Title: Serenity

Author: Sarah Saint Ives

Archive: Yes, please

Archive email address: saintives@hotmail.com

Category: Original fiction

Rating: R

Warnings: Violence and rape

Author's notes: This story is a work in progress. Please tell me what you think of my original characters. The story has a psychological and spiritual theme.



SERENITY
BY SARAH SAINT IVES

It wasn’t in his character to smile often at strangers, but the doctor’s face could take on very pleasant expressions when he went visiting. When the door opened at his knock, he presented himself with courteous professionalism. “I'm Dr. Elijah Martin from the Sisters of Serenity Mental Health Institution. Are you Jonathan Garrison?"

The man in the door was large and menacing, looked as if his tendencies leaned toward ripping out throats with his teeth. But he yawned nonchalantly and scratched his backside. He wore loose boxers, nothing else.

"Yeah. What do you want?" His accent was pure Cajun.

"You’re Cody’s father?”

“Yeah. And?”

“Cody’s court hearing is scheduled for Thursday. He can be released in your custody if you would come and claim him. He's been a patient in our institution for over a year now. You've never visited. It would do him a world of good to know that his father was behind his recovery and rehabilitation."

"Does he care about me? Does he lie awake nights worried about whether I’m eating or not? No, I don’t think so. He doesn’t give a shit one way or the other. The kid's no good, just like his no-good whore of a mama. Now, go on. Get lost." Garrison shoved at him through the screen door, a clear warning.

"He could come and live with you if you would only come forth and take aninterest in him." Elijah entreated, taking a backward step. "He's a very troubled young man who desperately needs a father."

Garrison opened the door and seized him by the wrist. "You don't listen too good." he said with an edge to his voice. His grip was like iron and the snarl was frightening.

Elijah struggled to break free, hopelessly restrained by the strong hand. The man was twice his size and obviously given to severe unkindness "I am not here to fight with you, sir. I am here to plead with you for your son's sake. Please listen to reason."

"Come on in here." The bigger man yanked him into the house and kicked the door shut after him. With a fist in his face, he slammed him against the wall, pressed himself viciously against him. "Now, what was that shit you were saying?"

"I am not here to fight with you. Please, I don't want to fight you, Mr.Garrison."

"I don't think you're gonna give me much of a fight."

"Sir, release me, I beg you. People know where I am." It was a lie. He had not left a clue of his destination. Micah had asked him not to visit Garrison alone, and now, Elijah knew it had been protective intuition at work. Micah' premonitions were seldom mistaken. Too late, Elijah wished he had listened to his young friend. "Mr. Garrison, let me go now and I won't bother you again. I came on your son's behalf, to ask you to come to his hearing. It's my only reason for being here."

"I don't need that fucking kid in my way! But you…you might be kindafun." With an evil sneer, Garrison lifted him by the arms and slung him onto the nearby staircase. Elijah's head struck one of the steps and he lay addled, helpless against the onslaught of cruelties that followed.


*******


There had been no word from Elijah. Cezana had called everyone they knew, and Micah had driven the streets and alleyways of their urban Kendall Creek, looking for his car. He was nowhere to be found. He had not called or answered his cellular phone. It was as if he had dropped out of existence.

On the second day, they decided to resort to telepathy.

"We have a psychic link with him, it's our reason for working here. It’s the reason he chose us in the first place. If one of us touches something that belongs to him, we may be able to see where he is."

Speaking was the short, slightly overweight but beautiful young woman with ultra-blonde hair that fell to her waist. She appeared younger than her actual years with a child's face and a little girl's voice. She gazed at her handsome, dark-haired husband. "You're his best friend, Micah. You’re closest to him. You have the best chance."

Micah agreed without reluctance. "Yeah, I’ll give it a try. I hope it works."

"It will, Micah. It has to. We have to find him."

The Sisters of Serenity Institute was a psychiatric hospital that specialized in mental problems that stemmed from psychic disorders. The staff was trained to care for men and women with extrasensory, telepathic or otherwise paranormal capacities. According to the textbooks on such matters, they, being different, being psychic or telepathic, were more apt to go insane, more likely to need guidance. No science accepted the concept of the paranormal, no official guides could be assigned, but Elijah Martin had, with his own money, education and talents, built the institution to accommodate people like himself. Who better to treat and guide them than a doctor who shared their curse, who related in the metaphysical areas of their tormented minds? Many were cured of their insecurities and went on to lead productive lives out in the world while others stayed and helped to teach new psychic patients as they arrived.

Micah and Cezana were two who had stayed.

They had been young lovers when they had arrived at the institution. They had suffered from harsh events that had carved deep emotional scars in their very souls. They had been traumatized by their own visions and premonitions, Cezana by her ability to read the minds of others, Micah by his extra sense of sight, an awareness that allowed him to see the shades and density of spirits. The good doctor, Elijah Martin, had trained them in the art of mental powers, had greatly assuaged their anxieties. He had provided them with a future--careers training new patients at the institute. He had given them an apartment next to his own in the living quarters of the hospital. Meals were nearly always shared, as was much of their spare time. They were grateful to him, had come to love him as a father. Over a short period of time, they had developed into a family.

Cezana and Micah had now been semi-happily married two years.

They went to Elijah's apartment and began the search for something he had recently touched, something that had not been washed since that touch. The pillows, the sheets, the clock. Each gave everything a try, but it was Micah who received the stronger signals from the houseshoes beside the bed.

He held them tightly in clenched fists and closed his eyes as telepathic images flashed through his head. "There's a man...a big man..." he began as he watched the scenes that began vaguely as an internal video. As he crumpled the shoes beneath his strong fingers, the images slowly cleared. "Elijah's hurt! The guy has him locked in. He’s got him hidden and he's really hurt! He beat him, hit him, kicked him, he did other terrible things to him. There’s blood. I can smell it."

"Focus, Micah." Cezana breathed. She stood cautiously back from him, afraid her nearness would break his concentration. "Try to see where it is! Where is he?"

"I'm trying!" Micah shouted. "His car is in a barn behind the house! There's a mailbox in front of the house, and there's a name on it. A name! If I could just...just...get closer..." He concentrated so hard his face seemed to swell, drew in a long, cleansing breath and let it out slowly. As the oxygen swept through his prescient brain, the mental view centered so he could read the name. "It says J. Garrison on the mailbox! That's where he is! He's at that boy's father's house! Cody Garrison! Elijah went without me to see him and now he's hurt. The boy's not the only crazy one in that family." He dropped the houseshoes and raced toward the door. "I'm going to go get him. I'll call you."

"Micah!" Cezana cried. "Wait! You can't do it alone!"

"The hell I can't!" Micah said angrily. He stalked down the stairs, outside to his pickup truck and drove straight to Garrison's house. He did not know the address, had no idea how far it was, but his truck made the ten-mile trip to the east side of Kendall Creek, Louisiana without a flaw. His sense of 'homing in' was unmatched.

With trembling hands, Cezana called the police.


*******


Micah banged on the door, and as soon as it was unlocked, he kicked it open and began to pound Garrison's face. After long minutes of driven rage, knuckles bleeding, he left the man lying where he fell, bruised, battered, defenselessly sprawled on the floor at the foot of the stairs and went to search the house for Elijah. Garrison had not had a chance to defend himself.

He found him unconscious on a bed on the second story, and as soon as Micah saw him, the dark blue, nearly black atmosphere hanging over him, the spirit cloud that only Micah could see, he wanted to turn around, walk back down the stairs and finish killing Garrison. Elijah had been beaten within an inch of his life and was tied to the bedposts, ropes around his wrists that cut into the flesh.

He threw back the sheet that covered him and saw the blood. A quick inspection proved Garrison had cut him with a knife. Both his legs were gashed at the back just behind the ankles, and dried blood was evident between his legs.

As a child, Micah had seen stallions gelded, had watched his veterinarian grandfather perform the simple surgery on tranquilized animals. He had never been witness to those wretched amputations without feeling pity for the horse, the poor gelding having had nature's most interesting gift taken away.

Horses survive without apparant regrets over such losses, but Micah valued masculinity--not more important than life itself, but one of the reasons most human men continued to live, to find perpetual energy for new quests. One of life's greatest advantages was forever gone for his friend.

Elijah had been gelded and the surgery had been messy. It had been performed in a struggle, the incisions jagged and raw. The entire area was inflamed and swollen.

Micah steadied himself, refrained from the murderous madness he felt, his compulsion to kill Garrison. Elijah's wounds were serious. He needed to go to the hospital. After wrapping him in the sheet, he carried the smaller man downstairs, stepped nimbly over the felon he had beaten, had just reached the broken front door when the policeman arrived.

"Hold it right there, sir." said the officer. He was a middle-aged man with sergeant's stripes on his uniform.

Micah knew Cezana was responsible for his presence. "He's hurt." he said, showing him the man in his arms. "The man who did this to him is lying right there." He turned to indicate Garrison.

"Who did that to *him*?"

"*I* did." Micah confessed without a hint of apology. "He kept Elijah here for three days against his will. He beat him half to death. Just look at him! Look at his face! As soon as I knew where he was, I came to get him."

The cop glanced at Elijah's blackened eyes, his bruised jaw, then lifted his detective eyes to Micah again. "You know, young man, you should have waited for us. You should never charge in and do our job."

"I have a black belt in Judo, another one in Karate. Third degree black belt in Akido. I can take care of myself and my family. Do you think I could sit around and wait for you when I knew where he was?"

The cop nodded with understanding. "This is your father?"

"As close as it gets. I gotta get him to the hospital. He's hurt bad."

"What about the guy you beat up over there?"

"I should’ve hit him harder. I should’ve hurt him worse. He doesn't even deserve to be alive. Unfortunately, he will be fine when he wakes up, just some bruises."

The cop understood. "I'll have him taken in for you. Kidnapping charges are pretty serious. What other charges can we add to that?"

Micah sighed, avoided his suspicious eyes. "I don't know, yet. Definitely abuse. He could have internal bleeding, he could have broken bones. I just know he's hurt bad. Real bad. Let me get out of here." Then, without further explanation, he hurried to his truck, strapped Elijah into the passenger seat and rushed him to the hospital.


*******


He was prepped for emergency surgery and whisked away so suddenly that Micah felt he had missed something important. He had signed for the surgery as the next of kin since Elijah was unconscious, so now it was simply a matter of waiting and praying.

He called Cezana. When she arrived and took a seat beside him in the waiting room, Micah explained to her what had happened. "Both his Achilles' tendons were cut. He was badly beaten, half his face is purple, and parts of him are mutilated. It's bad. There's no way to repair some of the damage."

"Oh, Micah!" Cezana said. "He could die!"

"There's a chance. I don't know how bad the internal injuries are."

"Why did that guy do that to him?"

"Because he's sick in the head." Micah answered, barely able to contain his boiling anger. "I could have killed him. I *should* have killed him. I shouldn't have left him alive."

"Don't say that." She gazed at him in horror. "Don't ever talk about killing like that. Micah, you know better."

Still too fresh in their memories was another time when Micah had been provoked to the point of murder. It was now ten years in the past, but to Cezana, it remained vivid.

They were teen-agers in love, in their senior year in high school when her mother had introduced them to her newest boyfriend, a wasted drunk named Bill. Bill had moved into the house with them after a week. After another week, in a state of intoxication, he had attempted to rape Cezana, and Micah, dropping in, unannounced, to visit his girlfriend, had caught him in the act.

Micah had beaten the man to death. There had been no consequences, for it had been ruled as justifiable homicide, but the impact of it had been emotionally gruesome. Now, after ten years, Micah no longer seemed to be bothered by his deed, appeared unflustered by his killer instincts, but Cezana had never conquered the tragedy. Her blue eyes were haunted every time her husband raised his voice. Most of the time, especially in her presence, he was careful to speak softly.

Dr. Elijah Martin was the man who had saved her sanity, and she also attributed Micah's mental well-being to him. The man was a psychological genius. Their sessions with him had led to their matrimonial happiness.

Micah took her hand and kissed her. She was the one person in the world who could turn his rage to regret. "I'm sorry." he said gently. "Forgive me."

She put her arms around his neck and held him. "I love you so much, Micah. You're my whole life."

He kissed her again. "And you're mine." he said. "I love you, too, honey."

They waited for what seemed like hours.

Hours and hours.

Finally, the doctor came out and sat down to face them. "Let me explain to you what I have done." he said. "There was no other way I could do it."

Their faces were apprehensive.

"He will live. That is about the extent of my guarantees. I could not repair his reproductive organs, of course. Medical technology may never find a way to replace certain lost organs. As he is now, he is virtually sexless, but he is alive. Keeping him alive was my priority, and it will inevitably become his, he'll have no choice. No matter what blasphemous hatred he utters in my wake, this will be his life here everafter. I can do nothing to change what has happened to him in this respect.

"The tendons in his legs that were severed will heal, slowly. Reconnection of the Achilles' tendons is a touch-and-go procedure. There will be a lot of stiffness there, a lot of pain. He may never walk without an aid, crutches, a cane, a walker--he may never walk, period. That remains to be seen. There is a faint possibility that he will regain full use of his feet and walk normally, but I doubt it. We can only hope."

Micah stood and paced while he listened to the rest.

"His jawbone was cracked, not a bad break. It will heal in due time. There was no internal hemorrhaging, just some very bad bruises.

"Once his body heals, there will probably be great psychological problems as a result of this assault, and I understand that the two of you specialize in that area. Perhaps you can help him."

Cezana nodded. "Yes, perhaps we can. We will certainly try. He's the man who trained us. He's one the world's best teachers. I think that, considering the mistreatment he suffered, Micah may be best to help him, since he's his closest male friend."

Micah glanced around at her. "You think he's going to be very distrustful of people now, especially of men? He's not stupid, Cezana. He'll work through it."

"I don't care how well-adjusted or how smart he is, Micah, he's been through hell and there will be problems, whether you want to believe it or not. He will need a friend, not a student, not a neighbor, not even a son. A friend. Pay special attention to him for a while, be his confidant. He needs someone who can understand. You need to be hisbest friend. I will do what I can but you know he won't talk to me about it. This experience could cause him severe mental anguish. You have to be kind to him now. You have to help him."

The doctor nodded as he stood. "She's right. I have to go now. Are there any questions?"

"Yes, when can we see him?" Micah asked.

"He'll be in recovery for a few hours. Probably morning."

"Thank you, Doc, for saving his life." Micah said as he shook his hand.

"It's my job." the doctor said, "I'm only sorry I could not save the rest of him."


*******
Part 2
*******


Elijah's eyes fluttered open late the next evening. He groaned in pain.

Micah, who had been lounging closeby, was immediately at his bedside, holding his hand. "Hey!" he said, smiling. “You’re awake! Finally! Do you know how long you've been sleeping? I thought you were gonna sleep forever!" He reached for a wet washcloth and gently dabbed at Elijah's swollen lips.

Elijah tried to swallow. He reached for a drink, trailing his IV. Picking up the cup, Micah saw it was empty.

"I know your throat is dry." he said. He ran a careful hand over Elijah's tousled hair. "I’ll go see if you can have some water." Taking the cup, he went to find a nurse.

The nurse informed him he could have only ice with a minimum of liquid, so Micah took him crushed ice with a small amount of water. "Sip slowly." he instructed. "If you get strangled, it will cause you a lot of pain."

Elijah nodded feebly and took the water by tiny sips.

"You can have a piece of the ice when you feel up to it." Micah said.

"How did I get here?" His voice was raspy.

"I brought you."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I channeled you."

Elijah's eyes were red and brimming. "You know what happened?"

"Yes, of course I know."

"What happened to Garrison?"

"He's in jail."

"You didn't kill him?"

"Believe me, I wanted to." Micah leaned over and looked closely into his bloodshot eyes. He felt the shudder beneath him, caused, he feared, by his nearness. He looked away and sighed. "I wanted to."

“But you didn’t.” Even in his pain, Elijah was a psychologist first. “You *didn’t*, Micah.”

“No, I didn’t.” Micah couldn’t look at him.

Elijah also turned his face aside, trembling. "Can I have another drink, please?"

Micah handed him the cup. Cezana had accurately predicted at least part of the effects of his mistreatment. He would suffer unreasonable fear, the manifestation of violence that takes time and effort to overcome.

Micah determined at that moment that he would help him through this troubled time. He would not stop until he had regained his complete trust, even if it took the rest of his life. This would become his vendetta, and in a vendetta, impatience was an obstacle, and haste would only make matters worse. He had to practice extreme patience.

He could not force familiarity on him. The process would go slow. "Lijah, why did you go to Garrison's house?" he asked.

"To get him to go to the hearing." The tears spilled onto his temples.

Micah gently wiped them away. He felt the defeating inadequacy of a protector incapable of saving his most cherished comrade. He had an overpowering impulse to kiss his friend’s swollen lips and to keep kissing those lips until he was well again. He pulled back quickly, shocked at himself. It wasn’t the first time he had felt the desire for intimacy with Elijah. For over a year, he had suppressed fantasies of torrid sexual adventures with him. He had even described his proclivities to Cezana, and she had found them exciting, asking for details, feeding the already growing fascination with their best friend. Micah’s attraction to him was one in a life time. He had never been with another man. The only man he *wanted* to be with was Elijah. And, since Cezana’s telepathy was keen, she knew that Elijah was also inexperienced in homosexuality, but Elijah’s mind was on his work. It was in his nature to be amiable and generous, but as for anything carnal, he seemed totally oblivious.

In the privacy of their bedroom, they had discussed seducing him and including him in their love as a threesome, but neither had been willing to chance ruining their friendship. But, *now* was not the time to let Elijah in on their twisted little daydreams. Now was the time it could damage or destroy his extremely fragile emotional state.

Micah took a deep, cooling breath. "The hearing was to be today but they postponed it in light of what happened. You're Cody’s doctor and you couldn't appear.” He leaned close again and spoke wearily into his ear. “Lijah, didn't I tell you to wait for me? Don't go there without me, I told you. And what did you do? You went anyway. You never listen to me, do you?"

Elijah sobbed softly without shame. "I will listen to you, Micah. I will never ignore you again." he whispered.

Micah was surprised at the statement. Elijah was not normally so agreeable, had a past record of contrariness that often evoked groans of frustration from his co-workers and employees. "You mean it?"

"I never dreamed he would be that kind of man, Micah. I thought he was just a deadbeat who didn't want the responsibility of a child."

Micah lifted his hand and held it. "I knew he would hurt you. If only you hadn't ignored me."

Elijah sobbed again, covered his face with his free hand, and as much as Micah wanted to put his arms around him and comfort him, he kept his distance. Anything he said or did at this point could be taken wrong, could do more harm than good. He wanted to leave well enough alone. He squeezed his hand, touched his shoulder, then backed away from him.

"I will never ignore you again." Elijah repeated brokenly.

Micah gave him the most assuring smile he could muster. "Any time you feel like talking, I'm here." he said, worried that even with these innocent, supportive words, he was going out on a limb. "You can tell me anything, Lijah. You understand?"

Elijah nodded. "Thank you."

"Anything." Micah stressed, gazing into his exquisite brown eyes. "When you're feeling better...when you're out of the hospital...when you're able to talk, you know what I mean. When you feel like talking about it."

"I understand." Elijah said, running a hand up and down Micah's arm.

Micah figured it was time to shut up. He had said enough. He smiled at him again, patted his shoulder and stood straight, the only contact remaining being their joined hands.

"Where is Cezana?"

"She had to go home. She was here for a while. She's pretty tired."

"I'm willing to bet you've been here every minute."

Micah didn't answer. He played idly with his knuckles.

"You're tired, too, Micah. You should go home and get some sleep."

"I will. Later."

Elijah chewed his lower lip. "So what did they charge Garrison with?"

"Kidnapping, so far. They'll add other charges as we tell them."

"Isn't that enough?"

"He committed criminal assault. This could be labeled as attempted murder."

"I didn't die."

"No, but you would have if..."

Elijah knew what he had not said. "If you had not found me when you did."

"I was lucky."

"*You* were lucky? I'm the one who is lucky...and *Garrison*, that you didn't kill him. I know you, Micah, all too well."

"I was lucky." Micah repeated.

Elijah closed his eyes. His aura was now maroon, still not even close to his natural rosy color.

"Do you want another sip?" Micah pushed the cup to his lips and tipped it again. Elijah swallowed the water gratefully.

He was weary past more conversation. He fell into a merciful sleep, and for a short time, the soft, snuffling sobs continued. He looked, for all the world, not like a man nearing fifty, but like a young child who had cried himself to sleep.

Micah stood watching him in sympathetic silence.


*******


The telephone rang. Carlos Valesa picked it up and spoke bluntly. "Yeah?"

"Valesa, it's me. You want to make some money?"

"Garrison? What's up? Where are you?"

"Where do you think? Jail! You want to hear this or not?"

Valesa sat down and took a long swig of his beer before he responded. "Sure. What's involved?"

"Killing three people, maybe four."

"It'll cost you."

"Two for me, two for you."

"When you want me to spring you?"

"Give it a few days. There's a pre-trial coming up. They'll be transporting me over to the court house."

"Gotcha. Who are the marks?"

"A doctor named Elijah Martin and two of his staff. A certain young hothead and his wife."

"You said four."

"Oh, yeah, and Cody. My son."

Valesa shook his head in disgust. "I admire you more every day." he said, and hung up the phone with a clang.


*******


Eight days passed and the hospital stay grew unbearable. Elijah begged the doctor to send him home, appealed to Micah and Cezana for support, but the possibility of infection was a concern. He was detained until all danger was past. The days and nights were long and tiresome.

His at-home treatments were simple, but they were very important to the healing process. A nurse had given Micah a lesson in the cleaning and redressing of the incisions. With his list of orders, Elijah was released on the ninth day.

The nurse pushed him to the exit door in a wheelchair. Two policemen halted him at the door as Micah met him with the truck. The uniformed sergeant stooped beside the chair to talk to him.

"Dr. Martin, my name is Sgt. Bystin.”

Micah hurried from the truck to offer his assistance, anxious to be on their way. “Sgt Bystin is the cop who arrived at the scene as I was taking you out of Garrison’s house.”

“I hate to bother you at a time like this,” Bystin said, “but Garrison's pre-trial that was postponed...it’s being held in the morning. You'll need to see a lawyer and have an affidavit drawn up. We need to know everything he did to you, all your injuries caused by Garrison. Can you get that for me before morning?"

Micah held up a hand to stop them. "Excuse me, but this is an extremely bad time. He doesn't need this kind of pressure right now."

"Pressure?" asked Bystin. "You don't want Garrison to pay for what he did to Dr. Martin? If you don't get us this affidavit, the judge won't consider anything other than the kidnapping charges."

Micah glanced at Elijah, who looked down. "This is a delicate matter. Think about it. How would you feel if it was you? Would you want this in court for everybody to hear? I'll talk to an attorney this evening and hopefully he can figure out how to put all this on paper for us without dragging Elijah's name through the dirt."

The cop nodded gracefully and helped him lift Elijah into the truck's seat. "Do you want me to stop in at the Sisters of Serenity later tonight?"

"Yeah. Call for me. Micah Williams."

"All righty. See you later, then. Hope you're doing okay, Dr. Martin." The cop patted Elijah's chest.

Elijah's lower lip trembled and he shoved at the hand too late to push it away. It was already gone, Bystin's back was turned and he was walking with the other cop out the hospital door toward his patrol car.

Micah buckled his seat belt, careful not to touch him too much. "You okay?"

He looked up into the fresh, apprehensive face of his best friend. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine." he answered.

Micah closed the door, then got in under the wheel and drove him home.


*******


"Cody, do you remember me? My name is Cezana Williams. I work here at the Institution. May I talk to you?"

Cody was a sullen seventeen-year old with thick black hair and eyebrows that ran together. He gazed at her with something like contempt, and more than a little lust. "What do you want?"

"Have you heard that your father is in jail?"

"Do I care?" he asked, turning away to look at the single window in his room. Horizontal metal bars were four inches apart across the frame.

"Yes, you do." she assured him. "He's your father."

"He doesn't care about me." he retorted. "I never hear a word from him. He's glad to be rid of me. If he had his choice, I would be dead by now. He wants me dead, so I've decided *he* shall die. I've put a curse on him, you know. He'll die soon. I hate him and I want him dead, so he will die. I can do that. I can put curses on people I hate."

"You can?" she asked casually.

"Yes, I can. I can kill with curses. He will die."

"Do you hate anybody else that bad?" she asked.

"No, just him."

"How do you feel about me?"

"You haven't done anything bad to make me hate you. You're just a girl. A *pretty* girl."

"Thank you. What about Dr. Martin?"

"He's okay, too."

"And my husband Micah?"

"I don't hate him, either. I just hate my dad. And this big Latin guy he knows named Valesa, I hate him, too. He used to come over and visit and punch me around. I'm putting a curse on him, too. He will die, too. Both of them."

"You have a lot of hate in you."

"Yes, I do." he agreed.

"Do you know that your hate doesn't hurt them? It only hurts you. You're the one being tormented by it. Forget it. Let it go. They're not worth it, Cody. You're the one who is important. You can stop all the torment if you'll let go of the hate."

"But it *will* hurt them. They will die, and when they are dead, my hate will be gone. I can't hate dead men."

"Yes, you can." she sighed. "There's one I still hate, and he's been dead for ten years. Cody, do you want to know why your father is in jail?"

"No." he answered.

"Well, I'm going to tell you. Dr. Martin went to see him to plead with him for you. You had the court hearing that was postponed, and he wanted your father to come and show an interest in you. Your father attacked him. He nearly killed him."

Cody gazed up at her with dull interest. "So, Dr. Martin's okay?"

"Yes, he's alive, but he's hurt. He is taking some time off to recuperate."

The boy nodded. "If he's alive, the old man is slipping. He usually kills his victims."

"You mean he has done this before?"

"What do you think happened to my mother and my older sister? He killed them. He killed a lot of people."

"He killed your mother and your sister." she said in disbelief. "Are telling me the truth, Cody? That's why you hate him?"

"That's part of the reason."

"Can you prove he killed them?"

"I know where he buried them, but it won't do any good to prove anything. He's going to be dead soon, anyway. I have the curse on him."

"Oh, yeah, that's right." she said. She forced a smile. "I have to go now, Cody, but I'll be back to see you again, okay?"

He shrugged. "Okay."

She patted his shoulder as she took her leave, intending to mention this new suspicion to Sgt. Bystin.

Cody sat motionlessly on the bed, stared unblinkingly at the window.


*******


Micah gave him his most encouraging grin as he wrapped clean dressing around his ankles, engaged the chivalrous, crooked smile that had the power to motivate confidence in others. "You'll be running a marathon in a few weeks." he said.

Elijah's nervousness seemed markedly lessened compared to his jittery state just hours earlier. "I don't think I'll be up to running. I'll settle for being able to stand and watch *you* run."

"You're doing better, aren't you?"

"I think so."

"You ready to talk about it?"

Elijah's brown eyes misted over evasively. "There's a good show coming on TV that I don't want to miss."

Micah tucked him in beneath the covers and handed him the remote control. "Okay. I'll check on you in a little while. If you need anything, bang on the wall."

"Okay."

Micah laid a hand on his arm. "Good night." he said.

"Good night, Micah." Elijah patted the hand but refused to make eye contact. "I'll see you in the morning. Tell Cezana good night for me."

"I will." He turned and left the room, flipped off the light as he went out, waited just outside the heavy door, listening. There was no sound. He had not turned on the television but was lying silently in the dark. For a moment, Micah's hand waited on the doorknob, then, when he could think of no good excuse to invade the doctor's private thoughts, he plodded onward to his own apartment.

Cezana, dressed in a long, blue nightgown, was brushing her golden hair. She raised her face to him and kissed him as he approached her. "I wondered if you were ever coming to bed." she whispered. "How is he?"

"In bad shape." he said. "I don't know what to do, Cezana. He wouldn't talk to the lawyer at all, wouldn't say a word. He just laid there looking off into space. We had to pass altogether on the affidavit and Sgt. Bystin acted like we were in on some conspiracy against him, personally or something. He was really pissed about it. I tried to explain to him that he's doing the best that he can under the circumstances, but there's just too much going on in his head for certain words to be spoken. He's going into major depression."

"Can you help him?" she asked worriedly.

"I don't know. I'm trying, but so far, he just wants to be left alone. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to be touched. When Bystin reached out to shake his hand, he shrunk back like a rattlesnake was coiled up and ready to strike him. He lets me change his bandages, but once I'm done with that, he expects me to get the hell out and leave him alone. He's drawn up in himself, blocking out everybody and everything. He's going to have to accept what happened before he can learn to deal with it, and he's in a state of absolute denial."

"You're getting pretty psychological."

"Yeah, well, I've heard it all enough. From Elijah."

"What does he talk to you about since he came home?"

"He answers questions, exchanges a few common pleasantries, sometimes he even makes small talk. He won't talk about Garrison."

She shook her head. "Give him time, Micah. Time heals all wounds, remember?"

"Yeah, I heard that one before. But we don't have much time."

"Why don't we? Why is there a time limit?"

He gazed into her blue eyes and shrugged. "You know, smart lady...you’re right.” He chuckled. “I just want him to get over it."

"He will." she promised, and tiptoed for another kiss. "Come to bed. *I* have no qualms about being touched. You can touch me as much as you like. Touch me all over. Make love to me."

His arousal was not as immediate as it had once been at his lovely wife’s seductive invitation. For some time, he had noticed their sexual attachment declining, and that fact disturbed him. He felt something was missing, something vital, but he had no idea what it was. It made him feel terribly guilty. He forced a smile and hugged her tightly. "Yes. That sounds like a very good idea." he said, and placed a passionate kiss on her lips.


*******


After breakfast, he went to check on Elijah and found him watching television. "What's on?" he asked.

"Some silly show. Who knows? There's never anything on worth watching."

"You want me to bring you a book?"

"That's a good idea. A good mystery novel, maybe."

"I'll go down to the library and pick something out for you."

"You're too kind to me, Micah. I'm sorry for being such a burden." Elijah said.

"You're no burden, Elijah. What are you talking about?"

"You're very patient with me, and I know your tendency to be short with senselessness."

"Senselessness?" Micah echoed. "Now, there's a word for you."

Elijah's haunted eyes dropped in despair, and it was impossible to miss his emotional trauma. His face was gaunt, his eyes were hollow. His aura had lost weight as well as color. Once again, Micah found himself wishing he had killed Garrison while he had had the chance. Now, all he could do was try to comfort his friend.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and cautiously put his arms around him. "Are you about ready to talk about it?" he coaxed.

"No, no, I cannot talk about it." Elijah said brokenly. "Please, give me more time, Micah, give me time. Please understand."

"I do." Micah said. "It's all right. I understand."

"You're so thoughtful, you care so deeply. I am lucky to have you here with me." Elijah said, clinging to him. "Please do not give up on me. I need you now, more than I ever needed anyone."

"I know." Micah murmured lovingly in his ear. "Don't worry, Lijah. I'll never give up on you, never. I'll be here for you as long as you need me. You're my Elijah." His hand softly stroked the doctor's tangled waves.

“I’m worthless.” Elijah said, pushing away from him.

“Don’t talk that way!” Micah admonished, holding him fast. “You’re not worthless and you know it! Never say that again!”

“Give me a better word!” Elijah challenged, struggling against his embrace.

Micah gently shook him into submission and forced eye contact. “You’re not worthless.” he said, quieter. “You’re *priceless*.”

Elijah's teeth chattered as if it were subzero in the room. Micah hugged him tighter. "Lijah, are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"Afraid of you?" Elijah said. "Why would I be...afraid of you?"

"Because you were hurt and you can't separate Garrison and me in your mind."

The trembling increased. "I'm not a child, Micah, not a child."

"No, you're not, but you're on the verge of having a seizure right now because I am close to you. Try to control your emotions. Get hold of yourself."

"I'm trying. I'm trying."

"Try harder. You're safe, completely safe with me, you always have been, you always will be. Cezana and I are your family. We love you. We're here to protect you from now on. Nobody will ever hurt you again, Lijah, not as long as you stick with us. Stop shaking."

Elijah looked simply miserable.

Micah combed gentle fingers through his salt and pepper hair. He propped his feet up on the bed and sat beside him, one arm still around him. "Change the channel." he suggested, pointing to the remote control in his friend's hand. "Maybe there's something on channel seven."

Elijah flipped the channels until a large, green seven showed on the screen.

The show was an old sit-com that had been played many times, but they watched it together, and gradually, Elijah's trembling ceased.

"How are you doing?" Micah asked with a smile, during a commercial.

Elijah returned the smile. "I'm okay." he answered. "It may take time, but I will beat this, Micah, I promise. I am very glad that you're here. I am very proud of you, my best student, and now, here you are, teaching the teacher."

"I had an excellent teacher." Micah touched his forehead against the other man's.

"You were an excellent student." Elijah said affectionately. "Answer the phone."

"The phone?"

"Yes."

The phone rang. Micah nodded knowingly and got up to answer it.


*******
Part 3
********


"Micah, there was an escape attempt."

Micah frowned at the news. "What? You mean here in the institution?"

"No," Cezana answered impatiently. "The prison van during transport. It was Garrison!"

"He escaped?"

"No, he *attempted* to escape. The cops caught him. Somebody was there to help him, but he ran away and they didn't catch him."

"Just so he didn't escape."

"He didn't. But whoever tried to help him is as dangerous as he is. Something doesn't feel right about this whole thing. Cody said there was another guy who used to come over to see his dad, a guy who punched him around."

"Punched Cody around?"

"Yeah. Apparently, his dad did nothing to stop it."

"So, the guy is trying to break Garrison out, now."

"That's the way it looks."

"Does Cody know his name?"

"He called him Valesa."

"Valesa." Micah echoed, mindfully. "Cezana, listen to me..."

She recited the safety rules along with him. "Lock the doors, stay inside, yes, dear, I know to do this. But I can't stay locked in forever. I have work to do."

"Yes, I know. So do I." He glanced at Elijah, then lowered his voice as he spoke to Cezana. "I'll be home in a few minutes. Get a few things together. We're staying here with Elijah for a few hours."

"What?"

"His apartment has a sturdier front door, plus it has a trapdoor to the attic in the closet."

"Micah, don't go paranoid on me."

"Cezana, you know as well as I do that this is real. Get ready."

"Well, shit." she sighed as she put down the receiver. She went to her dresser and closed her book. The elaborately decorated leather cover was embossed in red Mistral the words ‘The Practical Witch’s Guide to Spells and Incantations’. She moved a pile of folded shirts on top of it, put it into a drawer and shoved it shut.


*******


Cezana's face clouded over as she watched her husband load the two handguns, both nine millimeters. He pocketed extra bullets and stuffed the pistols into his pants.

"Those won't accidentally shoot off anything you might need later, will they?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"I've got the safety on." he assured her. "You got everything?"

"Blanket, groceries, laptop. Everything. Micah, are you sure this guy is coming here?"

"I feel it. I don't know when or from which direction, but we're targets, all of us."

She preceded him down the short hall to Elijah's front door and used the key to let herself in. "Does he know we're dropping in on him like this?"

"Not yet. I'll explain it to him."

"If this guy is gunning for us, wouldn't it be smarter to just leave? We could take off from work and go vacationing for a week or so until he gives up."

"That's a good idea." Micah commended as he locked the heavy oak door behind them. A plan was taking form in his adventurous mind. “Let’s do it!”

Elijah was sleeping, undisturbed by their intrusion. Cezana went to the tiny kitchen to put away the groceries she had brought and Micah sauntered across the room to stare out the window. The apartment was on the second floor, so he felt secure in the notion that no one would climb in the window, but there were many other ways to gain access to this area of the hospital, the most obvious method being simply blowing the lock off the door with any large handgun.

The longer he stood there gazing down at the sidewalk and grounds, the more uncomfortable he felt. Something was out there, something very disturbing, but strangely, he couldn’t see it, not even the color. Since his birth, Micah had seen colors, and the lack of them where they should be was alarming. "Cezana, we've got to get out of here." he said.

She turned to him. "Where will we go?"

"I don't know." Micah scratched his head, messed up his short hair. "You know that guy who owns all the cabins on Spears Lake...Henry Jenkins? How about if I give him a call and see if he has one for rent?"

"A *cabin*? You would take Elijah to a cabin in his condition?"

"He doesn't have to do anything. We'll take care of him."

She gave him a quirky look that ended in resignation. "Okay, call him. Then I'll call and tell the staff that we're leaving. They'll be really short-handed until we get back. They're going to just love us."

Micah picked up the phone and dialed.


*******


Micah yawned, opened his eyes and looked around, out of place and momentarily confused, then remembered where he was--slouched against the headboard of Elijah's bed. Elijah was sleeping peacefully beside him, one hand on Micah’s flat stomach. Micah covered his mouth and yawned again, stretched and twisted his head to get the kink out of his neck. "What?" he whispered. Cezana had prodded him.

"Henry Jenkins is on the phone. He finally got home."

"Thanks, babe. I was beginning to think his answering machine ran the place." He carefully removed the hand from his stomach before he got up, then leaned to comb his fingers through Elijah’s thick hair before he took the phone. "Mr. Jenkins, this is Micah Williams."

"Mr. Williams, I understand you need a cabin. I have one that just became available today. It's on the west side of the lake, a really beautiful spot, a hundred dollars a week. When can I expect you?"

Micah took a deep breath and allowed himself a few seconds to dream. Fishing, hunting, solitude in the wilderness, all the peace and quiet he could stand. Some day, he would rent a cabin for these purposes. For now, it was a hiding place to stash his wife and his best friend until the danger was past.

"I want it now. We can be there tonight, three or four hours from now. I figure you're about a hundred miles away, so once we get our stuff packed up, it'll only take us a couple of hours at the most to make the trip."

"Well, come on down, Mr. Williams, we'll be right glad to have you." Jenkins said with the hospitality southern gentleman. "Just drive right on up in the front yard and ring my doorbell or honk your horn. I'll come out and show you to your cabin."

"Cool." Micah said, reverting to his teen-age dialogue. He grimaced to himself and assumed a more mature attitude. "See you in a little while."

"Cool." the old man returned.


*******


"Lijah, wake up." Gently, he shook him from his sleep.

Cezana had packed for the three of them and Micah had carried the bags downstairs. They decided on her car rather than the truck since there was more room to sit for long distance driving. The car was ready, waiting for them at the curb.

"What is it?" Elijah asked as Micah folded back the covers.

"We're going for a ride. Come on, let's get you dressed."

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.” Insistently, the younger man coaxed him from the bed.

The doctor's bewilderment was evident in his annoyed grunt. "Cezana, what’s going on?” he asked as she came forward to help. “Would you talk to your husband? Tell him to let me sleep."

"Micah thinks somebody's out to get us. We're leaving for a while."

Elijah studied their faces. "Are we in danger?"

Micah gave him a level gaze. "Yes." he answered solemnly.

"Call the police."

"Give up, Elijah. You're talking to Mr. Hardhead here." Cezana said. "He doesn't *need* the cops. He can take care of us all by himself."

"Yes, I can." Micah gave her a withering look. "Hand me his shirt."

She threw the shirt in his face.


*******


"Is the cabin equipped with electricity and indoor plumbing?" Elijah asked from the back seat.

"I don't know." answered Micah.

"He didn't ask." Cezana said irritably.

"And there will be a phone?" Elijah went on.

"Yes, of course." Micah said. "The cellphone. Don't worry. We'll make do. We'll survive."

Elijah's eyes glowed gold in the evening sun. Micah met those eyes in the rearview mirror. "You trust me, don't you, Lijah?"

"Yes, yes. Of course I do. You know I trust you, Micah."

Micah drove faster than most of the traffic along the freeway, arrived at their destination in just over an hour. The cabin was nice, with an indoor bathroom, equipped with electricity, running water, and all of the essentials Elijah had feared they would have to do without.

Micah put the doctor to bed before he and Cezana carried in their luggage and began putting their things in closets and drawers. The single room was a combination living room, bedroom and kitchen, but it was easily made tidy because of the many storing places. The drawers, shelves, cupboards and tables were very practical features.

"I would like to get up." Elijah said as Cezana stepped outside and Micah went to the window to gaze out at the picturesque lake. "Let me see what you’re looking at."

Micah helped him to the window and watched his expressive face as he gazed out over the sunlit water. "You wanta go sit outside?" he asked. "There are some chairs out there."

"Yes, I would love that."

He scooped up the slighter man and carried him outside, seated him lightly in a padded chair facing the lake. Micah stooped next to him, took his hand and held it fondly as they sat there side by side. "This is nice, isn't it?" he said, his eyes on Cezana's back. She was at the lakeside, bent and dabbling her fingers in the water.

"It's wonderful." Elijah said, breathing in the fresh, clean air.

"Yeah. If there weren't any mosquitoes, it would be downright perfect."

"Yes, it would." He slapped at a mosquito on his arm.

"How do you feel?"

"I can’t really say I’m fine, but I suppose I could be much worse."

"Yes, you could be dead. Are you hungry?"

"No, no. Are you?"

"Not really."

"We can go swimming over there later if you want to. There's a place you can swim, another place for fishing."

"No, that's okay. I don't care for fishing or swimming."

"It might be good for you to take a dip."

"We had the swimming pool at the institute if I wanted to swim."

"Yeah, but...this is more...private."

"I suppose so. Also more free-floating germs. What do *you* want to do?"

"Right now, just to sit here and look at the scenery."

"Me, too."

Micah smiled at him. "I do want to go fishing while we're here. You know how much I like to fish."

"You can fish all you want. I wouldn't stop you for the world."

"You don't like to fish?"

"Not particularly."

"But it’s fun. It’s very relaxing. Trust me. It’ll be fun."

Elijah gazed at him. "Okay."

"You just put yourself in my hands."

Elijah smiled sadly.

"You know what I mean."

"I hope so."

Then, Micah leaned over and hugged him. As his lips grazed an ear, he murmured fervently, “I love you, Lijah. So much. God, I love you.”

Elijah's hand came up hesitantly and rested on Micah' dark hair. "Oh, Micah, you have no idea how precious you and Cezana are to me. I love you both."

"You're precious to us, too." Micah’s tongue darted out and trailed from the ear to the throat. “I wish I could make you understand.”

“Micah...” Elijah’s free hand rose to stroke Micah’s hair. “I’m the closest to a father you or Cezana ever had. You’re confusing what you feel for me because you’re feeling sympathetic. Please try to be rational for your wife’s sake.”

Micah sighed and backed up a few inches to look into those golden-brown eyes. “I’m being as rational as I can. But you’re right. You’ve been like a father to us.”

“I never produced children, never even participated in the rearing of a child, so the two of you are all the family I have."

Planting a quick kiss on his cheek, Micah said softly, “We’re all the family you *need*. You're my Elijah."

Elijah accepted a light nose-rub from him. "When did I become *your* Elijah?" he asked with good humor.

"Ever since the day I met you."

As he glanced toward the woman again, Elijah said, "I know you’re worried about me, and I appreciate your concern. My self esteem, believe it or not, is not totally ruined. I have lost the use of certain parts of my anatomy, but my mind, once I think through it, will be intact. I'm fine, Micah, really."

Micah felt hope for him. "That brilliant mind of yours was always your greatest asset, although the physical package is still drop-dead gorgeous for a man your age. Hell, for a man of any age. Don’t think you don’t get appreciated in every respect, my friend. But you always buried yourself in your work and your studies. You're a scientist, a psychologist, a man with a mind. These things are much more important than what you lost."

"Do you really believe that, Micah?"

"Yes, I do."

"Would you feel that way if you had lost yours?"

Micah drew in a deep breath and glimpsed toward Cezana again. "I would try." he answered diplomatically.

"Do you think I've lived my entire life as a monk or a priest, celibate, without regard to God's gift of sexuality? I was a normal man, Micah, with normal impulses, just as you are. I enjoyed the company of an occasional woman. Granted, it had been a while since I've had a lady-friend, but I took comfort in the fact that I could always find another one if I so chose."

"You could still please a woman if you wanted to."

"I don't think I want to." Elijah said softly. "I've lost interest, Micah. I would rather just strike up a good conversation and forget the romance."

Micah pitied him and at the same time, he felt a great sense of relief. The thought of Elijah being romantically interested in a woman provoked him to utter jealousy, which made him feel like a first class heel. "Were you ever with a man?” he asked, averting his eyes.

“Just the one.” Elijah’s expressive eyes went numb.

“Would you like to talk about him?" It wasn’t what he really wanted to discuss, but he felt himself sinking into the fear of moving too fast. He needed to back off, give him some space.

Elijah met his gaze. "Do you think it would do any good for me to remember it, to relive it in the telling? You know what happened, Micah."

"Sometimes you can resolve things by talking about them."

"Such as? What is there that can be resolved? The man emasculated me, he raped me, he beat me to a bloody pulp. He caused me shame I will never overcome. How would talking about that experience make it any less grisley?"

Micah squeezed his hand, rather shocked at his blatant admission "You're resentful. Remember the phases rape victims go through, the traumatic fear, the bitterness, the vengeance? There has to be a day of acceptance, of forgiveness. Try to make it there, Elijah. Don't drive yourself crazy with this."

Elijah closed his eyes and fell silent for a few minutes.

"Lijah..." Micah murmured. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. You're very right about me. I need to get my perspective straight, my priorities lined up, or I will follow in exactly the same pattern as every other victim the world has ever known. I will overcome this, Micah. I will."

"I know. You won't let it keep you down long." Micah said with certainty. "You're too smart and I love you too much.” He leaned close again, this time to place a warm kiss on his friend’s full lips.

His eyes still closed, Elijah shivered but made no comment.



*******
END PART 3