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. Chapter 10: Some of Them Want to Abuse You Washington D.C., 0300 hrs, November, 1999 "Nadine, get out of there," Maia ordered, directing her rich, smooth voice into the microphone attached to her headset. She bent the wire a little closer to her mouth automatically. There was no response. "Control, what's going on?" Maia demanded, the headset deactivated transmissions automatically when she named an operative that sat diagonally across from her at a stainless steel encrusted computer terminal. "I'm getting some interference. Looks like she's down, she's being dragged down the hallway," a middle aged man watching an lcd intently replied. The display provided maps of the area, infrared images of the interior of the embassy in front of them, and tracking of all operatives involved. "Control," Maia hissed into the mic, "We've got an agent down." A familiar, gruffly masculine voice replied, "Go in." Silently Maia stood up and leaped lightly out of the gray unmarked van. She was over the rear wall of the embassy grounds and into the building via the roof only a few seconds later. Following Control's directions, and her own memory of the building's floor plan she made her way through the darkened hallways. She passed four agents on her way in. Maia jerked her head in the direction of the stairs. She watched them proudly as they disappeared into the shadows, then sprinted on silent feet to the door of one of the lusciously appointed guest rooms. Moonlight in the shape of a window shone on the mauve carpet, so that Maia had the distinct advantage of being the one in the dark. She peered around the doorjamb cautiously. Nadine, her black face mask tossed aside, lay on the floor, a sizable bruise purpling the left side of her face. A flabby man in boxer shorts sat in an armchair watching his two bodyguards tie Nadine's hands and feet. One of them slapped her gently, trying to revive her. Maia groaned inwardly. Operations had forbidden her or any members of her team from killing any of the embassy's' occupants. This should have been a simple reconnaissance mission. Maia backed down the hall and filled Operations in on the situation. "Terminate the agent. Do not engage the Ambassador or his men. Get out." Came her orders. Maia didn't bother to ask why, even as the team's head, she knew nothing. It was not unusual. Maia padded back to the doorway and drew her gun, with its absurdly long silencer. Stepping into the open door, she aimed and fired. The shot took her team member under the chin and exited through the top of her head, leaving a fan shaped splatter of blood and brains on the lush carpet. Three sets of eyes and two automatic weapons swung towards the darkness outside the safety of the guest room. Maia was already halfway down the hall when a hail of bullets rained down upon her. She ran faster, flinging herself up the stairs and at last outside to safety. Back in the van, the team was silent. Maia ordered the driver to get going. The others knew instinctively what had happened. They also knew better than to ask why. Maia sat, expressionless. She would have to choose a replacement agent now. Her mind ran through all the things she'd have to do, anything to avoid thinking about the color of Nadine's blood as it seeped into that mauve carpet. She had a dream that night about planting explosives in the headquarters of some terrorist group. The operation had gone off perfectly. The next week however, Maia bought a newspaper and read the casualty tally of the "accident." Fifty men, twenty seven women, and five teenagers. It hadn't been just a base of operations, but living quarters for the radicals and their families. They were a GreenPeace group, Maia found out. That wasn't in the papers, but Maia had discovered a lay-out for one of their brochures while she supervised the operation. She woke up angry. Maia had no problems with killing, but she wanted to know why she was doing it. As a base level agent, she'd been lied to, a fact she learned upon her promotion. That was, however, all she'd learned. Now she was one of the perpetrators of those lies, but the only advantage she had over the base agents was that she knew they weren't true. So she thought. Maia now clung to the pretense that Section worked with national governments for the good of the people. Whether or not this was true was uncertain. All operatives, in theory, were convicted killers, and all their missions, in theory, were beneficial to humanity at large. These were the two major ideas that Maia wished to be true. There was no way for her to prove what was real and what was not, so she lived her life with an uncertainty that she was forced to hide from her superiors. When she was within Section's walls, her responsibilities centered around preparing operatives for their missions and evaluating their mental stability. Maia was highly valued by Operations and other members of the upper echelon of this strange organization for much more than her ability to escape the most dire of situations both victorious and unscathed. She wielded a mysterious power over her subordinates. They might not trust her completely, but they obeyed her unconditionally. Anyone who took the time to watch her work, could see that she knew just when to say or do exactly the right thing. Given a few weeks with a new agent or trainee, she could have them either so cowed that they would kiss a pistol if she yelled at them loudly enough, or so devoted to her in some way that was a mixture of lust and awe that they would not consider disappointing her. There was even talk of transferring her to another Section, Section I, where they were having difficulties controlling some of their agents. This was unheard of though, especially at Maia's relatively low clearance level. Move her and she might learn something dangerous to the organization. Like, who controlled them? What were their affiliations? What am I doing? She wondered. But, Section allowed her to indulge her blood lust and foist the guilt off onto her superiors. It was easier than freelancing in that respect, but the pay was not as good, and she had to be constantly on her toes to avoid termination. One slip, if it was large enough, could cost you your life. Maia sighed, the other problem was definitely in the retirement plan. Once you outlived your usefulness, termination followed. There was no getting out. Sighing again, Maia got up and began her morning workout. She could not afford to get out of shape. Sarah drifted around the room. The genteel murmur of voices rose a little in her proximity. She greeted her clientele enthusiastically, calling everyone by name. Not that they were easily forgettable people. Some were business people, others were television and movie stars or executives, and still others were authors and artists, but they were all rich. Tonight, Sarah was hosting a private opening for Ishtar Galleries' newest consigner. Rowan Austin was a surrealist, and the commission from the purchases made tonight would undoubtedly cover the gallery's expenses several times over. Sarah worked the crowd skillfully. She took offers on the paintings tactfully, making things feel more like a party than an auction. Rowan was doing well too. He had stationed himself at the front of the room, directly below the keystone of his display, a fantastical piece that was sparking a great deal of conversation. He was playing up to the stereotype of the wild artist. Sarah took a moment to watch the gesticulations that accompanied his breathless speech. They really were in the business of pageantry, just like any good advertiser. Smiling broadly, genuinely, Sarah sipped her champagne. She nodded her head emphatically in agreement to the commentary on prima donna actresses that she was half listening to. She politely excused herself and joined Rowan at the front of the room. Sarah proposed a toast to him, and the room responded heartily. Beneath her smile and apparent enjoyment of the evening was a tinge of irritation. Some of her clients were so artificial. They came to Ishtar so that they could feel like they were on the "edge." On the edge of what, Sarah refused to wonder. For all her skill in dealing with people, she felt like she would never truly understand them. Her naivete in this respect was part of her edge in her business. She liked to pretend that it wasn't business, which was exactly what her clients wanted in the "eccentric" owner of an art gallery. Just as Rowan was doing, Sarah played up to a stereotype because it was good for business. They liked to pretend to be eclectic, educated, wacky people, and Sarah knew just how to stay between too dull and too different. It was nearly midnight when Sarah locked up the gallery. She drove her Volvo home, always sure to use her turn signal and never exceed the speed limit by more than 3 m/hr. Sarah stripped off her shoes and wearily pulled her dress over her head when she finally made her way into her bedroom. She hated New York in many ways, but she loved the old high ceiling-ed apartment that she rented at an exorbitant monthly rate. Flopping onto the firm mattress of her mahogany sleigh bed, Sarah stared sleepily up at the painting that watched over her sleep. She never tired of looking at it. In the six years that she's had it hanging on her wall, the three men she'd brought here had complained that it gave them nightmares. One told Sarah that the woman in the painting reminded him of a female praying mantis about to devour its mate. Sarah had laughed at him. She found that having Maia there made her feel protected. Sometimes she had bizarre dreams, and woke with a strong sense of both well being and longing. Sarah had called her parents, hoping to find word of the Pappas family. To her dismay, that branch of the Pappas family was all but extinct. Their fortune was spent, and Maia was the last remaining descendent of Professor Mel Pappas. Sarah had even read some of his translations of the Xena Scrolls, the discoveries that had helped to build the family's financial security. Sarah despaired of ever finding the woman. Even if she did, Sarah wasn't sure that Maia would want to talk to her. Sarah certainly wouldn't, not about Gillian anyway. These were thoughts that ran through her mind every now and then ever since her hare brained trip to Trinity. They were pointless meanderings; Sarah felt that she would never find Maia. Why that fact bothered her so much, she did not know. Chapter 11: Shame on You Maia pulled on her tailored black duster, a garment recommended to her by Amanda as the absolute "essential to her fall wardrobe". Humming an old funeral dirge, Maia wandered aimlessly. She was planning on buying some fresh food to replace the frightening globs of mold that were stinking up her apartment. She never felt comfortable in grocery stores, surrounded by wailing children and their impatient parents. Maia hadn't had much time lately to see the city, and she didn't regret that at all. The place reminded her of too many people she would rather forget. She decided to follow a man in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt for a couple of blocks, and then she turned left and trailed a woman in black heels. She remembered pretending to stalk people when she was a kid. She hadn't been very good at it then, she was always trying to stay hidden, which made her presence painfully obvious to her "prey". Maia wished she could remember the words to that song. When she grew bored with her game, she stopped and looked around. She was standing in one of the ritzier districts, judging by the rare book dealer and the gourmet food store that seemed to flourish there. Even the trees planted in the sidewalk were abnormally tall. Maia went inside the little food store and bought some strange foods that she had no intention of eating, but might make nice conversation pieces were she to actually take anyone home with her. Maia hated playing at this normality that her life did not possess. She was several blocks into the walk home when she heard the sound of a muffled gasp, and two feet scraping across cement. Whirling, Maia tossed her groceries onto the hood of a convenient car, and followed the memory of the sound. She caught sight of disheveled strawberry blonde hair, and the back of a shaved head. Immediately recognizable was the unusual scar on the back of the would be attacker's neck. "Reggie!" Maia growled. The body hidden under several layers of ragged clothing tensed. He released his victim. The petite woman dodged away from him and ran. Reggie narrowed his eyes and took a step towards Maia. "Are you suicidal?" she asked, laughing maliciously. "You know I doan mean nuthing," he replied, raising his hands defensively. His bluff had been called. The dark woman blocking the way back onto the sidewalk had nearly killed him the last time he'd stood up to her. That was why he'd moved closer to the business district; to get away from her. Sneering, Maia told him to run. For a moment, his nostrils flared rebelliously. The left one was missing a sizable chunk where Maia had ripped a stud out of it at their last meeting. The moment passed, and Reggie turned and ran. Only when his echoing footsteps were faint did Maia turn her back on the pathetic thug. Reggie's victim's purse lay on the ground in a puddle of noxious fluid that was leaking out of the dumpster. Maia picked it up by the handle distastefully. Carrying it at arm's length, she was annoyed to discover that the woman had run off. Her grocery bags were gone too. Maia bought more food on the way back to her apartment. She dumped the damp contents of the woven cotton purse on the linoleum floor of her kitchenette. Munching on a slice of cheese, she plucked a wallet made of eel skin out of the pile. She smiled at the picture on the driver's license. Sarah G. Covington had guileless, girlish features and green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. Maia laughed aloud at the pretentious, carved rosewood business card holder. Flicking it open, she slid a card out. They were all printed in gold and black ink on crumbly papyrus. Snickering still, she read the card. It was so cheesy. Without keys, Sarah was forced to take a taxi back to the gallery. She paid the fare with the 20 she always kept inside her shoe. She tried to pull herself together in the car. She hadn't gotten a look at her rescuer, and she had known better than to stick around to say thank you. She'd been mugged only once before, and had planned to take a self defense course, but there never seemed to be enough time. Sarah brushed past her assistant, David, answering none of his questions. She called the police from the lounge in the back room and reported the incident. She would call her credit card companies once she got home. "Sarah?" David held out some towel wrapped ice cubes, "Your face." He added in explanation. Sarah took the proffered ice and locked herself in the bathroom. She was going to have a nice scrape down one side of her face and a hand sized bruise on her neck. She stuck her forehead under the tap, regrouping and slowing down. She was tired now that the initial fear had worn off. When she no longer felt like crying she pressed the ice to her neck and went back out into the gallery. The big, airy central room had a loft running round half the width of the building for sculpture displays and clear skylights far overhead to give things a more naturalistic feel and to feed the potted plants. Her purse sat on the front desk. David opened his mouth to tell her that a woman with black hair had dropped it off. Sarah dashed for the door just as it was swinging shut. David closed his mouth when he realized that she was gone. "Wait!" Sarah shouted, looking frantically in both directions at the dozens of people bustling past. A tall, lean woman in a black duster turned her head inquiringly. Sarah's jaw dropped. "Uh...Maia?" She gasped. Maia blanked her expression to conceal her surprise. "Yes?" "Would you...Would you like to come inside..for coffee?" Sarah stuttered, opening the heavy door as wide as it would go. Maia smiled and preceded the stranger inside. She had an hour until she was due at Section, and nothing else to do. She noticed the scrape and ice pack. Maia let herself be led into a lounge behind the front desk. "David?" Sarah called, "Could you whip us up some cappuccino here?" Maia smiled again, "He didn't hurt you too badly did he?" she asked courteously when her hostess sat down next to her. Their eyes locked and something akin to a spark glowed between them. Maia broke the contact and examined the glossy leaves of a huge jade plant growing on the coffee table amid a welter of Vogue and Arts International magazines. The room was decorated in dark reds, shimmering golds and ornately carved cherry furniture. "No," Sarah replied, flustered, "Not really." She lowered her ice pack to reveal her trophy bruise. "Thank you for helping me." Maia nodded, "I was there, that's all." David showed up with two steaming mugs of Irish cream coffee. Sarah took the mugs from him and shooed him away. "My name is Sarah Covington," Sarah handed her guest a mug. Maia sipped the beverage dubiously. "Outside, you called me by my name. How did you know?" she asked tersely. "I wanted to talk to you about that. I've been wanting to talk to you about that for years." Sarah replied mysteriously, setting her mug down on a copy of Vogue. "Six years ago, a dozen paintings came into my possession. We usually deal in consignments, but we always keep an eye out for anything promising. Somehow or other, one of my employees purchased these paintings at a county auction in Trinity, South Carolina." Maia's lips twitched. "One of them was of you." Maia set aside her now too sweet drink. "Where are they?" The dark woman demanded. "Most of them sold very quickly. I still have your portrait though," Sarah watched the still face for any signs of a reaction. "I never saw it completed. Is it here? May I see it?" At least she finally got her work displayed in New York, just like she wanted. she thought. "I'm afraid it's not here right now. If you'd like, perhaps we could have dinner, and have a look at it? I'll cook," Sarah almost clapped her hands over her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd just made a pass at a total stranger; a woman, no less. But Maia didn't really seem like a stranger. Maia smiled at the dismayed expression on the blonde's face. It can't hurt, and you haven't gone out in months. Maybe it will get Amanda off your back for once. Maia decided even as she accepted the invitation. The memories of that time spent in the heat of the south, of the pain and the passion washed over her mind. "Are you all right?" Sarah touched her guest's hand in concern at the distant look in those cerulean eyes. Maia jumped, barely restraining her reflex to defend herself from a possibly hostile touch. "I'm all right." Maia stood up suddenly, "But I have to leave." Sarah nodded and fumbled in her purse for a business card. She scribbled her home address on the back and handed it over to Maia who accepted it awkwardly and left before Sarah could say anything more. The art dealer watched Maia's lithe form retreat across the floor and out of the room. There was a melancholy to the woman that was absent in her portrait. Sarah rode an adrenaline high through the rest of the day. It seemed impossible that after 6 years of wondering and speculation, her search was at an end. There's something about that woman. Maia thought as she swept into Section. She went through the motions of interviewing her new trainees, and of privately meeting with each of the members of her team from the last mission to reaffirm their loyalty to her. She gave them each the same story, leaving each man and woman convinced that she was putting her life at risk by telling them the "truth" about Nadine's death. Maia played her part like the professional she was, but with each repetition, the weight of her knowledge grew greater. This is the last time. she told herself. These people don't deserve to be treated like fools. At first she'd enjoyed this sadistic game she played with her operative's souls and minds, but the game was no longer just fun. Maia couldn't view them as toys anymore, Nadine's murder was the spark that had at last ignited Maia's compassion. She who had once killed with glee, swum so easily through the bloody world she inhabited, was beginning to feel the pangs of remorse. "Maia." Maia turned to the source of the voice and forced herself to smile. "Hello Amanda," she said warily. Amanda, dressed somberly yet fashionably as was her custom, sashayed leisurely up the hallway. Her wild platinum hair was pulled back in a careful ponytail. "How've you been doing honey?" Amanda asked, so close the two women were nearly touching. Maia carefully weighed her response, and finally decided to say, "I'm all right. Nadine was a big loss though. She was good." "Yes. Yes she was. But that can be said of almost any of our agents," The blonde smiled, her expressions often verged on being maniacal. "They're all good, but Nadine was surprisingly stable. She reminded me a little of myself," Maia sighed. It was good for her to show a little bit of perturbation over the agent's death, but only a little, and it was necessarily short-lived. Maia knew how to play Amanda's charades. Or so she liked to think. "Ah. You performed well nevertheless," Amanda placed one of her deceptively soft hands on Maia's shoulder. The skinny blonde was nearly as tall as she was, though Maia was more voluptuous and powerful looking. Amanda was a hard woman. With a farewell nod of her head, Amanda stopped and let Maia continue on out the door without her. It was so easy to walk out that door, but it was a meaningless act. She couldn't simply leave the state, or the country and hope to be free. They would find her eventually. Even if she escaped them, she would never be able to relax for she would have to be constantly vigilant, and all people would be suspect. The only way out was to be dead to them. Or to destroy them. Maia snickered at the thought. Destroy Section, when it was allied to the government? Yeah, right. Chapter 12: I'd Like to Tell You Something ‘bout My Life The scent of stir-fry greeted Maia when she made her belated entrance into Sarah's home. Maia made her apologies for her tardiness. The truth was that she'd had to run home and shower, scrubbing her body from head to foot to be sure to remove any tracking devices Amanda or Operations might have seen fit to plant. It was an action Maia herself had performed on many occasions, and she knew that she was not above such surveillance. It was doubtful that anyone was. Once Maia handed over the obligatory bottle of red wine, she stripped off her coat and gloves. She followed her hostess into the kitchen, her appreciative eyes taking in the apartment's ingenious design and opulent decoration. "Smells great." Maia inhaled contentedly. She peered over the blonde's shoulder at the sizzling vegetables. "Thanks." Goose bumps rose on her skin in response to the proximity of Maia's body. Sarah picked up the wok and turned, forcing the dark woman to back up. Mentally sighing with relief, Sarah said, "This doesn't keep real well. Hope you're ready to eat." Over dinner, Maia couldn't keep her eyes off of the little blonde. They talked with a strange familiarity, and Maia's concerns seemed to become lighter in Sarah's presence. "Have you actually seen the Xena Scrolls?" the blonde asked over a forkful of rice. "What are they?" Maia asked, baffled. "You mean..." Sarah trailed off, "They're a bunch of scattered parchments written by an ancient Greek bard about a warrior woman named Xena. I've read a few of them, but they're widely held as being pure fiction with no basis in fact." "What about them?" "Well, they were discovered in the early 1900's by Dr. Mel Pappas; I think he was your great grandfather?" "More like great-great I think." Maia nodded, "Yeah, I do think I remember hearing about them, but my parents never talked about the family." She shrugged. "Really? Well, did you know that the Covingtons and Pappases have a history together? At first, they were sort of archeological competitors." Sarah laughed, took a sip of wine and continued, "My great-great grandfather was a dealer in black market artifacts, and Mel Pappas was a University based archeologist. They were both in search of the Xena Scrolls." Maia grinned. "So what was in these ‘Xena Scrolls' that's so interesting?" "Some of the stories...contradict and refute current historical beliefs. Frankly, if they were true, the historical world would be turned on its ear," Sarah shrugged and pushed her empty plate aside. "I actually have a copy of one of them if you're interested..." "Perhaps some other time, but I would like to see the painting?" Maia arched one of her perfect brows teasingly. "Oh. Yeah, it's out here." Wine glass in hand, Sarah led the way into her living room. She had tactfully removed the portrait from its normal location and set it out on an antique easel. For the first time since she'd seen it, Sarah felt awkward about the painting. Until Maia was really standing there in front of her nude picture, it had been merely a piece of art to be viewed with some objectivity. She blushed vividly as she watched the dark woman study her portrait. Maia felt like she was seeing through a tunnel. She knew I was a murderer, and she hated it. But...she still took the fall for me... The blood drained from her face. Reaching out, she brushed her painted face with calloused fingertips. Sarah became painfully aware of her state of fifth-wheelness. "It...It didn't look like this when I saw it last." Maia breathed. She didn't like the idea that Sarah and whoever she had chosen to show this artwork to had gotten such a clear look at Maia's soul. The painting was too true, and she realized that it was dangerous both to herself and to Sarah. "Has this been on display anywhere?" She asked, letting her arms drop to her sides. "No. I've kept it here. Not many people have seen it." Because I don't get laid all that frequently. Sarah did not add. She walked towards the kitchen, calling, "I'll be outside when you're done." "I've seen enough." Maia followed her, "Thank you for letting me have a look. It meant a lot." Sarah sat down on the plush couch, and gestured for her guest to join her. She refilled Maia's glass and sank back into the soft cushions. Thankfully, they could see only the back of the easel from where they sat. "Why did you really invite me here tonight? It would have been easier to show it to me at the gallery," Maia twirled the stem of her wine glass between two supple fingers. "Why did you accept the invitation?" Sarah volleyed. "Ah-ah, you first," Maia smiled, but it did not touch her eyes. She lowered her head, still staring at Sarah's lovely face. "Fine," Sarah replied in mock irritation, "I don't really know." "Fair enough. I don't really know either," Maia mockingly returned. "That was enlightening." "You never answered my other question. How did you know my name? It's nowhere on that piece of canvas," Maia sat up straight, and her long black hair whispered over her shoulders. "Oh. Um. I..." Sarah stuttered, "I took a trip to Trinity." "You went to Trinity? Just to find out who I was?" Maia laughed genuinely, the melancholy momentarily banished from the ice of her eyes. "Well, not exactly. I went to find out who the painter was, maybe to try to convince her to consign with Ishtar. Needless to say, that was futile," the blonde shrugged, "There was something about that place though. It had a sort of....I don't know, unpleasant atmosphere to it. And that Sheriff, God, it was like he'd just pop up out of nowhere..." Maia shuddered visibly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Sarah trailed off at the look on Maia's face. "No, it's all right. Other than that, you didn't have any...problems... did you?" "No." "What did they tell you about her?" Maia asked, silently hoping that Gillian's friends did not believe her capable of murder. "Not much really, I did, however, find these." Sarah stood up and pulled a heavy album off of the end table. She opened it and handed it to Maia. The dark woman scanned the articles quickly and handed the book back. She swallowed her entire glass of wine. "You probably want to know what really happened." "Not if you don't want to tell me," Sarah smiled faintly. It was true, her sense of urgency had dissipated, as if Maia's presence were enough for the moment. Out of loyalty to Gillian, Maia felt obligated to make the truth known. "I know. But if that," she gestured to the clippings, "Is all you know...you should hear the whole story," Maia stretched out her long legs and began her tale with an apology, "I'm not very good with words. I...I was in that town recuperating from an injury. We met the first day I was there." Maia proceeded to give as accurate a recounting of the months she had spent loving Gillian as she could. She carefully avoided much of what had gone on, like how she'd broken that ankle, and what she was doing hanging around with Buck in the first place. She slowed down for another drink when she reached her second night under Dr. Crower's care for a gunshot wound. "When I woke up strapped to that hospital bed, I didn't know if I wanted to live or die. Buck told me that it was either me or Gillian that would take the blame for some old man's murder-" "His last name was Davis." Sarah pointed out. "Oh," she fell silent for a moment, "Gillian came to see me, though they wouldn't let us talk alone. She knew I hadn't killed him, she said she was going to talk to Buck herself. I knew what she was going to do. I tried to confess but... they gave me something and when I woke up I was in Charleston and it was all over. There was nothing I could do, so I never went back. When I found out about the riots..." Maia trailed off, her head cradled in her hands. She didn't tell Sarah about how she had lain in that bed, fighting the restraints, screaming her head off for someone to come and take down her confession. The deputy left to keep an eye on her didn't seem to believe her, so Maia had resorted to threats in a desperate attempt to be allowed to talk to the Sheriff. The noise attracted a few nurses, who were ordered to sedate their irate charge. Her struggles had reopened the sutures and undone much of the doctors' careful orthopedic work. Once in Charleston, she hadn't even gone back to Trinity to retrieve the car that had once belonged to her late father. It was another month before she lost patience with the therapists and surgeons trying to repair her leg. Crippled, Maia was not much use on foot. Because of her marksmanship and amazing skill behind the wheel, she could perform a few select jobs from the driver's seat of a car. Furious and in agony, she was nearly as deadly as before under the right conditions. Frustrated, Maia had turned to bigger and more dangerous games. "I'm sorry," Sarah said, breaking the silence. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I don't regret meeting her, I regret meeting sheriff Buck. Without him, who knows what might have happened? He was powerful. He knew things; things that most people don't dare to think about," Maia shrugged, "It was all a part of his plan." "Plan?" "Mhmm," Maia sighed, but did not elaborate. Sarah stood up and stuck a Madonna album into the stereo. Maia watched her turn and start back towards the couch, lamplight reflecting in a soft glow from her fine, well groomed hair. She felt a jolt of recognition, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to make sense, like it had all happened before. But then it was gone. "I think this calls for the heavy stuff," Sarah produced a 3/4 full bottle of bourbon from. "How tacky, bourbon in a wine glass," Maia gave a full throated, nearly hysterical laugh. "My mother would tan my hide," Sarah replied, shamelessly filling both their glasses. Conversation went around the world after that. They talked about bad first date experiences, setting things on fire stories, and cackled over ex lovers like they had known each other all their lives. Of course, Sarah did most of the talking, but then, Maia was an excellent listener. Sarah was a breath of air to her drowning lungs. She was so accustomed to artificiality, that the heartfelt emotions and candid speech of the art dealer shocked her; and comforted her. A few hours later, it made perfect sense that they both stumbled into Sarah's bedroom and burrowed into the generous layers of blankets on the sleigh-bed. That night, Maia slept like a woman that had never had her heart broken or her tongue silenced, a woman that had lived only one life. Back to the Beginning |