough, she would see just what sort of things he was capable of. Gillian thought he was evil, and maybe he was. Then again, maybe he was just power hungry like anyone else. Either way, he did have power. Maia wasn't sure where it came from, but she could sense it on him, and she knew that he wasn't exactly . . . normal. In the next few weeks, Maia mulled over the Sheriff's business proposition. She watched his people; the people of Trinity. There were, as he had said, two sides to life; those that loved the Sheriff were happy, at least most of the time. And then there were those that claimed that Buck was the very source of all that was evil in the world, who for the most part, were miserable, or dead, or had simply vanished. Maia couldn't help but laugh at some of them. The good "Dr. Matt" was among that school. He despised the Sheriff, though you couldn't tell at first glance. The doctor was most skillful at hiding emotions, but he suffered nightmares; Maia could hear him sometimes yelling in his sleep. Maia heard tales of many "disappearances." The former owner of the boarding house was among those. One morning Maia had stumbled across Miss Hale, the woman that ran the boarding house, boxing up the African looking artwork in the foyer. She explained that the other woman, the first owner of the house, disappeared months ago. Miss Hale had picked up the utilities and payments on the house. She hadn't had a chance to redecorate yet. Gillian later said that the house's former owner had been responsible for preventing the Sheriff from winning custody of Caleb. Meanwhile, Gillian's lessons on pressure points occupied Maia's afternoons every day, and they watched the sunset every night together. With each passing week the concerns of her "normal life" grew more and more distant to Maia. She was jolted from her cloud nine when Gail handed her a large manilla envelope one morning. "This came in the mail for you, yesterday." She smiled wanly and walked out the door. Maia watched her leave. Something was afoot with the journalist, but it was none of Maia's business. She opened the envelope cautiously. It had no return address but it was postmarked from New York. Maia stopped herself before she had it all the way open. She couldn't really do anything about it for another month, so she took it up to her room and stuffed it behind the headboard of her bed. The sheriff would be expecting some kind of an answer soon. His offer was becoming more and more tempting. It would give Maia the chance to stay with Gillian, who, Maia had to admit, was much more than a town gossip. She was incredible, like no one Maia had ever met before. Gillian was so open, so honest, and she was so beautiful. Maia was on thin ice so far as physical attraction as concerned. For the first time in her life, Maia was deathly afraid of rejection -- of seeing disgust in Gillian's eyes. The wall clock proclaimed it to be 9 am. A little on the late side. Maia frowned, and stalked out the door. She had taken to fishing to fill in her spare time, and although she would never admit it, she loved it. This morning, Maia rented a rowboat and hauled herself out into the river. She let the boat drift with the current, eyes glued to the water. She sat perfectly still, perfectly patient. When at last she moved it was with the speed of a trap snapping shut. She held then, in her hands, a very surprised and wriggling fish. Laughing, Maia tossed the creature into the boat bottom where it flipped about angrily. The sound of feet crunching on dead leaves rang out. Maia's head whipped up to find the source. She looked up in time to catch a flash of a blue and white striped shirt. Caleb. She smiled. Back to the Beginning |