Chapter Two:

Mulder

Chicago River
4:15 p.m.

I was a profiler. That's what I do. Long before my life was consumed with aliens, smoking men and my beautiful partner, I was a psychologist trained to study human behavior. Something about that man last night bothered me. Although, I could not put my finger on it. Call it a gut instinct. Call it trained perception. But, something about Aylebourne wasn't quite right.

"C'mon Mulder," Scully called, dragging my hand as she pulled me up the stairs to the upper deck.

We were cruising the Chicago River, observing such noted buildings like the Chicago Sun Times, the Sears Tower, the NBC building. But my thoughts were elsewhere at the moment.

I sat down at the back of the boat, Scully perched herself in my lap. She wrapped her arms around my neck tightly, pulling me to the here and now. She let out a laugh, something that is so rare with her. The sound was like music to me.

"The Lake is so beautiful," she said, her lips on my ear. "Let's never go back to DC."

"Never go back, Mrs. Petrie?" I said, watching her wince at the name. "But Frohike would miss you so much."

"Screw him," she answered, kissing me hard.

"What has gotten into you?" I asked, wrapping my arms around her tightly. The wind from the water ruffled her beautiful red hair into her face.

"Maybe I'm learning to live a little," she answered, her blue eyes studying me thoughtfully.

Scully had been through so much lately. Nearly losing her life yet again. But this time, something had changed. She'd come back with a renewed zeal and lust for life.

It was a side of her I wanted to see more of. Much more of.

"It suits you," I said, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes.

"What does?" she asked.

"A smile," I answered, kissing her gently.

Scully's mouth opened beneath mine, prolonging the kiss into something deeper. My hands pressed her body against mine, breathing her breath. My heart was racing. So was hers. I wondered when the damn cruise would be over so I could get her back to the hotel. And have her all to myself. We'd made love only twice that morning. I was in withdrawal.

A little chirp started in my Dockers.

We broke apart smiling, Scully reached into my pocket for my phone.

"Is that a cell phone in your pocket?" she asked playfully, fingers reaching.

"No, I'm just glad to see you," I said, taking the phone from her. I hit send. "Mulder?"

It was the Chicago FBI field office. With the background checks I'd requested on Peter Aylebourne, Jessica Aylebourne and Jeremiah Adderley. I listened intently as the agent ran over the details. Jessica's was especially interesting to me.

"Who is it?" Scully mouthed.

I held up my hand to make her wait. It was hard to hear in the open air.

"Can you fax this information to me? I'm staying at the Sheraton. Downtown Chicago. Under the name Rob Petrie," I said. "Thank you."

"Fax what?" Scully asked. Her tone had shifted to the serious, matching my expression.

"Background checks," I said, closing my phone. "On our little trio from last night."

Scully sighed, a mixture of aggravation and apathy. "Why won't you let this go? We're supposed to be on vacation. You're the one who said I needed a break. And you're trying to work."

"I know," I admitted. I was a sorry son of a bitch sometimes. "And I would let this go, except..."

"Except?" she asked, raising her eyebrow at me.

"Something doesn't feel right. About those kidnappings. About Jeremiah Adderley's kidnapping. Somehow...Aylebourne is either involved, or he knows who is. Let's look over the background checks, it's probably nothing."

Scully stood up, letting the wind rustle her hair away from her face. She turned back and gazed at me. With understanding.

"I know you better than that," she grinned.

****

6:15 p.m.


Scully made me finish up the cruise. When we got back to the hotel, the faxes were waiting for me. Ayleborne's was the shortest. He was a painter. He was from England, and had immigrated here seven years ago. He was also a landlord, owning a small brownstone in Chicago. Adderley's was the second shortest. A few speeding tickets here and there. He was from Bristol, England and owned a local gallery.

Jessica Aylebourne's was a different matter.

She was a Julliard-trained classical pianist. Somehow, that surprised me. Especially considering what I read next.

About five years ago, her neighbors reported they suspected spousal abuse. Apparently, her first husband, Jeffrey Parker, had beaten her. A few more complaints were listed, reports of police being called to the house for domestic disturbances, several late night visits to the ER. She'd been in and out of foster care her whole life as a juvenile. She married this winner Jeffrey at nineteen. He'd died in a drunken driving accident. Good riddance. I could see a pattern of abuse emerging. A lifetime of being a throwaway. I wondered how Aylebourne fit into this profile, but her colorful past stopped after their marriage date. Nine months ago.

When Scully read this, I could tell it disturbed her. She forgets not all women are like her and would have the strength to get away from such a life.

There was also more on the kidnappings. The mark on Adderley's wrist was identical to the mark found on Sheryl Martin just weeks ago. Four other people had turned up the same way prior to that. Drained of blood. With the henna tattoo. Obviously, someone was out there making his presence known.

"You want to go there," Scully asked, peering up at me.

"Where?"

"To the hospital," she answered. "I can hear the wheels spinning in your head."

"Is it that loud?" I said, smiling at her. I let my eyes roam over her body, long and slow. "How about this thought? Can you hear this one?"

She blushed only slightly. "I told you earlier, my body doesn't bend like that."

Touché. She'd gotten good at throwing innuendo right back at me.

"Only for a little bit, I just want to question Adderley a bit more," I said, thoughts returning to the mysterious kidnapping.

"This isn't your case, Rob," she reminded me again. "But I'd like to know more about that marking. You called it what?"

"Ankh, Scully," I said, remembering some lecture back from my Oxford days. "It's an ancient Egyptian symbol for life."

"I wonder why it was inverted?" she wondered, gazing out thoughtfully. "What do you think that means?"

I smiled at her, her interest growing in this case. "Scully....surrendering to the Dark Side?"

"There must be a logical explanation," she said firmly, handing the faxes back to me. "C'mon, Rob. I think visiting hours are over at 8:00 p.m."

****

Cook County General
7:00 p.m.


Jeremiah Adderley had been moved into a room in the trauma ward. Apparently, the police had questioned him all day. Reporters and the media had tried to see him as well. The nurses said it had been a little hectic earlier. But he needed to rest and was moved to a private room.

We walked down the corridor to his room, number 512. There was no sign of the police around. Scully knocked gently at the door.

"Mr. Adderley?" she asked, cracking the door a hair. The curtain was pulled around the bed, we couldn't tell if he was sleeping or if he was even alone. "It's Laura Petrie. I was the woman who found you last night?"

"Ah...my savior! Do come in," said a rather dramatic voice.

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain," I mused, nudging Scully's arm as she entered the room.

I started to follow her, when I felt a hand on my arm.

"Where do you think you're going, Mr. Petrie?" said a very distinctive voice.

I let the door shut and turned to face Aylebourne. He was shorter than I was, but he had a very commanding presence. I put my hands on my hips and stared him down.

"I was going to see if Mr. Adderley was okay. My..." I stumbled over the word. "Wife was worried about him. She's a doctor herself."

His expression softened, as he looked past me and into the room. "I owe her a great debt in finding Jeremiah. But I think you owe me an apology, Mr. Petrie."

"Apology?" I asked. "For what?"

His nostrils flared at me, betraying his cool exterior. The British were good at hiding their emotions. "For accusing me of my friend's kidnapping. The police had some questions for me last night."

"Did you answer them? Or did you dodge them like you dodged mine?" I pressed, narrowing my eyes.

He fell silent, then tilted his chin upwards. "Who are you to make accusations to me?"

"Let's just say I'm someone who knows when a person is lying. Or...not being completely honest," I said, watching for his reaction.

Aylebourne edged closer to me, standing his ground. "Who's not being honest with whom, Mr. Petrie?"

****

Peter

Cook County General
7:10 p.m.

Mr. Rob Petrie was trying to be intimidating.

Well, dammit, it wasn't working.

He towered over me, hands on his hips. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Rob and Laura Petrie? The only difference from Dick Van Dyke being the pronunciation. Like the dish." I shook my head and chuckled. "It's almost a farce, Mr. Petrie." I felt my smile die. "Or whatever your name is."

"I'm not the one with secrets here!" he snapped.

"Really?" I said. "I did a little checking after I went home last night. It seems that Rob and Laura Petrie are checked into the Grand Suite of the Sheraton. The most expensive room in the hotel. And Mr. Petrie paid with cash. A great amount of it. Believe me, the staff did remember that." I smiled. "Anyone should know in this electronic age, that hard cash attracts attention." I felt my smile fade. "So perhaps I should be the one asking the questions."

He was clearly flustered and it took him a moment to regain his composure. "There are no questions to ask."

"Really? I can think of one or two. For one, why are trying to hide your identity? It's becoming obvious that's what you're doing."

He remained sullenly silent.

"That, of course, leads to the next question." I glared at him. "Who the hell are you? And what gives you the right to mess about in my life?"

"A man was kidnapped! That gives me the right as a citizen!"

"That man is my BEST FRIEND!" I snarled at him. "That gives me many more rights than a COMPLETE STRANGER!"

"Gentlemen, please!" The voice of the duty nurse cut through our argument. "This is a hospital. We need quiet."

I turned to her, my anger suddenly deflated. "I apologize," I said quietly. She nodded to us and walked away. I turned back to Petrie.

He was still glowering at me, his expression a mixture of anger and frustration.

"Mr. Petrie," I said formally. "If you do not see fit to apologize, then the best thing you can do is to get out of my life and that of my family's. I don't have much family, sir. Just my wife and my best friend. So that should be easy. Even for you."

With that, I turned away from him and pushed my way through the door to step into Jeremiah's room.

Three pairs of eyes stared, disbelieving, at me as I pushed the curtain aside. The first pair I looked into was pale green, the eyes of my wife. And they were filled with a mixture of worry and mirth.

The second pair I peered into was pale blue and filled with grief and a hint of anger. I gave Jeremiah a reassuring smile.

The third pair was the most interesting. They were the blue eyes of Laura Petrie and they were filled with a mixture of concern and embarrassment. The moment they locked with mine, she turned away, her cheeks flaring. I reached out and touched her arm.

"Thank you again for finding Jeremiah," I said to her. "We're very grateful to you."

She looked up at me and smiled gratefully. Then she opened her mouth as if to speak when Rob Petrie stormed into the room.

"Come on, Scu-Laura. It's been made clear that we're not welcome here."

"That's not true Mr. Petrie," I said simply. "I have no problem with your wife. She's not accusing me of anything. It's you I have the problem with."

He glared at me for a moment, then he gently took his wife's arm and carefully led her out of the room.

"Good Lord," muttered Jessie. "They make quite a pair, don't they? What was that all about?"

"Yes," nodded Jeremiah. "We were beginning to think it would come to blows out there, luv."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "As annoying as Mr. Petrie is, I'd never let it come to that." I sighed. "It's almost like he wants me to be guilty of something."

"Stop that!" Jessie suddenly barked at Jeremiah, who was picking at one of the many needles in the backs of his hands. She reached out and slapped his hand away.

"It itches!" he yelped. "I don't see why they're still pumping blood into me anyway."

"Because the doctor says your blood volume is still low. You lost a lot of blood, Jeremiah."

"But how? They said they couldn't find any obvious wounds."

At this, Jessie and I exchanged uncomfortable looks. Jeremiah, who has the talent of noticing small details, saw this. Immediately, a look of panic crossed his face.

"Oh God!" he yelped. "Oh my God! Am I turning?! I don't want to be turned! How do I stop it?!"

Immediately, Jessie reached out and grasped his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. "Jeremiah, you are not turning!"

"How do you know?!"

"Because," she answered. "If you were, you wouldn't be sitting upright. You'd be curled up on the bed, writhing in pain, and screaming your lungs out." She shook her head. "Trust me on this one, Jeremiah. I know. I've been there."

I reached over and took his left hand, turning it over to show the wrist. "This may give a clue as to who did this to you," I said, indicating the mark there.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I said, in some way hoping to avoid the real answer they wanted. "Just as a cross is a symbol of everlasting salvation, an inverted cross is a symbol of everlasting damnation. An ankh is a symbol of everlasting life. So an inverted ankh..."

Everlasting death," concluded Jessie.

Jeremiah stared at the mark on his wrist. "Why would someone mark me for that?"

"I don't think it was meant for you, personally," I said gently. "I think whoever did this to you, and to the other kidnap victims, is trying to send a message."

"You know what that message is, luv?"

I sighed, not wanting to say anymore than I had to, the answer silently torturing me. "I'll tell you what I told Jessie. I have my suspicions. And I can only pray to God that I'm wrong."

****

Scully

Cook County General
7:20 p.m.


I shook my arm out of Mulder's gentle grasp. "I wasn't ready to go."

I was angry with him for taking me out of the room. I had managed to read some of Adderley's chart and was getting some details of his kidnapping when he burst in.

Mulder indicated for me to follow him down the hallway, and pulled me into a narrow alcove.

"He checked up on us," he said, pursing his lips up.

I glanced back in the direction we came. "Who? Aylebourne?"

"Yes," Mulder said. "Must have gotten the name of the hotel from the police last night."

"Oh," I said, folding my arms around myself. I had an uneasy feeling in my gut. "What does know exactly?"

Mulder's face was a mixture of regret and anger. "That Rob and Laura Petrie are staying in the Grand Suite at the Sheraton. He suspects we're not who we say we are."

"I suppose turnabout is fair play," I surmised. "You were way out of line last night."

Mulder narrowed his eyes at me, as if to defend his position. "Whose side are you on?"

"Not about sides, Mulder," I said. "I have no cause or reason to suspect the Aylebourne's of anything. He was merely intruding on your life as you intruded on his by making unfounded accusations. You weren't acting as an FBI agent to him, just a stranger who asked one too many questions."

"I have my suspicions, unfounded or not," he retorted.

I clenched my teeth together. The charade was over, I supposed. As was our vacation. I would not risk being "exposed." Mulder and I had worked to hard over the last few months keeping our relationship secret. There was a time not too long ago I would have just packed up and left for DC, fearing the worst. But no real damage had been done. I took a deep breath. This could easily be corrected.

"We can just walk away from this," he said, reading my mind. Knowing what I feared. But I knew him better than that. Mulder rarely walked away from anything.

"Kidnapping is a federal offense. The local office is already working on it," I said, thinking logically. "Tomorrow, we'll just check out of the hotel. Find another one and book it under our correct names. Separately. Tell Skinner I came out to meet you."

Mulder's eyes registered disappointment at that.

"What about tonight?" he asked.

"What about tonight, Rob?" I whispered. "We're not officially assigned to this case...yet."

"So, while Aylebourne was giving me the third degree, what did you learn?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him as the tension between us dissipated.

"Jeremiah Adderley disappeared about a week ago, from the Grand Hall in Union Station. He was heading out to Michigan, some art buying mission," I said, stepping out of the alcove and walking down the hallway. "He remembered waiting there, the train was delayed. And that's it."

Mulder fell into step beside me. "No memory whatsoever?"

"None," I said. "But I was able to look at his chart. Hypovolemia. Massive blood loss."

"Blood loss. Was he injured in any way?"

"No," I replied. "No external cuts or wounds that could account for such volume. The blood loss must have occurred over several days, perhaps the whole week he was gone. Gradually weakening him into the state we found him. Couldn't have been a quick process, or else he wouldn't have survived. Believe me, if he could have told me more, he would have."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, holding the door open for me.

"Let's just say he's rather. . .dramatic," I grinned.

I was quite taken Adderley. He was charming, treating me as if I was some guardian angel sent to save him. He begged me to come to his gallery, to give me some token of his affection. I politely declined, saying I never accept gifts from strange men. Jessica Aylebourne seemed quite close to him indeed. She had been sitting on the edge of the bed, with Adderley's head cradled in her lap. Protectively. She told me what a dear friend he was to her and her husband. How he'd do anything for them. How he'd always been there for them. Aylebourne's work was often featured in his gallery.

I didn't want to pursue this case because of some suspicion Mulder had about Aylebourne. I wanted to do this for Adderley. I felt responsible for him. To at least discover whom would want to harm him. Was it a random act of violence? Or was he chosen for a reason? I wanted to review the other victim's profiles and backgrounds, seeing if they connected to Adderley.


****

The Sheraton
10:30 p.m.


I had packed up my suitcase, carefully folding my clothes back in. There was a Days Inn we could stay at, more to the FBI's budget. I had booked our reservations through the bureau. Two single rooms. Perhaps there was no escaping work for us. This happened all the time. Even when I tried to take a vacation last year, alone. . .I couldn't. I surveyed the room sadly. It was a sweet attempt by Mulder for something "normal." I thought about the Aylebournes and envied Jessica. I could see the love in her eyes when she spoke about her husband. She was a pianist, he was a painter. They seemed to live a life filled with creativity and beauty.

Not a life filled with danger and conspiracy and death.

Mulder was busy working away on my laptop, he'd been quiet all night. He had thrown his clothes into his garment bag haphazardly. I watched him for a little while. He must have felt my eyes and he looked up, smiling apologetically.

"Guess you're finished packing," he said, standing up.

"Yes," I confirmed, sitting down on the king-size bed. "All ready to go. Skinner call?"

"I left a message for him on the service, but I probably won't hear anything until morning," he replied, getting up to join me.

It was quiet for a few minutes, we sat on the bed looking at each other. Thinking of all the things we were doing earlier here. All things we had wanted to do. But fate once again had stepped in between us.

"Give me your hand," he said, extending his palm. He fished a sharpie out of his back pocket.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously, then laid my right hand in his.

"Other one, Scully," he corrected, reaching for my left.

He gently turned my hand over, exposing my wrist. He grinned wickedly, waiving the sharpie above it.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I did a little research while you were busy," he said, stroking the sensitive skin of the inner wrist. It sent a pleasurable shiver up my arm. "Henna tattoos have quite a history."

"I thought they were just a fad nowadays," I replied.

"Its traditional name is Mehndi," he said, drawing an oval on my skin carefully. "The art of adorning the hands and feet with a paste made from the leaves of a henna plant."

"Mehndi?" I repeated, smiling at his gentle touch.

"One of the earliest documentation of henna use comes from ancient Egypt, where it was known to have been used to stain the fingers and toes of the Pharaohs prior to mummification," he continued, drawing a cross under the oval. Recreating the symbol on Adderley's wrist.

"This is Egyptian too," I said, studying the ankh. "Symbol for everlasting life."

"To invert something means to reverse its position, order or relationship," Mulder said, continuing to draw other symbols on my skin. Venus and Mars. "So, to invert it and what do you have?"

"Everlasting death?" I asked, following his train of thought. "Marking someone for death? Doesn't make sense. No one's dead, Mulder. All the victims have been returned."

"This," he said, gesturing to his markings. "Is just a calling card. But a calling card for something very specific. As if our perpetrator is preparing for something else."

He was profiling the kidnapper in his mind, trying to find reasons for his actions.

"I'd like to review the files of the other victims tomorrow, perhaps do some blood work up on Adderley," I said, watching him draw more symbols on my arm. He was getting carried away now. Drawing suggestive things. I bit my lip and stared up at him. Seeing his eyes darken with mischief.

"Are you going to help me wash this off?" I asked quietly.

"Well, we do have very large bathtub." Mulder stopped drawing and looked over at me lustfully. "Laura."

****

Jessie

Aylebourne Apartment
11:00 p.m.


I stared at my husband as he gazed out the window into the darkness outside, waiting. Waiting for him to speak.

For some reason, I began thinking of the events that led us here.

The silence as we'd walked home from the hospital was thick, almost tangible. After his argument with Mr. Petrie, Peter had remained unusually silent.

After several blocks, I'd finally reached a breaking point. I'd stopped walking and had just stood there in the middle of the sidewalk with my arms folded.

Peter had continued for several feet before he'd realized I wasn't beside him. He'd turned back to me, a confused expression on his face.

"Are you going to talk to me or what?" I'd said to him.

He'd sighed. "Jessie, please."

"Don't Jessie, please me!" I'd snapped, suddenly angry with him for one of the few, rare times since we'd met. "You said you knew something about this, about what happened to Jeremiah. Now I'd like some answers, if you please."

"When we get home."

"You said that last night and I haven't heard a word."

"Jessie," he'd pleaded. "When we get home."

"Peter, I'm not—."

"I promise."

That stopped me cold.

Peter never tossed those words around lightly. And once he spoke them, he considered himself bound to whatever promise he'd made. I knew he'd tell me what I wanted to know.

He'd held a hand out to me. Drained of my anger, I had taken it and we had held hands for the rest of the walk home.

He was still staring out the window at the city lights when he finally spoke.

"How many times have I told you I love you?"

I frowned. "I lost count a long time ago."

He turned back to me, his blue eyes filled with that same ancient, intense pain I'd seen in the ER waiting room. "If there's anything in this world that I fear the most, it's losing your love."

"You won't lose my love," I assured him. "Remember what happened the last time you thought that?"

He smiled and nodded. "You proved me very, very wrong." He sighed. "That's why I feel I can tell you this."

He slowly moved away from the window and sat down next to me on the piano bench. Taking my left hand, he turned it over and carefully traced a familiar design over it with his fingertip; the inverted ankh that was on Jeremiah's wrist.

"This," he whispered. "Was once the symbol of Osiris' Ghosts."

"Of what?"

"Osiris. The Egyptian god of the dead. He judged those entering the underworld by weighing their heart on a scale. If their heart balanced the scale, they were allowed in. If it did not, they were eaten by an alligator."

I shuddered. I'd heard that legend somewhere, but I had no idea why Peter was repeating it. "Then what's Osiris' Ghosts?"

"Osiris' Ghosts is the name of a gang, for lack of a better word, that once roamed over Europe. They did every terrible thing imaginable to anyone they could find. They raped, they murdered indiscriminately, and they terrorized people, all because they enjoyed it. Say the name Osiris' Ghosts and people would tremble in fear."

"How do you know all this?"

"Because I used to be one of them."

I stared at him, suddenly feeling very sick.

"It was a long, long time ago," he whispered, his voice becoming choked with sobs. "I was young. I was stupid. And I was very, very angry. Angry at what I'd been turned into, angry at Anna's suicide, angry that I had lost everything because of what I had become. And I was determined to take that anger out on the world and each and every person in it." He stopped as another sob choked him. "But anger has a talent for backfiring. And while I was taking it out on everyone and everything, I knew it was eating me alive."

"What made you stop?" I somehow managed to whisper.

He closed his eyes, dislodging the tears brimming there, and bowed his head.  "One night, while we were raiding some village, I watched as our leader cut the throat of a small boy. Simply because he didn't like the song he was singing." He shook his head. "After that, I just couldn't stay. Not even my anger justified that kind of brutality."

Another wave of nausea hit me. "I don't understand," I whispered. "What does all of this have to do with Jeremiah?"

"Nothing," he answered. "I think whoever is doing this used to be a member of Osiris' Ghosts and is trying to pull them back together, using the kidnappings and the markings as a kind of signal. He might even be homing in on me personally."

Suddenly, I just couldn't stand it. Leaping to my feet, I stepped over the windows, to the exact same spot Peter had been standing at moments before. I couldn't stand what he was trying to tell me. It was all too much. It felt like the world was crashing down on me.

My husband. This was my husband. The kindest, gentlest man I knew. He'd saved me from myself and had helped me to come to terms with my brutal past. And now he was throwing this at me? Some part of me wanted to hate him for it.

A sob touched me and I turned back to find him sitting there, quietly crying. And suddenly it hit me, how much it took for him to tell me this. I knew about revealing terrible secrets to the one you loved. I had done it to Peter. My heart went out to him.

He had been a murderer. He had been a rapist. He had been one of the worst creatures on Earth.

He was the man I loved.

He was the one that saved me. He was the one that listened to my worst secret and never once passed judgement. He was the one I was joined to forever. If that demon creature he told me about had ever existed, I knew he was now dead. In his place, was my husband. And I wasn't about to abandon him. I couldn't walk away from him. I wouldn't walk away from him.

Turning back, I sat down on the piano bench next to him again.

"Tell me something," I said softly. "Will you ever go back to that life?"

"No!" he hissed fervently. "Never."

"Do you regret what you did?"

He nodded. "Everyday," he whispered. "Everyday."

I sighed as I slipped an arm around his shoulders and held him as he sobbed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why wait until now?"

"I didn't want to lose you, Jessie," he moaned. "I love you so much."

"Look," I said softly as I reached down to tilt his face up to mine. "It's going to take a while for this to sink in. But know this." I took a deep breath. "There is nothing in this world; nothing in its past, present, or future; nothing in your past, present, or future, that will ever make me stop loving you."

"Jessie, I..."

"Shhh," I whispered. "Don't say anything right now. Give me a little time to digest all of this, okay?"

He nodded.

I stared at him for a moment, then I slipped my arms around him and held on to him with everything I had.

****

Continued in Chapter Three