Title: Blood To Blood

Author/pseudonym: Snowee

Fandom: Due South crossover with The Crow

Pairing: none.

Rating: R - Violence, Gore

Status: Completed

Archive: Yes, if you find a home for it.

Series/Sequel: From the series Pandora's Box. It's sequel to Face To Face and Dust To Dust.

Disclaimers: 'Tisn't mine. Neither are they. Due South belongs to Alliance, The Crow, created by James O'Barr, belongs to Edward R Pressman Film Corporation.

Notes: "One owes respect to the living. To the dead one owes only truth." - Voltaire (see my personal page for more notes)

Summary: Greeted once again by an old flame, RayK find some peace.

Warnings: no spoilers, no main character death, only warning is that it's got drug use, rape, and more things that many people find unpleasant.

Blood To Blood
By Snowee

Some better way to say good-bye…
October had come to be a horribly sinister month for Stan. Fraser noted that the closer it got to October 1st, the deeper Stan fell into a spiral of pain and anger. Now it was well into the month and things only got worse. Setting the phone down, Fraser licked his lower lip and twisted his hands together. The last words Stan spoke were pounding through his brain. They’d made his heart stop for a moment. Concerned, he made a note in his journal.

One of these nights, all these nightmares are going to come true.

It seemed disturbing enough except for the fact that Fraser had made a note the previous week, one he’d intended to ask a psychologist about, but the doctor wasn’t due back to this post for another 6 weeks. Fraser flipped back to the note.

She’s still there, Fraser. I dream about her all the time and she’s beckoning me to join her.
Dreams. They meant very little to Fraser, but the sum of disturbing comments and similar concepts bred fear in his heart. Stan was losing touch. His reality seemed shaky enough without him thinking about Aurora.

Stepping into the office of his superior, Fraser held his Stetson in his hands and waited. Inspector Thorn signed his name before looking up at the Constable in front of him. "Yes, Constable?"

"Sir, I was hoping to speak with you about a matter which may seem more urgent to myself than to you," Benton began.

"Oh?" Thorn replied, looking bored before Fraser even began the point of why he’d made an appearance.

"I have an abundance of personal leave, vacation time, and well being days which have not been used."

Thorn rubbed his brown eyes in frustration. "We appreciate that you are here every day, Constable. This is a difficult task which would be impossible to perform without your assistance."

"Could you manage without my assistance?" Benton queried.

Thorn straightened. "Is there a problem?" he asked immediately, knowing the man would not even suggest removing himself from his post without a dilemma facing him.

Fraser nodded. "It’s a personal matter," he explained. "I’d prefer it remain that way."

The Inspector nodded. "I suppose you’d be out of reach."

"Yes, sir," the Constable replied. "Chicago. I’d like to go as soon as possible."

"I understand, Constable, but this post is extremely fragile right now. Winter has fast approached and the tribe has requested your assistance."

Fraser nodded slowly, then looked at the floor. After a moment, he looked past his forehead at the Inspector and spoke softly. "Constable Bennet has assignments near that area. Perhaps he could be responsible for the situation."

"Are you undermining my orders?"

Benton cleared his throat. He was about to reply with the courteous ‘no’ and go back to work, but Stan’s words rang through his mind. "They weren’t orders, sir. You just mentioned a problem and I was attempting to create a solution for the benefit of all those involved."

Thorn made a scribble on his desk pad and looked carefully at Fraser before setting down his pen. "I won’t tell you that you will be excused, but I will make some calls and re-evaluate our situation. If I can spare you, I’ll allow you to go."

"Thank you," Benton replied.

***

Stan stared at the phone before finishing his beer and moving toward the window. He hardly thought as he took the cigarette and placed it between his lips, letting it dangle on the dry skin as he fumbled with the lighter. Taking a puff as he lit it, he blew the smoke out slowly.

As Stan glared at the reddening end of the cigarette, he frowned. He hadn’t intended it to be like this. He swore he’d never turn into an ashtray, but lately he needed something to calm his nerves. Ironic that the nicotine slowed the jittering in his hands rather than increased them.

He took another puff and stared. He hadn’t meant for it to be like this. Using every ounce of resolve, he stubbed out the cigarette and threw it into the street. Moving beside the sink, he dropped the pack in and ran water over it before throwing the soggy mess into the garbage. He hoped that would keep him from lighting another.

As he pulled the covers over himself, he felt a chill. Before he’d had a chance to close his eyes, he heard a voice in his ear.

"Leaving so soon?"

He flipped around in the bed, but saw nothing. The music beating in the background numbed his mind, but there was no sound in his room. Putting his hands over his ears, he closed his eyes tightly and attempted to block it out.

"Why don’t you stay for one more drink? I’ll buy."

Stan jumped from the bed and moved to the stereo, his feet barely touching the floor. This was one of the worst nights he’d had in a year. Flipping on something loud, he hurried back to his bed and pulled the covers under his chin. The music successfully blocked out the noises in his head, but eventually the CD ended and he was left to his dreams.

She stood on the dance floor, moving her body seductively, that smile beckoning him. Echoes filled the expanse of his dream and his heart ached.

"One more drink?"

The dance floor began to flash, or maybe it was his mind. The vision of his dreams blurred until he was laying prone on the couch, the woman he loved leaning over him. She smiled as she kissed him. "I love you," she said softly as blood dripped from her mouth and all at once, he was in the museum leaning over her.

Sweat dripped from Stan’s forehead as he found himself sitting straight up in the bed. Wiping at his face, he found his hand clammy and shaking. Sliding slowly from between the covers, he grabbed his jeans and climbed into them. He went into the front room and put on his coat before beginning the search for his biker boots.

The socks he wore had twisted on his foot as he’d slept so he turned them the right way before putting on his boots, grabbing his keys, and slipping them into the coat pocket. His bare chest felt the cold as he left the building so he zipped his jacket to his neck and wondered if he’d locked the door behind him. He couldn’t remember, but checked his pocket to make sure he had his keys regardless.

Walking down the street, he breathed the cold air into his lungs and watched his breath floating away as he let the warm air out. In his state of consciousness, he knew they were only dreams and his logic won out. Aurora had been nothing more than a killer.

Hearing a slow beat and strong guitar sound coming from a club, Stan stopped. The flickering lights soothed him as he hovered in the alley. He didn’t mean to listen. He’d stopped for a break more than anything, but when the words began, he felt them deep inside his soul.

Occurred to me the other day, you've been gone now a couple years. Well, I guess it takes while for someone to really disappear. I remember where I was when the word came about you. It was a day much like today. The sky was bright, and wide, and blue - and I wonder where you are, if the pain ends when you die, and I wonder if there was some better way to say goodbye
Today my heart is big and sore. It's tryin' to push right through my skin. I won't see you anymore; I guess that's finally sinkin' in - 'cause you can't make somebody see by the simple words you say all their beauty from within. Sometimes they just look away, but I wonder where you are - and if the pain ends when you die - and I wonder if there was some better way to say goodbye -- some better way to say goodbye…

Then he felt the tears on his cheeks, the ones he wanted to come, but feared. He understood the lyricist all too well, that pain and not being able to let go. Stepping back into the street, he crossed it hesitantly, then headed home. Sleep wouldn’t come, but he could use another cigarette and a beer. Stopping only briefly at an all night convenience store, he was sprawled on his couch less than ten minutes later.

The cloud of stench was filling the apartment so he opened the window before opening his second beer. Passing the stereo, he hit a button that made music spit forth. He couldn’t hear the words from the stereo, only the words of the song he’d heard earlier.

God, how he’d try to tell her she was worth more than what she was doing. He’d tried to understand her, get inside her mind so he could use that to change her. He didn’t want to change her, though. He wanted to change what she did. He loved who she was as she was, it was the behaviours he’d wanted to stop.

Even if he had, the past would have been there. It would always be between them and surrounding them. There had been something she hadn’t told him. He’d determined that over the past year. No matter how much they talked or what they discussed, she’d been cagey, as though trying to protect one secret.

What was worse, now that he reflected, was that he didn’t say goodbye. He shouldn’t have let her back into his heart in the hotel in Toronto. He shouldn’t have let her into the hotel room, his mind, his life. The events unfolding had ripped his soul into pieces.

He’d kept her letter. She’d given it to him one night and he’d held on to it. Two years later he still kept it. After all that time, he still hadn’t read it. He’d tried repeatedly, but just opening it, he swore he could smell her on it, feel her touch when he’d taken it from her. Every time he’d hyperventilated and experienced inexplicable blindness, everything before him blurring. His heart would try to rip itself from his body and his head would spin.

He looked across the room. A small box with a lock held a few valuable possessions. It held the letter. He crossed to it and took it out, holding it gently in his hand as though it was made of glass. She was dead. It was over, but he couldn’t let go. Finally the words sank into his mind. There would be nothing more to this part of his life.

The words from the stereo caught him off guard and he stared at the message in his hand.

I wrote a note to tell you how you mattered. When the rain came down all the letters scattered and washed away, drifted off to never where you’ll be safe from me now forever. I believe you now when you say that this will hurt…

A cold chill rushed through his body, a shiver brought on by his mind as the apropos words lingered. He took the cigarette from his mouth, but not before taking a long puff, and held it to the corner of the paper. Watching the edge blacken, then turn to red, a flame soon lit and he held it, burning in his hands as he continued to smoke with his other hand. Holding it until his fingers felt warm, he tossed it through the window and watched it float through the air, extinguishing itself and falling slowly toward the ground. At the last instant it was saved. A black bird swooped in and caught the paper in its mouth. Stan smiled. Soon the remnants of Aurora would be part of a bird’s nest somewhere.

"Either we are together in death or we can never be together." It hung in the air like a whispered hush. He looked at the bed, the spot where she had laid her gun. Stepping to put his feet exactly where hers had been, he closed his eyes, retreating into his mind. "Together in death…" It echoed through him. Taking the last puffs of the cigarette, it was spent. Pressing it against a CD cover to ensure there was no more to burn, he set it beside the slightly melted spot and stepped closer to the bed.

He would welcome the rest, but not the dreams. Fractured images of pain and anguish. When he slept, the things he wanted could be true, but the remnants of reality pushed its way in, pressing against his consciousness.

***

A black bird swooped into the cemetery and rested on the headstone where he’d perched over the past week. Beneath the wild rose bush growing over the grave sat a half burned letter. The animal let out a shriek, indicating that tonight was the night and moments later, the ground began to swell.

Over the minutes following, a hand reached from the earth followed by an arm. Slowly pushing its way from the ground as if it gave birth, a being emerged. Her shirt was ragged, but the black leather pants remained intact and as she freed her legs, she fell to the earth in a fetal position.

Letting out a cry of horror and confusion, she shivered and as she pushed herself from the ground, she heard the bird squawk again. Looking at him, she saw herself through his distorted eyes and fell backward. In not completely restored deterioration, her flesh was whiter than that of a ghost and her fingernails were an eerie black and purple. She’d seen her lips appear blackened almost as though she’d been struck by lightning.

Choking and coughing as she made her way to her feet, she looked around, but instead of seeing the cemetery, she was shown a vision. Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to block it, but it only made things more clear. She was holding a man, gripping his neck and pointing a gun to his head. In one movement, she had thrown the familiar man away and fired into the nearby glass encasement. Only hearing it begin to shatter, she never heard the last pieces of glass fall to the ground, only a loud bang.

Now, standing in the darkness of the cemetery, she repeated the moves without consciousness, falling backward at the last moment. When she slowly opened her eyes, she saw the bird circling over her and examined it. She placed its size and wingspan before instinctively holding out a hand to it. The crow landed on her hand and let out one more cry and in the reflection of its eyes, she saw something different. Touching at her face, she found tears, but when she glanced at her fingers, she knew they were tears of blood leaving streaks on her cheeks. She looked at the crow in question and it flew from her, leaving behind the deep claw marks from its talons. Gasping, she grabbed at her arm, but realizing that the associated pain lasted only a moment, she watched as the wounds spontaneously healed. Searching to find the crow for answers, she saw it resting on the paper beneath the rose bush.

The woman leaned over to take the note in her hand. Opening it slowly, she felt a twitch. She recognized the remnants all too well. Standing slowly, she brushed away the debris and pushed the letter into her pocket. As she walked along the path out of the cemetery, the bird circled once before swooping down to land on her shoulder.

***

Fraser looked at the calendar on his wall and pursed his lips. Promises had been made, but nothing had happened. He’d called Stan every day for the past three days, wondering each time he did if anyone would answer the phone. He felt his friend slipping away, but there was nothing he could do, short of losing his job.

He picked up the phone and dialed the all too familiar number. It rang, then twice, three times, four. At eight, Fraser’s heart lodged itself into his throat. At ten he couldn’t believe it. Not even the answering machine picked up. Imagination won out as he imagined a forensics team dusting the machine for prints. He swallowed. At fourteen he knew he should have hung up the phone, but he couldn’t make himself let go. He continued to think. Welsh? Perhaps he could call the Lieutenant for information. Eighteen, nineteen.

"H’lo," the voice snapped into the phone.

The sound had been so short, Fraser wasn’t sure what he’d heard. "Stan?"

"Oh, Fraser," his voice came through. "Good timing. I just walked in the door."

Fraser took a deep breath to steady himself. He knew better than to let his mind wander into fear without reason, but this time, after all the things Stan had said over the past weeks, he didn’t know why he couldn’t stop himself. Finally organizing his thoughts, he spoke. "Stan, I was just… What happened to your answering machine?"

"Dammit," he breathed. "I got that stupid voice mail from the phone company. Didn’t it pick up? How long did you let it ring?"

Fraser shook his head. "Oh, I’m not certain. Is everything all right?"

Stan made sure to let Fraser hear a sigh before replying. "Yeah. You know, you don’t have to call me every day."

Fraser heard an odd clicking sound. "What is that?" "What?" Fraser heard come through. "That sound."

"A lighter," Stan replied, his voice slightly slurred or mumbled now.

Fraser tilted his head. "Is there a power outage?"

Stan chuckled and Fraser heard him blow air into the phone. "No, power’s fine." His voice was clear now and after a moment, Fraser heard a sound he realized suddenly was distinctive. In surprise, he cleared his throat. "Are you smoking?" he asked, sounding horrified.

Stan didn’t answer for a second and in the silence, Fraser heard him sucking the toxic air into his lungs. He shook his head in disappointment. "Yes, Fraze. It’s a little thing we like to do in America when our life has turned to shit and there’s no point in living anymore." God, could he sound more pathetic? Fraser and Stan asked the same question regarding the latter to themselves. "Sorry, Fraze. I didn’t mean to start. I smoked when I was a kid. Stella got me to stop. Lately, I just… It’s a stupid excuse. I’m trying to quit."

"Good," Fraser replied supportively. "Perhaps you could try gum."

"Look, Fraze, you didn’t call for the sole purpose of finding out my bad habits and telling me how to quit. What you want to talk about tonight?"

"Anything you’d like," he offered.

Stan moved to the fridge and found there was no beer left. Frowning, he took the phone to the couch and flopped into it. He took another puff, but couldn’t think of anything to talk about.

"Could you at least not smoke while we’re on the phone?" Fraser requested, the thought of those fumes giving him a headache.

Stan smiled. That man could ruin any moment. "All right," he said softly and stubbed it out. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I believe that was the question I was leaving up to you."

Stan chuckled. "You know, Fraze, over the past few days we’ve pretty much exhausted every subject. There’s really only one thing we haven’t talked about, isn’t there?"

Fraser cleared his throat, but didn’t reply.

Stan finally spoke again. "You get the love thing, don’t you?" Fraser sounded as though he would choke, so Stan continued. "I mean, you get being in love with someone you can’t be with. I know that. I’m just tired of pretending."

"Pretending?" Fraser asked, searching for clarification.

"Pretending everything’s ok. Pretending it didn’t hurt like hell. Pretending I wasn’t in love with her because she was a bad seed."

"Ah."

"So how do you deal with it?"

Fraser wasn’t sure. He was so deep into the pretending that he was approaching all out denial. "You just have to find your place," he replied.

"I don’t think I have one," Stan returned.

"Don’t talk like that," Fraser insisted. "You can’t give up before you’ve found it. Don’t let your happiness hang on the imbalance of another. Aurora is gone," Fraser proceeded, knowing it still hadn’t completely sunk in to Stan’s mind. "She is gone and there is nothing more."

"She wanted to be free. I didn’t get that. She felt she was freeing all those things she stole. I realize now she wanted to free herself."

"From what, Stan? She didn’t have someone holding her down."

"No, but there was something," he explained. "I guess you’re right, though. I shouldn’t think about it anymore."

"Good, Stan. That’s good," Fraser assured him carefully. "You have an opportunity to move on. Immerse yourself in work for a little while. I found that most helpful."

Stan chuckled. "Wish it were that easy," he began. "I’ve got time off. Welsh felt I needed mental compensation time or some other nonsense."

Fraser swallowed. He didn’t know what to suggest if the man had only himself to keep his mind off things. His friend needed him now, someone who could be there and remove the doubts the instant they occurred. "Are you sure that’s a good idea?"

"No," Stan replied quietly, staring at the cigarette pack on the coffee table. "but I wasn’t given much say in the matter. Welsh told me to figure it out before showing up to work because my mind wasn’t there anyway."

"Ah," Fraser replied quietly, making a mental note to speak with Inspector Thorn again.

The line remained quiet for a few moments. Stan had difficulty collecting his thoughts, but he was ready to be off the phone. "Look, Fraze, I’m not going to make excuses. I’m not going to lie and tell you that there’s nothing to worry about, but – for now anyway – I’m doing fine. It helps that you call. It helps to know you’re there for me. I’ve just got to come to terms with it all on my own. It’s late."

Fraser glanced at his watch and did the quick math. It was quite late as it was without adding on the time difference. "Understood," he said softly. "I’ll be available if you need to phone me. Just tell dispatch it’s an emergency…"

"Are you implying that I should lie?" Stan asked in mock horror. When Fraser responded with a stutter, Stan let him off. "I will. Good night."

"Good night," Fraser replied.

Stan hung up the phone and smiled as he shook his head. Remembering the lack of beer, he decided to go for a walk, a ritual that had somehow managed to become nightly. Shoving the cigarettes and lighter into his coat pocket, he left the apartment. He checked for the keys as he stood in the elevator and frowned. Had he locked the door? He always asked himself the question and when he got home, he’d find it locked. Shrugging, he waited for the doors to open on the ground floor.

***

Finding her own unnatural agility, the woman wearing a damaged black shirt and pants swung up the fire escape and into the window of the 4th story room. Looking inside, she saw her guide waiting patiently on the corner of the bed.

Looking around, she knew the familiar place and stepped inside. Stopping at a mirror, she was horrified by her own appearance. The blood had dried, leaving dark streaks running down her face. Her dark lips look painted, but when she touched them, she found them numb and cold.

The crow made another sound as it perched precariously on a hanger sticking from the open closet. Taking in the appearance of her shirt, she stepped to it. Finally finding a wadded black t-shirt on the shelf above the bar, she took it and slipped it over her feminine form. She let it rest gently over the waistband of the pants, though it was a bit tight especially in the bust and hips.

Fingering further through the number of hangers, she found a forgotten object at the back which held her interest. Removing carefully a long black leather jacket, she pushed her hands through the sleeves. She found the sleeves long so she moved to the kitchen where she acquired scissors. As she began to cut inches from the ends of the sleeves, the scissors slipped from her less than nimble fingers and cut into her forearm. Grasping the scissors more firmly, she watched again as the wound healed and she began to understand this new set of rules. Continuing her cut, she then twisted the leather remnants and used each piece for shoelaces on her boots as the original laces had deteriorated. She had just enough to tie them as high as her ankles, but the shaft of the bootleg hung open slightly.

Now, as the crow looked at her approvingly, she looked around the apartment. Picking up a picture of the man and his mother, she felt an emotion in her heart. It surprised her. She wondered why she was here and what the meaning was, not quite understanding what was going on.

Stan turned the knob to his apartment and found it unlocked. Letting out a sigh of frustration, he walked inside, taking a moment to look around. Nothing seemed immediately out of place, but he knew it was time to clean before something started to eat his food.

He moved into the bedroom and removed the coat he wore. Dropping it on the edge of his bed, he put his arms crossed at the bottom of his shirt in preparation to remove it, but stopped. There on the floor was a shirt. Furrowing his brow, he picked it up and looked at it. He didn’t get any immediate recognition, but he placed the rag across his dresser. Turning, he found the scissors he kept in the kitchen on his nightstand.

Frowning, he looked around the room. It felt different. He knew as he looked at it that the picture of he and his mother on his wedding day had always been where it was now, generally, but the lack of dust was no longer directly underneath it. Confused, he moved about the apartment and found several of his things had been moved, but mostly less than an inch.

His heart skipped and he found himself lost in the confusion. Finally giving up on an answer, he removed his pants and crawled into bed.

Assaulted with the same dreams he’d been having, he slept restlessly, something that was beginning to have a comfort all its own.

***

"Inspector Thorn?" Benton said quietly as the man walked through the doors to the outpost.

"What is it Constable?" Thorn asked.

"I wondered if you’d had time to consider my request."

"I haven’t even made it to my office, Constable."

"Understood, but sir?" Fraser shifted, removing his hat in the process.

"What is it?" Thorn said, stopping at the door to his office and spinning with a growl.

"It’s been several days and as I mentioned, while it may be a personal issue, it is still urgent."

Thorn paused a moment and removed his coat, throwing it over his arm as he cleared his throat. "It’s been brought to my attention that you’ve taken time off for the last two Octobers. Previous to that you were on extended personal leave and previous to that you spent quite a bit of time in Chicago…"

Benton couldn’t stop himself from interrupting. "Last year I was testifying in a case…"

"Nevertheless," Thorn boomed over Fraser, his neck reddening. "I think there is something very suspicious about your demeanor so I’ve chosen to deny your request. The tribe will be expecting to hear from you." With that, Thorn disappeared into his office and closed his door.

***

Looking at his watch, Stan knew it would only be minutes before Fraser would call. He didn’t want to talk to the Mountie again, not tonight. It had been a strange day and a new anniversary which he could never forget. Frustrated, he went to the cigarettes and found them empty. Again. Grunting, he got himself together and headed for the convenience store.

Once he had a new pack and a new smoke lit, he looked back toward his apartment. If he went back and Fraser hadn’t called, he’d have to talk to him. If he went for a nice long walk, he would be able to avoid the man.

He let pain and anger build as he tuned out the world and let his steps increase. He’d killed a person. It may have been duty or justice, but he’d killed her. He tried a new route of justification for his feelings. Yes, he was upset because he’d killed someone, not that it was her.

Why did this time of year have to remind him of her? Why couldn’t she have disappeared into oblivion? Why had she ever shown up in Chicago in the first place? Of all the stops along her way, couldn’t it have been any place else?

She’d had such a powerful control over him. His mind belonged to her and he couldn’t manage to shut it out. For months he barely thought of her then, last month, someone had said something about a theft and it all flooded back. Since then, he hadn’t been able to let go.

From no where and everywhere, he heard the words again. "I guess it takes a while for someone to really disappear." He spun, but saw nothing. "I wonder where you are and if the pain ends when you die and I wonder if the was some better way to say goodbye." Chuckling to himself, he continued his walk, now more aware of the things around him.

***

The shimmering blackness of the bird fluttered down onto the fire hydrant and landed peacefully. The black clad woman followed, the back of the leather coat swaying gently behind her, a metal can held firmly by its handle in one hand. As she stepped before the familiar building, she lost her hold in the world around her and was back to years before. She felt herself pushed to the ground, a strap wrapped quickly around her neck and twisted. She could barely breath as the man had ripped into her clothing. He hadn’t even been the first man to rape her. He hadn’t even been the first that night, but she felt the closest to death and she pried at the strap around her neck, gasping for air.

Feeling lightheaded, she finally blacked out, but could see the face of the man clearly. His eyes were dark and his hair long and straggled. Track marks ran inside his elbow and she could see where veins had collapsed and he’d had to find new ones.

Disgusted, she looked to the crow who returned her gaze a moment before flying through the doors of the old building. She followed inside, confidently striding past the men at the entrance. Just inside, she set down the gas can she’d stolen from someone’s shed and moved further inside the run down warehouse, finding several men seated around a table. Stepping inside, they looked at her and she smiled slightly. He was there. The man she sought looked at her without recognition. She took a quick dance step and moved beside him.

"You don’t remember me?" she asked, then grabbed the silver chain he wore and ripped it from his neck. "This is truly lovely."

He looked at her a moment longer, then smiled. "Aurora," he said softly. "Santo finally let you go," he observed.

"Santo is dead," she replied.

"Naw. We heard he’s got the gig up on the north side now."

She smiled. "He’s dead," she replied. "He’s been dead since I left him years ago. He just doesn’t know it, yet."

The man shook his head, but stopped arguing the point with her. "What’re you all painted up for?"

She thought a moment, then grabbed his throat. "A party," she replied. Squeezing, she saw him immediately feel the pain. Someone else grabbed her and pulled her away. She chuckled. "I’ve got places to be, but you shall pay for your sins," she stated as she turned.

The man chuckled. "Oh come on. All those nights of givin’ it up to Santo. You know you wanted it."

Aurora moved to the counter and picked up the can. In one swift movement, she threw the open can at the man, lighting the cloth hanging from the opening. She smiled a sick smile as the gas poured over him and he went up in flames all at once. Bullets flew across the warehouse and she did a flip attempting to escape.

Outside, she stopped. They hadn’t followed, presumably because they were trying to stop the fire. Feeling a searing pain in her thigh, she looked down. The bullet had gone straight through and she fell to the ground. Her mind told her that she needed help, that she couldn’t do this alone, but as the wound healed again, something she was learning how to accept, a feeling of calm came over her to combine with self satisfaction Rising to her feet she began to understand that there was much to be done. Now that she was open to them, the answers to her many questions were beginning to come.

Inside, the flame caught the outline of a crow, a simplistic outline burning through the wooden floors as those who weren’t too stoned to notice struggled to stop the fire or escape.

***

Stan smelled the distinct scent of a burning building. It was a smell like no other as synthetic fibers melted, a stench rising above that of the burning wood. He saw the flames licking out from the old warehouse and went for his phone. Remembering that it was on his counter at home, he spun until he saw a pay phone. He ran across the street and picked up the receiver just in time to hear the sirens behind him. Turning he watched as they sped down the street and stopped before the burning building.

He stayed a moment, watching them put out the flames before a fireman stumbled out with a woman dressed in very little. Knowing there may be more inside, he ran toward the truck, then grabbed one of the crew. Showing his badge so he wouldn’t have to yell over the noise or instructions, the man read it, then shook his head. Waving a crew back, he turned back to Stan.

"We got it under control," he yelled.

"Know what started it?"

The man shook his head so Stan went to find the woman. She was now seated on the curb beside an ambulance being loaded with a victim who’d been badly burned. He moved beside her and put his jacket over her shivering form. "You see what happened?"

"I was in the back," she said. "Someone came running through and said some crazy woman set the place on fire."

"Who said that?"

"I don’t know. It was so confusing," she said in a whimper. "I don’t know. Guy jumped off and went running. He didn’t even pay me!" She stopped and looked at him, her shocked mind finally realizing that he’d been asking questions. "Hey, you’re not a cop are you?"

Stan could see there was a much bigger issue than her and her John. He shook his head and stood, seeing a police car approaching behind another ambulance. There wasn’t much he could do, he knew, so he turned and went back to his apartment.

***

Aurora followed the crow across the city. Beginning to become clear in her mind was that she had to make the wrong things right. She had to make the men who destroyed her pay for their crimes before they could ruin anyone else. They’d made her who she was in life and now they defined who she would be in death.

Death. It was supposed to be an ending. Instead she found herself confused, angry, bitter. The entire suspension of what she’d always believed to be fact was playing tricks on her mind. She found peaceful understanding in the crow who guided her, showed her the way. He played the role of a familiar, something else she had always dismissed as fantasy.

Something in her mind broke when she’d crawled from the ground and she only felt moments of residual sanity. This all had to be some crazy mixed up dream, but if so, where had it all begun? She followed brief impulses, convinced that none of it was real so her behaviour didn’t matter. Why not let go of all that guilt, those ideas of etiquette and propriety? Why not do all those things she was afraid to do in life?

Life. It was such an illusion to her now. Forgotten pieces eluded her. Was life the dream? Was this the true reality? She could find no answers. The crow landed peacefully on the ironwork of a fire escape. Reeling from her thoughts, Aurora stopped. She recognized it and looked up to the window. Facing the crow, she shook her head. "No. He may be home now. I couldn’t face him."

The bird let out a short sound and looked deeper into her soul.

Sometimes, if a love proves real between two people who are meant to be together, nothing can keep them apart.

"But don’t you see? We weren’t meant to be together. We were from two different worlds." She could say the words out loud all she wanted, but the crow continued to stare into her soul. The worlds in which they lived made no difference. It was like a long distance relationship between lovers. No matter how hard they try, it may not work, but it doesn’t make the love less real.

She jumped to the ladder and flipped her legs up to the landing. Continuing her bird-like ascent, she followed as the crow perched at the window’s edge. As soon as she neared it, the familiar flew into the room through the open window and she lost sight of it. Though she could not see it, she saw what it saw, a man sleeping peacefully in his bed. She moved before the window and stopped a moment as the bird rested on the edge of the open dresser drawer. It flapped its wings and she moved inside slowly, quietly finding her foothold as she moved near the end of the bed and watched him tossing in his sleep.

She blew him a kiss and suddenly the twitching stopped. Using the skills she was beginning to acquire, she jumped and slowly landed on the corner of the bed, landing lightly so as not to disturb its occupant. Squatting, she watched him continue to sleep, so much more peacefully she found him like an infant after a long day. Something so perfect and innocent was in his manner of sleep, she felt robbed of it herself. She tilted her head and the crow flew across the room, landing on the chest of the sleeper.

Jolted awake by a sudden weight on his chest, Stan’s eyes flew open. Seeing the bird just before his face, he bolted upright. In that instant, he saw Aurora there, perched like a bird and moving her head to tilt it the other way. It was as if she was looking deep inside him. The resulting uneasiness and shock caused him to jump again, a gasp escaping from him.

He shook his head. "It’s just another bad dream," he said quietly and laid back on his pillow.

"Perhaps," she replied breathlessly as she slowly leaned forward and slid her body over his, "but could a dream do this?" her lips touched his and he felt them cold against his. It was familiar. It was comfortable. It was real.

At once, her lips came alive and as she pulled back, she could feel sensation in them again. It made her feel joyous, but only added to her confusion. Smiling slightly, she rolled from the bed and stood beside it. She took a token from her pocket and held the familiar half burned piece of paper out to him. "Looking for this?"

Stan moved to the other side of the bed, cowering beneath the blankets and glancing from her to the letter. "How did you…?" His heart raced.

"A little birdie gave it to me," she replied in a mock child’s voice as she knelt on the bed and leaned close.

Stan felt immediately more uncomfortable than before, something he didn’t think was possible. He jumped from the bed, the cold air simultaneously making him aware that he was wearing nothing more than his boxers.

Aurora raised an eyebrow as she took in the sight of him and watched with more than a little humor as he then scrambled into the jeans he’d left on the floor. As he reached for a t-shirt, he remembered the blouse he’d found and then noticed the one she wore. It was a simple black tee faded exactly where one of his had faded.

As his mind played over the facts, something more obvious bit back thoughts of her attire and he pulled the shirt over his head. "You’re dead," he said breathlessly.

Aurora moved back to her feet. "You know, I can’t be sure about that," she replied. Adding a little tap-dance as she moved toward him, she ended with a curtsy. "I’m just not sure the dead can dance."

Stan blinked, but couldn’t move otherwise. If she really was here, which she wasn’t he deduced, what was wrong with her? "Aurora?"

"Yes?"

"Aurora?" he repeated, as if one of the times he said it he would awaken from the dream or nightmare where she appeared.

She took a step closer and leaned in, her nose nearly touching his. "Yessss?" she hissed.

Stan took a step backward, bumping a nightstand with his thigh, causing the sound of the items shifting to break through his thought processes. He stopped when he was against the wall "You’re dead," he repeated.

Aurora let out a breath. "You know, we’ve already established that, don’t you think?"

Stan cleared his throat. "No, actually. I’m not quite sure we did because… because I had your body, you know, the dead one? flown down here and buried. I was at the cemetery when it happened." He paused. "How is this possible?"

"Well, that explains how I ended up in Chicago," she said softly, then looked back to him. "Stan," she hissed, almost singing his voice as she held out her hand, inviting him to take it, though he refused. "I…" she hesitated, but wanted desperately to admit what was on her mind. "I’m not sure if I’m dead or alive. If you say I died, I’ll take your word for it. Either way, I’m walking and talking. Does that make me the living dead or the living living?"

"I don’t… I don’t know." He furrowed his brow. "You shouldn’t have to take my word for it, you were…" he let the sentence trail and there was silence before either of them spoke.

"I know I was there, but it all seems like some twisted nightmare."

"No," Stan said quickly, holding himself against the wall. "This is the twisted nightmare." He watched her take a step closer and he cringed. "I know that was real. It took me a while to believe it myself, but that was real and if that was real, you’re not really here."

Aurora felt the crow fly across the room. She turned to find where it had gone and watched it on the fire escape. She felt it was time to go, but why had she been brought here in the first place? She stepped to the window. "It’s a relief for me to know that this all seems incredibly unbelievable because it means I’m just one of your dreams," she said softly, then dove out the window.

Stan ran to it and leaned out, half expecting to see her body broken on the sidewalk below. Instead he saw nothing and wiped his sweaty brow. It was all just surreal enough to be a dream, he decided as he crawled back into bed. Next time he woke, he knew, it would be into reality.

***

Feeling more refreshed than he had in days, Stan sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed at his eyes. It took him some time to convince himself to shower and dress, but once he did he knew he had put everything behind him.

As he made himself a cup of coffee, he thought about the things he’d heard regarding dreams throughout his life. They always meant something, someone had told him. If they did, last night’s was his chance to let go, to finally put Aurora behind him.

He let out a deep breath as he turned on the television and sat back on the couch to drink his hot cup of caffeine. The news was on and a reporter spoke of a recent fire. Stan was about to change the channel until he saw the building where he’d been the night before. He frowned and took a drink. Hoping someone could explain the arson, he tuned in. The body count was rather low, but the burn victims were high. Most eyewitnesses were only witness to the fire, not the arsonist.

Stan thought back to his arson cases. There was the one when he and Fraser had met. It had been the sequel to a case Fraser had solved with Vecchio, Stan recalled. He even remembered the faces of Zolton Motherwell and Greta Garbo, but they were still in captivity. Furrowing his brow, he watched as they promised a composite. He barely listened to anything else until they finally cut to the image.

"The witness claimed she wore clown makeup to disguise her appearance," the newscaster informed Stan, who froze.

He could see it. The face looked nothing like her, but the pallor of her skin with the dark streaks down her cheeks were unmistakable. Placing his coffee on the table before him, he stood slowly.

***

A silver chain rested against white flesh. Carefully working it, she’d repaired the broken link and put it on her own neck, letting it hang just above the collar of her shirt. Standing before a mirror, she’d worked at the bloodtears and found they’d become a part of her. A hooker absent-mindedly left her eyeliner as another had insisted they get to the street before someone got their corner. Aurora stared at the black pencil for what may have been an eternity or only an instant before picking it up. She looked to the black bird perched on the sink’s edge for inspiration. Placing the pencil at the corner of her lip, she made a curl, giving herself a beak. The crow screamed its satisfaction and threw out its wings, waving them gently, lightly against the air to take flight.

Following, Aurora stepped across the parking lot and down the streets. Her feet felt light, a floating sensation as the bird took her to their next destination. A club blared deep, violent tunes. Dark outfits and rainbows of hair moved in and out of each other in endless poetry. Patrons with neon light bars whipped them around and around as the music swirled in anticipation.

In corners and near tables were huddled masses. Tiny white pills with stamped images were placed gently on a tongue and swallowed with a smile. Aurora turned as her crow swooped past the DJ. She watched his eyes follow it for an instant and the mouth form the words "What the fuck?" but they’d never be heard over the music. Stopping atop the DJ’s loft it was lost in the darkness, but she could see the eyes as blurred images played against the background of the club in her mind.

Another face with dark eyes and an evil smile throwing her against a wall, tearing at her flesh and pulling an arm behind her until she thought it would rip free of the socket. She’d screamed, but in the place full of men, there was no one to hear her or free her from the anguish.

She felt as though her heart had stopped and followed the bird as it whipped past her and carried her soul through the dance floor of confused stares and through a black door.

Immediately recognizing the dark eyes which flew on her as she entered his sanctuary, he waved a dismissive hand at the guns pointed instinctively at her. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Aurora drifted closer. "You remember Santo."

"What’s it to you?" he said, then nodded. "Wait a minute, I know you don’t I? You one of his bitches, right?"

Aurora swallowed. She’d hardly been one of those mindless women who followed Santo like a puppy looking for love, drugs, and money. Her sentence in his imprisonment hadn’t been voluntary. "No, I believe that was your job title," she replied, the curl on one side of her lip giving the false impression of a smile.

The man chuckled. "Whatever, bitch," he said. "What you come here for?" Aurora looked down at the pile of pills before him, carefully bagged and the larger bag at his side. The man chuckled again. "You come for some X?"

Aurora stepped closer and the guards raised their weapons again. "You’re still corrupting the lives of minors," she said in dripping hatred. "You’re still an abscess."

Waving a hand, the guns made deafening sounds and smoke puffed from the barrels. Chuckling one last time as she fell, the man spoke. "Get rid of her," he said.

One man stepped forward and leaned over to take her under the arms, but was greeted by a fist. The other man rushed to assist as she grabbed the first man’s gun, whipped it from his hand, and threw the butt against his forehead. The other man was over her now and she released the bullet from the chamber, watching as blood spurted from the wound in his neck and with widened eyes he fell to the floor. Before he hit the ground, the next bullet was freed and the other man’s skull broke open.

On her feet in an instant as the man she came for knocked pills across the floor, she pulled the trigger one last time and left him bleeding on the floor. Bobbing her head from side to side, she walked around the table to find the crow perched on his rib cage. Aurora stepped over him and leaned forward, letting him grasp for breath. "No longer shall ye corrupt the young and powerless," she said softly, ripping an emerald ring from his pinkie and slipping it onto her thumb. "No longer," she repeated and pulled the trigger again, her other palm open to shield her face from the blast.

Walking through the club with the gun tucked in the back of her pants, Aurora smiled gently. A new satisfaction, but there was much to be done. Three dead bodies and a pile of Ecstasy lay silent in the back room; several pills formed carefully into the outline of a crow.

The path Aurora followed from the club took her along her journey into the outer reaches of what the local gang members considered to be North Chicago. Here you would cross a street and find yourself in another gangland territory. Best not be caught in the wrong one or you’ll find yourself nothing more than dead in another gangland territory.

So, just like that, Aurora stepped up onto the curb in a new world, letting the light of the streetlamp cover her in contrasting shadows and light. There she waited as the crow drifted in and out of the down pouring brightness. "What are we waiting for?" she asked as it made a pass.

"You’ll see…" whispered on the wings as it floated through the air. Swooping across into the alley, it appeared again circling over two figures. Both carried bottles in paper bags and heavy laden consciences.

Aurora furrowed her brow. Until this moment, she had recognized her marks. Now the crow was presenting something new. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the men get closer. The shorter one smiled and held out his bottle. "Want a drink?" he offered.

Aurora cocked her head at the men as they stumbled in unison. The one holding out the bottle began to laugh and the taller, blonder one stepped behind her. They posed no threat at the moment so she simply watched, taking the bottle from him and holding it up. "You’ve had enough," she advised.

"Hey, if you ain’t gonna drink it, give it back," he said.

Aurora dropped the bottle and as it shattered, she turned to see the other man toss his bag into the street, adding to the crash just as he grabbed her and shoved her against the brick building, just outside of the streetlight.

The moment his flesh touched hers, her breathing stopped and her heart flipped, ripping simultaneously in two. She saw this man holding a gun and as her eyes followed the barrel to their target, she saw the young innocent face of her own mother, begging and screeching.

Aurora felt all the pain, shoving the man off her as she fell to the ground. "Mom!" she yelled into the night that couldn’t return her. The other man came to them, wielding a large knife and holding it to Aurora’s throat as she writhed. "Shut up, bitch," he commanded and put his other hand over her throat.

Again she flopped like a fish as she saw something new, felt something horrible, a knife crossing the space into her father’s chest. Her mother standing beside as her father gasped over a bloody tongue, the knife entering and exiting his body repeatedly despite his thrashing form. Screams filled the space inside and outside of Aurora’s mind as the first man grabbed her shirt. Both experiences now filled her as the man finally pulled the trigger and ended her mother’s life.

The bird swooped in once again between the men and pecked at the knifeman’s cheek. Caught off guard, Aurora took the opportunity to kick them away, take the knife in her hand, and twist herself from their grasps.

Flying to her feet, she stood before the men, the unspeakable horror playing in her eyes as she stared at them. "It was you," she said quietly.

The blonde man sat back and reached into his boot for a knife. As the light caught it, the flash brought her back to this reality and she chuckled. "Fifteen years ago you took the hit on the parents of a young girl trying to escape Santo’s wrath."

"Done a lot of hits, lady," the blonde man said as he got to his feet. He thrust his knife at her and she dodged so gracefully he hardly noticed her moving.

"They were my parents," she informed them slowly "and now I shall have my vengeance!" Moving the knife deftly across the blonde man, she cut through his jacket and shirt into his stomach, slicing across until blood gushed forth and his intestine peeked through. Gurgling the man fell to his knees, grasping at the gaping wound.

"Jesus," his buddy breathed as the knife came at him. Aurora pierced the knife into his chest and let him bleed, taking the other man’s knife and piercing the man again to finish him off.

She watched them gasp their last breaths and fell to her knees. She’d gone with Santo voluntarily at first, following after his promises of freedom. He’d offered her drugs which she took, then, in the midst of her swirling mind, he’d thrown her down and raped her. He’d kept her as his for weeks, threatening her if she tried to leave. Then, she’d plotted her escape and made it from his grasp, but he’d found her in only hours. He knew too many people for her to slip past unnoticed and as a warning from future flight, he’d put a contract out on her parents.

She’d opened the box, a "birthday present" and, in disgusted horror, recognized the rings wrapped around the two fingers. Gasping for breath, the teenager had dropped the box and the fingers had spilled out. "You’ll never run again," Santo had said softly.

The young Aurora had nodded slowly, tears running down her face as he pushed her back against the headboard and fucked her again.

Returning to reality she was sickened as she saw the two men before her, the ones who had killed her parents and cut off their left ring fingers just to prove Santo’s point. Gasping for breath she suddenly realized she was spent and moved against the wall into the darkness of the alley where she let the tears return.

***

Attempting to avoid Fraser again, Stan had gone for a drive this time. He’d stopped where there was a convergence of police officer’s and gotten out of his car, showing his badge. Now he stood staring at the bloody mess. Two men cut into pieces, but the murder weapon was gone. He stared in horror as the one man’s intestines made the distinct outline of a bird with outstretched wings.

Turning and heading for an alley where his reputation could remain intact, he threw up and used the back of his wrist to wipe his lips. Though the air was cold, he put his hand to his forehead and found sweat which he wiped away. Turning back around, he saw a silhouette moving toward him. It swayed slowly as it stepped with incredible grace while Stan pulled out his gun. "Freeze!" he yelled into the crisp air as a car drove past the other end of the alley and a flash of light reflected the face. "Aurora," he breathed.

A black creature flew from no where and landed on her shoulder as she stopped only inches from him.

"Did you do this?" he said, motioning across the street to the chaos. Aurora made no reply. "Why? Why are you here?" he begged, letting the gun drop to his side.

Aurora was silent a moment as she moved closer, the leather jacket brushing Stan’s hand. "Vengeance," she whispered.

"That’s vengeance?" he queried. "My God, Aurora. I can’t pretend to understand any of this, but that’s cruelty."

Cruelty. Obviously he didn’t understand the meaning of the word. "Are you trying to make me see reason? You’re not doing very well," she mocked.

"What kind of vengeance is that?"

Aurora chuckled. "I’m claiming vengeance on those responsible for my death."

Stan took a step back, her words piercing through him. He stepped back once more as she grabbed at him, gripping his arm. Stan opened his mouth to yell, the horror apparent in his eyes. Aurora side stepped and pushed him against the wall, her smaller frame gaining strength with every action. She clasped a hand over his mouth. "I don’t think you are one of them." The crow let out a scream and she nodded, removing her hand.

"Those men weren’t responsible for you death. It was me. It was…me…" he whispered, no longer fighting to free himself from her grip.

Aurora shook her head, the angst now swelling as she met his gaze. "No. It wasn’t you. I was dead long before we met. My soul died because of Santo. You brought me back to life, but it wasn’t enough. It was too late."

"Santo? Who’s Santo?" Stan asked in a hushed voice.

Aurora shook her head. "He’s the next corpse," she replied coldly.

"You can’t do this. It has to stop, Aurora," Stan reasoned. "You’ll never be set free unless you make it stop."

"Why do you think the crow brought me back, Stan?" she said, loosening her grip and taking a step back. "I’m here to make sure Santo doesn’t rape another child of her life and let others kill everyone of value, make them his slaves, murder their souls."

"Then what about those men? They suffered because this Santo… what?" He was beginning to put the pieces together, but they painted a picture more horrid than he’d imagined.

"They are the ones who killed my parents. The previous animals ripped me of every drop of innocence left and I’m just making my way back to Santo."

"Suffering," he whispered, unsure of his point.

"That wasn’t suffering," she informed him. "It’s Santo who will suffer. He’ll feel all this pain I have inside of me and it will be enough to kill him. It would be enough to kill me if I wasn’t already dead."

"Insanity," Stan breathed.

"What’s more sane than stopping the cycle?" Aurora asked.

"Then why me? Why did you come back to me?"

Aurora looked to the crow, but it offered no answers. Instead it flew up into the darkness of the sky, crossing the moon which hung like a faded doily against the cool sky. Aurora knew it beckoned her so she turned and was gone before Stan had a chance to stop her.

Standing in the alley, he stayed near the wall and tried to catch his breath. His chest hurt, tightly gripped by her appearance, ripped apart by the fact that he’d seen her.

***

"I’ll stay in the office all night if I have to, Stan. You weren’t there last night and you’re not answering tonight so I’ll wait until dawn for you to call." Fraser’s voice paused on the voice mail system as Stan listened, his mind exhausted. "I’m very concerned, Stan. Please call as soon as you get this message." The voice trailed off and Stan stared at the phone. He couldn’t convince himself to pick it up until he had two beers in him and a cigarette half smoked between his fingers.

With shaking fingers he dialed the number and listened as it rang. Several rings later, he heard a click. "Stan?" the voice asked impatiently, breathlessly.

"Sorry, Fraze," Stan offered quietly.

Fraser had never felt such relief as he could recall. He held the phone tightly. "Where have you been?"

"Sorry, Fraze," Stan offered again and smoked his cigarette. Fraser was quiet. After it built for what seemed an eternity, Stan spoke again, feeling a lump in his throat which he desperately wanted to swallow. "Do you think love can conquer death?"

Fraser grasped the phone so tightly now that his knuckles began to whiten. "No, Stan, I don’t."

"I do," Stan breathed.

"Death is final, Stan. It’s the end of Aurora’s life. Not yours."

"I didn’t believe it, but now I do."

‘My God,’ Fraser thought to himself. ‘Thorn couldn’t give me a week, a couple of days, anything to stop this?!’ "Stan, I need you to listen to me. Are you listening?"

Silence dripped over the phone line before he finally said, "Yeah."

Now Fraser just had to find the perfect words, the key phrase to save his friend. He didn’t know what they were, but he made a desperate attempt. "I don’t understand what’s going on that’s keeping you from letting her go. Aurora is gone. It’s forever, all right? You’ve absolutely got to move on with your life. You have to see the other side of this coin."

"I know, Fraser, that’s not what I’m saying."

Fraser frowned. "What are you saying?"

Stan chuckled, then laughed. "You’ll never understand. You’ll never believe me." His laugh faded back to a chuckle as he took an intake of smoke laden air. "I know I sure as hell don’t."

***

"Santo," she whispered the name like poison dripping from a cobra fang. One step closer. She stopped and watched as he counted his money. Another step and she felt it all. Everything he had done to her and the fear, pain, anger, hatred he’d given her, caused her by lending her out to all of his friends came back in a whirl around her. She squinted her eyes and took another step forward. His would be a slow death filled with torturous moments.

Aurora took another graceful step and kept her angered eyes on him. He packaged a bundle of money and she breathed, her breath fogging the glass. Slowly she raised her fingers and touched it. A breath. It was warm enough to react to the cool glass. Darkness was around her, above her, below her. The ironwork fire escape held her form and from below she looked like a black bird in a cage. Above her, the moon reflected light dispassionately, dimly.

Santo stood and walked across the room. One step closer, Aurora took, as she thrust her hand through the glass, letting it shatter around her arm, a falling piece gouging her arm and leg as she crawled through. She didn’t slow. Instead she stared into the eyes of a very shocked Santo.

"Santo," she breathed again.

Santo reached behind him and whipped out a pistol which he fired before his arm had straightened. Aurora let the bullet hit her, then let her unnatural resilience show itself as she took a step forward.

"What are you?" he asked in dismay.

"Don’t you remember me?" she asked, then stepped closer into the dim light he’d been using to count the cash. "And here I thought I was such a memorable lover."

"I don’t know you. Get out!" he demanded.

"Aw, come on, Santo. Is that any way to treat me after you took me in and had my parents killed? How many other parents did you have killed?"

"Aurora?" he breathed softly, looking into the face and barely recognizing what was there. "No, no," he corrected himself. "I heard she got shot last year up in Canada."

Aurora stepped closer and pulled out the two knives she’d stolen from the hit men. She waved them above her head and smiled. "I did," she replied and tossed one, then the other. Santo went down, tugging at the knife in his thigh, but finding weakness from another knife in one shoulder.

"Crazy bitch!" he yelled in anger.

"You stripped away everything that made me what I was and turned me into a killer."

"I didn’t do anything," he replied, still pulling at the knife and finally freeing it. He threw it aside and went for his gun. A boom followed by the click of the expelled shell casing had him certain she’d be dead. It was close range, but she came from the smoke even closer, wrapping a hand around his throat. He pulled the trigger again and she grabbed the gun from him. Pointing it at him without releasing her grip on his neck, she looked into his eyes and let him see the face he would call death.

"Do it, then," he demanded. "Kill me, crazy bitch."

Aurora laughed. "You think I’m going to let you off that lightly?" She bobbed her head from side to side. "You remember teaching me to shoot a gun? You taught me the secret to the perfect shot then you made me kill. You made me cold and heartless. It worked, for a while, until I found out the limitation it placed on me, my life." She tightened her grip and let him begin to choke. "You made it impossible to have a life of my own after I left you."

"That’s why you should have stayed," he choked.

"That’s why you have to die." She squeezed tight enough that he could no longer breath. He gasped and kicked his legs, pulling instinctively at her hand. Aurora straddled his legs and watched as his lips turned blue, then instantaneously let go.

Santo fell over, gasping and clambering to get free, but Aurora put her hands on his thighs, pushing firmly on the one with the knife wound. Santo let out a scream and she leaned close to his face. "What’s the matter, feeling a little pain?"

"You were a good thief," he groaned, trying to push her away.

"Until I got caught," she reminded him. "That’s when you decided I’d only be good to sneak in as an innocent young woman and pull guns on the unsuspecting."

"It worked too," he said, getting her to loosen her grip on his legs and throwing her onto the floor. "You took care of a lot of slackers for me." Santo pinned her arms and moved over her. "It didn’t take you long to become my heartless little pixie," he hissed.

Aurora hid horror at this image of him on top of her again. It created a flashback for which he would pay. She smiled to disarm him, then closed her eyes and consciously conjured up all the pain she felt. She brought the horror she’d collected from her victims these past nights and forced them all, with her own, into Santo’s body. He twitched at first, then began to twist and shake. In time he was having full out convulsions and tears streamed down his face and Aurora’s.

His breathing quickened and became more shallow until he wasn’t breathing and as Aurora placed a bloody hand against his forehead, she pushed him off of her, then pressed the head against the floor. Using all the strength she could find, she pushed it harder and harder as she wondered just how much pressure it would take to crush his skull. Throughout, she continued to give him her pain until nothing was left. His eyes floated back in his head and blood began to run from his mouth. It was then that Aurora took her hands away and looked at him. Standing over his lifeless body, she wondered if she’d feel more satisfied if it had lasted longer, if his suffering had continued for days.

Stepping back she watched the blood dripping from her hand, mesmerized by its sticky thickness. The crow flew past her head and brought her mind back to her work and she wiped it on the leather pants. She moved now to leave the knives from her parent’s killers stabbed into Santo’s body like a pin cushion. She then ripped the chain from her neck and the ring from her finger, dropping them upon his corpse. Taking a deep intake of air, she looked into the crow’s eyes. "Am I finished?"

"Just one more thing," her mind told herself. She closed her eyes and saw Stan in her mind’s eye. What was she here to do? Why did any of it have to do with him?

Love’s power is sweeter and more bitter than the beyond. Love’s power is stronger than death.

Aurora turned to follow the crow through the broken window and began to swing lightly from the fire escape.

***

As Aurora stood at the window, she watched through the bedroom and into the living room as her love leaned over his coffee table, a cigarette hanging from his lips. A ringing phone broke through the silence and she watched him pick up before she pushed at the window. It had been opened slightly so she knew she’d be able to open it and slip through.

"Hello, Fraser," Stan said slowly, having expected the nightly call.

"Hello, Stan," Aurora said softly as she stepped into the room.

Stan froze, looking at her, letting the ash from his cigarette fall to the floor. "Fraser? I’m going to have to call you back… Uh, unexpected company?… If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me." He hung up and stood slowly, stubbing out his smoke on the way to his feet. He folded his arms. "Why are you here?" He asked the question that had been deep in his mind since the moment this began.

Aurora glanced at the crow before setting her gaze on Stan. "I don’t know. I was hoping you knew."

Stan furrowed his brow. "Now why would I have a fucking clue? The only hint I had that this isn’t all a dream is the fact that your reputation as a killer has transcended death and onto the nightly news. The only clue I have that this isn’t some big sick joke is that I saw your dead body, spent what little savings I had to have said dead body flown back to Chicago -- and you wouldn’t believe the red tape that goes with that – and buried in the city cemetery. All being said, I can’t quite figure out what the logical explanation for any of this is."

Aurora smiled slightly. She’d gained a certain amount of clarity from the bird which accompanied her journey and the questions left were nothing like those Stan had. She raised her eyebrows as she went over his presentation. "Why did you do that?"

Stan took a drink of his beer and set the bottle back on the table before straightening and shaking his head. "Do what?"

"Me? Why did you go through all that so I could be buried here?"

Stan shrugged. "It’s where we met."

"It’s where I shot you," she reminded him, then suddenly questioned, had that been real as well?

Stan folded his arms in front of himself again. "Guess I didn’t want to fly to Toronto every time I wanted…"

She waited and when he didn’t finish, she took a step closer. "You wanted to see me?"

Stan ran his thumb along his neck. "It’s stupid, I know."

Aurora began a slow pace around his couch, then, as she continued to speak. "You know, it’s funny. This is where my life began and ended." She held up a hand when he began to protest. "My life didn’t end in Toronto, Stan. I was born in Chicago and my soul died here. After all that traveling and all my sins, it was here that you brought my soul back to life." Her voice cracked and she continued her way around the couch, Stan spinning slowly to keep his eyes on her. "It died again when I left here. It was dead every moment I wasn’t with you." She swallowed. "I’ve gained a new clarity about everything that happened between us and while I never blamed you, I learned more about your convictions since my… since my death than I ever thought possible."

Stan swallowed then. "I just wish, I wish," his mind turned back to the song that had been playing repeatedly through his mind. "I wish there’d been some better way to say goodbye."

Aurora’s eyes looked wet and she reached out to take his hand. "If I decide I can’t do it anymore - try to be so hard, I’m trying to be so fucking hard. If I should choose to keep lying to myself, pretend my mind is telling truths…If I should choose to fall apart, don’t you think you should let me? If I choose to die alone, you should forgive and forget me. Forgive and forget me."

The crow let out a long, low screech and Aurora snapped back, looking at him and nodding before giving Stan a small smile. She took her hand away slowly and he kept his hand in place, trying to keep her grasp. He watched her graceful form turn, then, and go to the window. She floated out of it with the bird in tow and he watched for a moment, hoping, wishing, wondering. Eventually he had to face the reality of this implausible dream. He went back to the phone and slowly dialed his friend’s number, choosing to put it all behind him.

The End

Credits
'Goodbye' & 'Peter Pan' by Patty Griffin
'Cocoon' by Joydrop