"Why must I be here?" Gypsy's plaintive question cut through the silence. There was only fifteen minutes left until the press conference began and Damien could not shake the feeling something wasn't quite right.

He should have been in a good mood. As promised Brina had called him not long after he got home the night before and told him her friend would be able to make something to protect Patrice. The item, in the form of a locket, would be delivered to Damien's office within the next few days. The only downside had been that Brina's friend could only promise one working talisman but as the second would be only for show he could provide a non-working version if Damien desired.

So this is what it is, Mr. Vail reflected as he sipped his coffee and watched a light stream of tourists and locals pass by on the sidewalk, to see without knowing. He set his the oversized white cup down upon the table and leaned back in his wooden chair, feet crossed at the ankles beneath the table, his handsome if somewhat narrow features arranged in pleasant contentment. He wore Italian leather shoes, dark socks, black slacks and a silk shirt so purple it was almost black, open at the throat, sleeves turned back just once at the cuffs. 

Dear Soldier boy,

I have this friend who drinks too much, swears too much, and fornicates constantly outside of wedlock and without the goal of procreation. How can I help this friend see the error of his ways and the path to salvation?

Yours in Christ,
Soul Samaritan in Salt Lake City.

-----

Soldier Boy Sez...

Does this guy you're talking about also beat the living shit out of any prissy little wise ass who tries to get smart with him? If he does, I think I know the guy. My advice to you is to never, ever, poke the bear.

Also, thank you very much for providing me with the name of your home city. Start running, bitch.

 A scream shattered the silence of the night. The shrill peaks and gasping valleys of the wail twined through the darkness. The sounds of pain and terror filled the night winds. The cry echoed from everywhere and nowhere. Walden Park held its trembling breath between the agonizing screams that echoed through its wooded depths.

Nathan Laurent swiveled his head. The night sounds came alive for him. His heightened hearing sorted through the music of the night like scanners. This motion gave his silhouette a predatory cast as he ran. He liked that.

He drew in a deep breath and allowed the park's 'Parfume de noir' to settle across his palate. He could taste the cold and bitter fear. The pain was sharp and acrid.

“I am truly sorry, Mr. And Mrs. Willoughby, but there is nothing more that we can do,” said Dr. Fred Patterson, Chief of Medicine at Hudson City Memorial Hospital. He frowned deeply, as he stared down at the patient lying comatose among a nest of wires and tubes. “Mason's injuries are too severe. We repaired what we could, but his lungs, heart and liver are failing. With total life support he'll probably last another two weeks, maybe three. Right now it's a question of when, not if.”

Evelyn Willoughby choked back a sob as she turned her face into her husband Thomas' broad chest. Her hands clenched tightly in his jacket.

(Note: this story takes place between the events of New Kid in Town, part 2 and part 3, and before the Bachelor Auction in TCQ)

Le Mastre's Park, Hudson City's answer to New York's Central Park lay under a thick blanket of snow. The trees were bare, limbs heavy with layers of ice and snow. The air was crisp and still. Lights dotted the darkness, newly installed lamp posts along the Park's walk ways and bike paths, each a small oasis amongst the palpable darkness of a starless, moonless night. The park was hushed, the silence lay as heavy as the snow. There was a sense of menace to the air, danger in the darkness.

He was sitting in a comfortable brown recliner, a glass of ice-cold milk and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies (he knew they were his grandmothers instantly) sat on a cherry-wood butlers table next to him. The room was warm – paneled in some dark blonde wood, with rust colored art upon the walls and an indigo rug taking up much of the floor space. Sunlight slanted into the room from a set of French doors just to his left, muted slightly by gauzy cream-colored drapes.