Author's Website: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Gallery/8741/jmgarden.htm

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, Alliance does, more's the pity.

Author's Notes: I blame Evil Seed Cara for sparking this idea. :)

Story Notes: Warnings: Major angst. Darkness.Pairing: Benny/Ray V. (perhaps?).
Category: Drama.
Rating: PG-13.

I

I lit
A hundred candles
In the hope
That she would return.

The figure stepped off the train, walking with a slow but steady stride down the platform. He kept his eyes straight ahead, hesitating for only a brief second at one spot before he reached the end of the platform, then he plunged into the Beaux Arts train station.

The watcher melted out of the shadows and startled the other man, the Italian reaching for his gun. Green eyes widened in shock. Snow began to fall. The Hunger in the watcher began to growl.

"What are you doing here?" the Italian hissed.

"I...wanted to...talk to you, Ray."

Benton Fraser stood in the cold wind, the collar of his lumber jacket turned up. He wore a dark-blue sweatshirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. A duffel bag was clutched in a gloveless hand.

He drank in the sight of the man before him. Still slender, still wearing expensive Armani, but the suit and coat looked even more expensive than he remembered. The shoes were of high quality, too. Ray was wearing his hair in a shorn style now. It flattered him.

His face was still beautiful, but Ben swallowed as he saw the hard lines of suffering around the sensuous mouth and emerald eyes.

"About what?" The voice was as cold as the wind.

"I...need to tell you a few things. Find out..."

Green eyes bored into him. "After five years? What, you couldn't drop me a postcard? Oh, yeah, that's right. You were with her." His bitter, cynical laugh made Ben shiver.

"Please, Ray."

For a moment, outrage flickered across the mobile face, then he turned abruptly. "Get in."

Ben waited while Ray went around the Riv and opened the driver's door, unlocking the passenger door with the automatic switch. He slid into the front seat, nearly overwhelmed at the rush of emotions that flooded over him. The smell was still the same: carefully-treated leather, a faint tang of oregano from a long-finished sandwich, a light odor of violets from crushed potpourri. He lightly ran his hand over the dashboard. No Stetson to put on it. Never again.

He snatched his hand away as Ray got into the car. He didn't want to anger the man any further.

Ray backed out of the driveway and down the street, lights on in other houses as the working-class neighborhood began to wake up. There was absolute silence in the car. Ray didn't even turn on the radio as he had always done before.

Before. In another lifetime.

Ray drove them several miles through the city, out to the Loop and finally stopped on Lakeshore Drive. He got out and walked down to the lake, Ben following. The light snow had stopped. The wind was blowing harshly by the water, Ray's long dark coat billowing out behind him. He suddenly turned around, startling Ben.

"So, talk."

Now confronted with the moment, Ben blanked. The hard green eyes stared at him. Rattled, he quickly tried to gather his thoughts.

"I..."Safest thing first. "You didn't lose the house?"

"No, Fraser, I didn't lose the house." Ray crossed his arms. "The whole family is still there, expanded by one. Maria and Tony had another baby. Frannie's still with us. Ma's still cooking up a storm." Ray frowned as if he realized how much he was telling about his family. Ben hungrily devoured each word.

His gut churned with other questions. His great fear swelled up within him, nearly choking him with its suffocating thickness. His insides trembled.

"You didn't go to prison?" he whispered, his words snatched by the wind.

The hard eyes grew harder. "No, Fraser, I didn't go to prison."

Relief was so strong that Ben nearly fainted. He shivered and said, "So you still have your job?"

Ray answered, "Frannie has a new job now. Tony has actually kept the same one for three years."

Ben nodded, a tiny gladness blooming within him. Such little light in his darkness, but it was enough.

"Ray...I'm sorry."

Ray was as still as a statue. His light and energy were muted. Ben missed that distinctive Ray Vecchio lust for life. He missed so much now.

"It took you five years to come back and tell me that?"

Ben swallowed, then said, "I couldn't." Ray turned on his heel and Ben threw out his explanation, desperate to keep him here. "I was only with her for six months after I...left. I was apprehended after a bank robbery." The Italian turned back. "I was the...wheelman, in Chicago parlance (A long-ago memory surfaced of the first time his father's spirit had come to him. He had not seen the spirit of Bob Fraser since he had lit a hundred candles for her to come back.)...and I was sentenced to four-and-a-half years in Michigan. I just got out three days ago."

Silence. The wind whipped an old, discarded McDonald's bag over the Riv and out of sight.

"You were in prison?"

Ben nodded, the shame filling him.

More silence. Then Ben asked, "How's Dief?"

"He's fine. He lives with me now."

Ben nodded. "He...loves...you." He took a deep breath. "May I see him?"

"I'll have to ask him about it."

Ben nodded again.

"Though do you want me to drop you off at the train...bus station?"

"No." At Ray's frown, he said, "I want to stay in the city."

"Yeah? Where?"

"I...don't know."

Ray walked away and got into the Riv. When he didn't drive away, Ben joined him. Ray drove away from the lake and soon the Riv was cruising in a familiar neighborhood. Ray stopped at the end of West Racine.

"Your old dump is still here."

Ben recognized the tone of dismissal and got out of the Riv, grabbing his duffel bag. Ray drove away, Ben watching until he disappeared, then he turned to the dismal street and hitched up his bag.

II

She came back,
And my soul melted,
The wick drowning
In its own hellfire.

He sat huddled in the dingy apartment. It was worse than his old apartment. He had not gone to his former building. He hadn't wanted to face any questions by tenants who had known him before.

So now he sat in the two-room apartment with peeling paint, cracked ceiling, and worn floors. The old-fashioned steam radiator clanked and hissed. The only furniture was a broken-down table in the tiny kitchen and a wobbly chair. A single lightbulb with a chain hung from the ceiling. The only bathroom was down the hall and none-too-clean. There was a cot that was broken in the corner. He would use his bedroll for sleep.

Sleep.

An odd word. He had a desire for sleep but knew the blessed oblivion would not be forthcoming. He stared into the darkness, trying to keep his inner darkness at bay. Memories crept forward and whispered from the shadows. He shuddered and rested his head on his crossed arms, which rested on his knees. He could hear the faint sounds of the city: horns honking, cars screeching, the occasional shout of a passerby in this decaying neighborhood. If the crack dealers had avoided his old neighborhood, the psychos avoided this one.

It was frigid in the apartment. The radiator had just started. The walls and floor and furniture were glacial. He didn't move a muscle.

His last apartment had only contained his and Ray's fingerprints. Now this new one would only have his. His desperate grab for love had left him lonelier than ever. And the Hunger hadn't been assuaged.

He kept staring into the dark, seeing images that he would rather forget. Then the images from happier times began to crowd into his thoughts, but they brought pain, not happiness. Images of Ray laughing, joking, teasing. Smiling at him. Touching him. His body shuddered and a single tear slid down his cheek.

I plunged myself
Into darkness
And dragged down
The one I love;
A slow, terrible burn,
'Til the Light was gone.

Ben found work at a local homeless shelter. For a nominal salary and free meals, he had a source of money. He preferred to keep the apartment as he wanted to be alone. Being alone had been impossible for the last five years.

He was lucky to get the job. An ex-con had limited choices, especially one convicted of armed robbery. Ironically, he had been in the same position that she had been in fifteen years ago: the driver of the getaway car. Still, the law made no distinctions and he was as guilty as if he had gone into the bank himself with a gun.

Three days after he had started the job, he came home and found a note pinned to his apartment door. He recognized Ray's distinctive handwriting, a leap of excitement in his heart. He read the note: If you want to see Dief, be home tomorrow at 10. He carefully set it on his kitchen table.

Ben waited eagerly for the duo to arrive. Ray still had his detective skills, tracking him down to this apartment building several blocks away from his old one. He heard the Riv even before he saw it from the window. The car stopped and Ray got out, pushing the seat forward and letting Dief jump out.

Ben drank in the sight of his wolf. Still sleek and silky. Dief followed Ray into the building.

Ben heard the knock. "Come in." Ray opened the door. Dief trotted inside.

It was dark and cold in the apartment. Ben waited, nervously shifting his feet. Dief came forward, and then Ben was on his knees, hugging the furry body. He held on for several minutes, then let Dief go. The wolf's amber eyes stared up at him, and Ben looked up to see Ray's face shadowed.

"He's in shape. He runs with Tony, Jr. every day. The kid's on the track team."

"Ah." Ben stroked Dief's head. The wolf stayed still but didn't pull away.

Ben couldn't see if Ray was looking at the apartment or not. The shadows hid his face very well. He wished he could see that beloved face, even if it was glacial.

"So, I'll stop by next week at this time, Fraser."

'Fraser'. Not 'Benny'. Never 'Benny' again. The pain sliced into him.

Ray looked down at the wolf. "Dief?"

It was a question. Would Dief go or stay?

The wolf turned and brushed against Ray's leg. He received a pat on the head and Ray turned and left, Dief glancing back once.

Ben blinked rapidly. At least Dief had looked back.

He felt nervous about tailing his former partner and friend, yet he had a desperate need to know that everything was all right. Something was not right. Something niggled at his mind. He went over what Ray had said to him since his return. Something did not add up.

So now he was doing a surveillance on the Precinct on the day he was scheduled to go in late to the shelter. He kept out of sight, wearing a borrowed overcoat and hat that was nothing like the Stetson. Despite what he guessed were many new faces at the 27th, there would still be the veterans who would recognize him. He had seen Leftenant Welsh, for instance, and Elaine as they entered the building.

Ray did not show up.

Not that day, or the next, or the next.

Puzzled, Ben wondered if Ray was on vacation. He hoped that he was all right. An uneasy feeling grew in his gut.

On his first day off, Ben waited in the shadows again. This time he stayed there as Ray came out of the house in the early morning darkness and drove off in the Riv. He urged the taxi driver to follow the distinctive car.

As they approached a neighborhood, Benny frowned. It seemed familiar. It was not the working-class neighborhood of his friend nor the dangerous, decaying neighborhood in which he lived. It was an upscale area that featured tasteful, discreetly wealthy houses.

Suddenly he recognized the surroundings and felt a sickness deep in the pit of his stomach. He gripped the seat and leaned forward. He told the cabbie to pull over.

The Riv was steered through the gates of an imposing mansion, Ray waving to the guards. He parked and went up to the front door, ringing the doorbell. The door opened and the man standing there smiled, then hugged Ray, drawing him inside and shutting the door.

"Hey, man, you wanna stay or go? Meter's runnin'."

"Wha...? Oh, uh, drive back to where you picked me up, please."

The cabbie dropped Ben off several blocks from his neighborhood, as Ben had guessed that no taxicab would come to his door. He needed to walk, anyway. His numbed legs somehow moved.

He was still in a state of shock as he climbed the stairs to his apartment and let himself in. He took up his customary position: sitting on the floor in front of the window, his knees bent and his crossed arms resting on them. His eyes stared into the darkness.

He had done this to Ray. Ray worked for Frank Zuko. Ben didn't need to know the details to know that was what was happening. Somehow the mobster had arranged it so that Ray was forced to work for him. Arranged in that he had kept Ray out of prison and saved his family's house. Ray had spoken about the house and staying out of prison but not his job. He had spoken of Tony and Frannie's jobs. Never his own. Ben had just assumed that he was still working in the Chicago P.D.

But, no. Ray was working for Frank Zuko. Probably his right-hand man. He could see the Italian mobster's smirk. Ben felt a great hatred well up within him, then he lowered his head to rest on his arms.

He had done this.

Ben returned to work on Monday, and worked the remainder of the week in quiet despair. His mind raced with ideas to rescue Ray, and of course none of them were realistic. He served soup to the homeless who came in for a free meal and wondered if he was any different from these people who through weakness or misfortune had found their lives turned upside down, and then he decided that he had deliberately caused his own misery and Ray's as well.

Ray should have rued the day that he had met Benton Fraser, RCMP.

He sighed and went behind the kitchen counter to look for a pair of scissors. He wanted to open a bag of tea and it was being stubborn. Two down-on-their-luck old men were talking at one of the tables. The older one who drank Jim Beam from a paper bag snorted. "Listen, I can tell ya stuff that'll curl your hair." The other man, who happened to be bald, raised his snowy-white eyebrows but listened.

"Ya think Zuko is so great?" The Jim Beamer lowered his voice but Ben could still hear him. "I got somethin' I overheard one day. Two of his bodyguards was talkin'."

"Yeah, what?" The listener looked around the empty dining hall to check to see if anyone else was there. No one.

The other man leaned forward. "They was sayin' that Zuko took his right-hand man in hand." He winked. "If ya know what I mean."

His listener's eyes widened, then he guffawed. The other man laughed, too. "'Magine Carl Zuko's boy like that."

A loud clatter startled both men and they jumped. "Hey, who's there?" asked the first man in fear.

"Don't worry, Ernie, it's just that kitchen boy."

"Phew. Let's blow this joint, Bert."

"Right."

Ben stared down at the silverware he'd dropped. He remained frozen, his mind in a whirl. Suddenly he turned and ran out of the kitchen, grabbing his jacket as he exited. He ran all the way to his apartment building and up the stairs, kicking in the door and slamming it behind him. Breathing hard, he sat heavily in his usual space and bent his knees, assuming his now-customary position. He began to rock.

Ray. Frank Zuko. Ray forced into Frank Zuko's bed. Night after night after night...

I did this.

He lifted his head and opened his mouth in a silent scream. Silent, because he had learned to howl his anguish that way in the darkness of Cellblock C night after night after night...

IV

Now my life
Is misshapen,
Like cooling wax,
And I yearn
To see the Light
Once again.

Ben stood on the crest of the hill and looked down with longing at the small cabin. He started down the snowy slope and pushed the door open after unlocking it.

Inside it was rustic, spare, but inviting. He lit an oil lamp and turned slowly to look at its interior.

Many a night while staring out his barred window he had dreamed of this place, the wide open spaces beyond its door, the pristine snow, the boundless sky. He felt a momentary peace settle over him.

He put away his duffel bag and went into the kitchen and made tea. He had to rummage through the cabinets, because everything was new to him. After the fire Eric and the local Tshimshian and Inuit had offered to rebuild the cabin for him in respect for his father. Eric had sent him a letter in prison. Ben had gratefully accepted the offer.

He sat in the glow of the lamp in front of the window, watching the stars come out.

He slept a good night's sleep for the first time in years that night.

The peace was only on the surface after that first night. While he re-acquainted himself with the countryside and enjoyed the quiet evenings at home, his mind was in a turmoil.

He had consigned Ray to hell.

What else could it be called when he was forced to perform in the bed of a man whom he loathed? Ben could guess the smirk on Frank Zuko's face when he proposed the arrangement. And Ben should have known it, of course. The first time he had met Frank Zuko, there had been many undercurrents that he had picked up between him and Ray.

The revelation that they had once been lovers had come to him in that dirty little apartment in Chicago before he had left to come home. The jolt had left him in shock. Why else would Ray had felt such hatred toward his childhood friend? Love turned to hate was the strongest of all. Why hadn't Ben seen that?

Because even then, he had loved Ray. In fact, from the first moment he had laid eyes on him in that holding cell. Ray had not been conventionally beautiful but Ben's body hadn't cared. He was intriguing: graceful, his hand resting on his intended mark's shoulder, and a smile that was pure high-wattage. And the eyes! Ben had felt his stomach flutter at seeing those eyes.

And out in the squadroom when Ray had chewed him out for blowing his cover, he had felt excitement in his belly at the flashing green eyes and fiery temper. Oh, he'd wanted him.

And how could he have told his very Italian, very Catholic, very-much-a-cop best friend that he lusted after him?

And now he'd learned that very best friend had been in love with his childhood friend. That the incident with Marco Metrani on the basketball court had driven Ray away...from the boy he had loved.

Ben was certain of this. Thinking back, he could see the way Ray looked at Zuko, the way his body reacted to him and hear the tone of his voice. Frank Zuko had acted like a spurned lover, and his eyes had been hungry as he had looked at Ray.

Ben sipped his tea in the darkness of his living room. He had loved Ray but hadn't thought Ray would accept that love. Desperately lonely, certain that he would remain alone the rest of his life, he had latched onto the woman he had put into prison when she had returned to his life. And when she had said he would regret not coming with her on the train, his buttons had been pushed. He looked at Ray, ashamed at all he had done, thinking that Ray would never want him now and would never have wanted him, anyway. He looked back at her with her hand outstretched. Beautiful, dark, deadly...but she loved him.

He'd run. And he'd leaped aboard that train, leaving his beloved's life in shattered ruins.

Allowing Frank Zuko to come and pick up the pieces.

He closed his eyes.

A knock came at the door. "Come in." He knew who it was.

The visitor came in, not surprised or perturbed at the lack of light. "Hello, Fraser."

"Hello, Eric."

The Tshimshian leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You've been here a week."

"Yes, I'm sorry that I didn't come by to visit."

"It's all right. We understand."

Ben nodded. Yes, the Tshimshian and Inuit always understood.

"Do you like the cabin?"

"Very much."

Eric cocked his head in the shadows. "You aren't sure if you're staying?"

"No."

"All right." Eric pushed away from the wall, reaching for the doorknob. "This place heals, Fraser."

"I know."

Eric was gone, leaving Ben alone with his thoughts.

"Oh, Dief, Dief," murmured Ben. He held onto the fur with desperate arms. He could feel his wolf's body tremble slightly. His wolf? Most likely Ray's wolf now. Wolves did not forgive betrayal easily.

Ben let Dief go, and the wolf trotted back to Ray's side. Ray's hands were in the pockets of his long coat. He was in the shadows as he always preferred. Ben wondered if Ray simply wanted to stay in the darkness because he didn't want to look him in the eye, or if the darkness felt like home to him now.

He wanted to see Ray's face. He wanted to see the face of the man whom he'd condemned to hell on earth.

The Hunger gnawed at him.

"Thank you kindly for bringing him by again, Ray."

"Yeah, well..." A shrug of the elegant shoulders. "We were out of jelly doughnuts and we had to make a run."

Ben smiled slightly. He rubbed his arms. He was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and the apartment was freezing. Ray never mentioned it, simply keeping his coat and gloves on. He did not inquire about Ben's health. He never inquired about anything.

Why should he? What is he going to ask, "Hey, Fraser, you got enough to eat? You warm enough? You should try the spread at Frankie's house. Yeah, and I spread my legs for him. Ain't that a kick in the head?"

Ben stopped thinking those thoughts. How could he keep his control when he thought those things? And Ray would know. He might not care, but he would know.

"Thank you kindly, Ray."

"Yeah." For a brief moment, Ray stepped out of the shadows, beautiful and compassionate and everything Ben loved, his eyes looking at Fraser, then he and Dief left him again, and the coldness in the apartment was like a sauna compared to the coldness in the pit of his stomach.

Ben walked in his snowshoes every day for hours. He hunted and trapped and fished, and he breathed in the clean air he thought he'd never take into his lungs again. He regained the weight and color that he had lost courtesy of prison.

It could be a very good life here in his beloved Territories.

Ben cleaned his rifle as the fire crackled in the cabin's fireplace. After a day of snowshoeing, he should be looking forward to a good night's sleep.

Except that every time he tried to close his eyes in bed, he thought of Ray in Frank Zuko's bed.

Yes, life could be very good here in the Territories. He was barred forever from the RCMP, pension included, but he could manage to feed himself living off the land. For staples, he could barter his skills for the tea and bread and other sundries he needed. He would have human contact with the nearby village, and if Dief wanted to come with him...if not, he would live alone but free. He'd paid his debt to American society, and as long as he kept a low profile, Canadian society would leave him alone.

Alone.

And would his heart stand that? He dreamed of Ray every night and heard his voice every day. He saw his face in the beauty of the Arctic, and his body dreamed of more.

Could he live a life of relative freedom here while Ray was condemned to serving as a gangster's right-hand man? Serving as a gangster's bedmate? Trapped in a life he hadn't chosen because his so-called best friend had betrayed him, running out on him and leaving him to sink? Why shouldn't he have grabbed the lifeline that Frank Zuko had offered him? It had saved his family from being out in the street. So now he had to prostitute himself to keep his family from that street. And who was to blame for that?

I love you, Ray.

But it was too little, too late.

Ben's blue eyes grew thoughtful. Perhaps too late for him. Ray would never love him now, just as he had thought at the train station that night. And the desperation that had fueled him to hop on that train and leave behind the best thing that had ever happened to him gnawed at him now.

The snow began to fall outside the windows.

Love me.

It was beautiful, the snow. Clean and white. Free of corruption.

Let me love you.

It blanketed everything with its pristine beauty. It made all things fresh again.

I will give you my heart and my soul.

It could hide so much ugliness.

I would rather love in hell than live without love in heaven.

The next day, Eric paid a visit. He said, "You're leaving."

Ben nodded. He moved around the kitchen, silently asking if Eric wanted tea. The Tshimshian shook his head.

"I appreciate your people taking care of the cabin for me. I...in my will, Ray Vecchio is to inherit the cabin. If he doesn't want it, I put in a codicil that leaves the cabin to your tribe."

"Do not trouble yourself, Fraser. We will take care of it."

"He's a good man. He'll just give it to you, not sell it."

Eric nodded. His dark eyes were sharp and piercing. "You won't be coming back."

Ben traced a whorl of wood on the kitchen table. "I will, for visits."

"Good luck to you..."

Ben heard the word 'Mountie' but of course Eric did not say it. He knew how much it hurt.

"Thank you kindly, Eric."

Ben left for Chicago the next morning.

V

If only...

Rain fell, turning the slushy snow to water, which in turn made the hard ground into mud. Everything was gray, brown and dirty.

Perfect, Ben thought with a certain grim amusement.

He walked up to the gates of the Zuko mansion. He said to the guards, "Tell your boss that Benton Fraser is here."

They looked at each other, then the taller one shrugged. He made a phone call from his cellphone and then waved Ben on to the front door. The door opened and the butler said, "Wait here."

Ben glanced around the foyer. It hadn't changed much since his first visit almost six years ago. Dark, old-fashioned furniture, much like the pieces in the Vecchio home, and a tall, winding staircase of polished oakwood. The crystal chandelier high above his head was weighted with prisms that sparkled in the sun, making diamond-shaped patterns on the light gold wallpaper.

The butler returned in three minutes. "This way, sir."

Ben followed him, his heart pounding but his limbs steady. He was wearing a wet powder-blue T-shirt and jeans and his favorite leather jacket. He walked past the butler, who closed the door of the study behind him.

It was as he remembered: dark furniture, walls lined with books, dark-blue velvet drapes at the windows.

The impressive mahagony desk was occupied by Frank Zuko, who was smiling in amusement as he sat in his red leather chair. Ben quickly glanced at the man who was leaning forward in a chair to the right of the desk, his body tense. Green eyes flashed fire.

"So you wanted to see me, Constable?"

"It's not 'Constable'anymore, Mr. Zuko."

Frankie nodded. "And...?"

Ben tried to keep his concentration on Zuko, which was very difficult. He could feel Ray's eyes boring into him, and could smell the man's cologne. Ray could have been in the closet. He still would have known that he was there. His Hunger made him strong.

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Zuko."

"Yes?"

"I wish to offer my services for your employ."

A hiss from his left made his heart pound harder. Then Ray growled, "What the hell are you doing, Fraser?"

"What kind of services, Con...Fraser?"

"I'm a sharpshooter. Marksman, actually. I wish to serve as your bodyguard."

The amusement was all over Frankie's handsome face. "Interesting, Fraser. And why would that be?"

"I need work."

"And you can't get work anywhere else?"

"Not that pays this well."

Frankie laughed. "That's true. And I don't suppose the RCMP will be wanting you back?"

"No."

"Frankie, don't listen to him." Ben's heart fluttered. Was Ray trying to protect him? "He can't be trusted." His heart sank, but he deserved that.

"Ray." Frankie looked with affection at his right-hand man. "He's got the...skills...I need."

"You've got me." The tone was stubborn.

"Yes, but you need a partner. I've got two other pairs to guard me, but you haven't got anyone."

Ray made an impatient noise. Ben could imagine the scowl on his face, his eyes emerald-hard. The Italian suddenly leaned his arms on Frankie's desk.

"I want the same deal for him."

Frankie looked at his special bodyguard for a moment, then nodded.

"What deal?" Ben asked.

"That you are my bodyguard but aren't used to enforce my Organization's policies. Nothing...permanent...will be assigned to you."

Ben felt his tenseness ease a little. He had been worried about the details.

"Agreed." He put his arms behind his back, his leather jacket sliding back slightly. His chest canted forward, the wet material of his shirt stretching across his nipples, and he parted his legs, standing with one knee slightly bent. "I have a clause to that deal, however."

"Shoot," Frankie said with his ever-present amusement.

"I want the rest of the deal. I want to share your bed."

So, you think this series is over? ;)

G.L./J.M.

E-mail: jeanniemarie@sprintmail.com.
(c) March 6, 2001