"Where are we?" She looked around, seeing network of roads coming together, and tons of traffic surrounding us.
"Denver."
"Colorado!"
I grinned and nodded. "The one and only."
"Good god, woman. I can't believe you stayed awake all that time."
"Who said I did?" I laughed at the glare I got.
"Cute. I can't believe you've been driving that long."
"And how you can sleep that long, I'll never understand."
"Yeah, well it wasn't that great of sleep. Let's get a hotel. We both need some sleep, in an actual bed."
Driving around for a while, I finally found a Motel 8. Room key in hand, we unloaded the car and headed in. The room was like any of the others we'd stayed at all week. We got two beds, as I insisted. This sleeping in a chair to watch the door crap wasn't going to happen anymore. I immediately closed the heavy drapes so the early afternoon sun wouldn't bother us.
"What a day," Hopper flopped down on one of the beds, falling back, arms over her head, legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
"No kidding." I sat on the edge of my own bed, untying my shoes, anxious to get them off. "I think my ass is officially flat." Hopper chuckled, rolling onto her side, slowly clawing at the bedding until the comforter was pulled down, white sheets revealed.
"Can I just die now?" She asked, kicking her shoes off, one hitting the wall with a BANG. We both laughed in our tired delirium.
"Nope. Not yet." I wiggled out of my jeans and threw my own covers back, pulling them up over me. Finally we were both bundled, my eyes drooping further and further with each ticking of my watch, which I hadn't even bothered to take off.
"Sleep well, Ginny." Hopper rolled over onto her stomach, head facing away from me.
"'Night."
$$$

Blinking several times, I was finally awake. The room was shrouded in near-darkness, and the red numbers on the alarm clock told me it was after seven-thirty p.m. Laying on my side, I rolled over to my stomach, head turning to face the other bed where I could just make out the glimmer of a pair of open eyes.
"Hey." Hopper's voice was soft, that recently brought from sleep.
"Hi." I sighed happily as I adjusted my body, getting more comfortable, tucking my arms under my chest to help support my breasts.
"Feel better?" I heard movement from the other bed, and assumed she, too, was getting more comfortable.
"Yeah, feel great. You?"
"Yeah. I think I'm hungry, though."
"You think? Not sure?" I was amused, and heard a soft chuckle across the four feet of space between our beds.
"Yes, well I'm a woman, allowed to not be sure about anything." She explained.
"This is very true. I'm just warm and comfortable. Could stay here for awhile."
"I figure we'll stay here for a bit, then take off in the early morning hours." We were both silent for a good while, and I started to wonder if Hopper had drifted back to sleep. "How did your visit go?"
"It was good. I miss her so much during the rest of the year, you know?" I asked, turning to my side, facing Hopper's bed.
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"Well, she can't talk to you. Why do you miss her?" Hopper's voice was very gentle, the innocent curiosity coming through.
"I don't know. I talk to her, knowing I'll never get any answerers or comments back, but I still talk. I tell her everything that's going on with me, anything new I've done or whatever. I don't know, it's weird, it's like I do hear her answer and comment. Does that sound crazy?"
"No. I talk to my dad sometimes."
"Really?"

"Yep. Will she ever be able to talk or anything, again?"
"Who knows. The doctors are stumped. They can't make heads or tails of her condition, yet there are times when she's found huddled in a corner down the hall, her bedroom door wide open. She'll be sitting there, staring as though someone put her there, yet nobody ever does."
"She gets up and walks out the door?"
"I guess. I don't know. She'll come back to me, I know it." I said, a soft smile curling my lips.
"I hoe she does, Ginny. You keep that faith, and she will."
I smiled at those words. "Thank you. You know, I wish so badly that I would have gotten to know her better when I was a kid. Talked to her more, grown to understand her better as a person, and not just a pesky older sister." I chuckled. "I used to drive her crazy, always wanting to know what she was doing, and begging her to pay attention to me."
"She's seven years older?"
"Yeah."
"So you weren't close?"
"Eh, as close as a kid and a teenager can be. You figure, by time I was five, she was already almost thirteen."
"Tough age." I heard more movement, straining my eyes to try and see what she was up to. I could just barely make out the outline of her raised knees, tented under the covers. She lay on her back, hands behind her head.
"Yeah. I have a lot of regrets where Cora is concerned." Sighing, I thought of my sister, possibly forever locked inside her own mind. "Do you have any?" I asked eventually.
"What? Regrets?" I could again see the glimmer of Hopper's eyes as she looked my way. I nodded, then realized she probably couldn't see me.
"Yeah."
"Hmm," she was quiet for a moment, then said, "I really regret those horrible parachute pants in the eighties. You know the ones I mean, with all the zippers? Oh! And what was up with the hair? Yes, I admit I had the lion mane going. Must have caused my very own hole in the ozone from all the Aqua Net."

I was laughing, then threw a pillow over at her. "Come on, Hopper. Really." She caught the pillow, stuffing it behind her head to my dismay.
"Oh, you mean like serious stuff?" I could see the white gleam of her teeth. "Okay, okay. Yes. I have tons of regrets." She was quiet for a moment, and I decided to give her time, though I did hope she'd answer. I got my wish. "I regret most of the past twenty years." She stopped. I wasn't about to let those flood gates close completely.
"Why?"
"Because I've made an absolute mess of my life. I've made my brother preach about people like me, and I've made my mother embarrassed by her own daughter."
I lifted my head to rest it on my palm. "How long has it been since you've talked to or seen them?"
"Oh, let me see," she blew out a breath. "I haven't seen Brian since the day I was convicted, more than fifteen years ago. He used to send me letters while I was inside, telling me about all the evils I had done, and how he used me as an example for his congregation of what not to do. My mom, well that's a little different story. She was there during the entire trial, as well as she came to see me inside."
"How many years did you do?"
"Eight. She used to come about once a month at first, then every couple, few months, and finally once a year. I haven't seen her since Christmas, about five years ago. I regret not telling my dad that I loved him one more time before he died. I regret the fact that he would be so disappointed in me." Abruptly Hopper turned to her side, her eyes burning into me. I couldn't see them, but sure felt them. "I regret getting you involved in all of this, in my mess. I'm really sorry, Ginny. You have a life, a job, a cat, whatever. You don't deserve this."
"It was a bad situation, Hopper."
"Yes, it was. Is."
I jumped when I felt the softest touch against my throat.
"Does it still hurt?"
I could feel my heart pounding, slamming against the very skin that fingertip was touching.
"A little." I swallowed, feeling that finger drift away.

"I'm so sorry, Ginny," Hopper whispered, her hand safely laying on the mattress of her own bed again. "I had no right to do that to you, and you had, have, every right to your freedom. When it's all said and done, I hope you don't hate me." The last was said so quietly that I almost missed the words. Pushing my covers aside, I went to my knees next to Hopper's bed, putting us more on an eye to eye level. This close I could also see her eyes, staring into mine.
"I don't hate you, Hopper." My voice was almost as quiet as hers. "I really don't."
"Call me Brock?" she asked, sounding almost like an uncertain child.
"Brock. Beautiful name. Different and unique, like you." I smiled, and she smiled shyly back.
"You know, I wish we could have met under different circumstances. On the street, had coffee, or something. You seem like such a nice, truly good person."
I was stunned by her words, staring at her for a moment, unable to think of a thing to say. Shaking myself out of it, I lightened my own mood. "There's a maker over there," I nodded toward the tiny, two-cup maker on the dresser. Hopper, I men, Brock, smiled, then her stomach let itself be known. I laughed. "Guess your stomach made that decision for you. Come on," standing, I reached my hand down. "Let's go get some food."
$$$
As we drove on the next day, Brock showed me various places in downtown Denver where she had hung out as a wild and unruly teenager. I think it was a bitter/sweet moment for her, looking back on all the building and places she used to haunt with Austin and the bunch. When she seemed to start to get uncomfortable, we headed on out.
I'd never been to Colorado, and certainly not to Arizona. The rock formations, and the way you were surrounded by blue and purple mountains was breath taking. Every direction were the Rocky Mountains.
"This must be so beautiful in the winter, when all the peaks are covered with snow." I said, looking out the driver's side window as I continued on, drivers whizzing by me even though it was snowing, and the streets were getting slick.
"It's gorgeous. Especially to be up there," Brock pointed toward the peaks. "Really amazing."
"Wow. Where are all the trees?" Looking along the side of the highway there were plenty of rock formations and shrubs, grasses, and a smattering of trees. I was used to trees as far as the eye could see. Brock laughed.
"You're not in Minnesota anymore, Dorothy."

"Yeah, no shit." I drove on, turning the radio up as I was finally able to get a damn radio station in again. Kelly Clarkson's 'Since You Been Gone' came on, and I cranked that sucker, tapping and bobbing my head to the beat, singing the words that I knew, which were few. I could feel Brock's eyes on me the entire time, but I continued anyway, enjoying the hell out of a cool song. On a particularly straight stretch of road, I let go of the wheel, raising my hands as much as I could in the confines of the SUV.
"Ginny! The road!" Brock exclaimed, trying to grab the wheel. I slapped at her hands, grinning madly at her.
"Come on, Brock. Allow yourself to have fun once in a while." All I got in answer to my proclamation was a glare. She didn't like my giggle at her expression, either.
"You pose a rather interesting relationship between Ginny and Hopper." Ronald said, again thumbing through my novel. "Certainly not the typical kidnapper/kidnappee at all."
"No. I think that's one of the great things about the story is that it isn't your typical fare in many ways." I crossed a leg over the other, trying to get my screaming back to stop. Sitting in one spot always drove me over the edge- I was a woman of action.
"Do you think that has to do with the success of your novel? Did you expect this sort of reaction?"
"Oh, heavens, no!" I laughed at the thought. "I had actually written this story many years ago as a short story, just something that came to mind that I wanted to get out on paper. I printed it out and had it bound, then had my students read it in one of my classes. With their encouragement, I decided to bring it all out again, and add to it, expanding it to the novel you hold in your hands now."
"I'd say it's a good thing they did, too." Ronald Stone smiled. "It truly is a wonderful story."
"Thank you, Ronald. That means a lot."
"Have your students read the finished product?"
"Of course. They each got a copy if they passed my class." I gave him a devilish grin, and laughter was heard from the audience.
"Wow," Brock stood at the rail, forearms holding her weight as she looked out, the heavy afternoon sun directly overhead. "This is one of the most amazing things I've ever seen."
"Isn't it?" I stood beside her, though did not touch the railing. I knew it was sturdy, had to be, but I was still a chicken shit. Just looking over the edge made my stomach churn. "I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon, and had planned on it when I took my trip."

"I've never been further west than Colorado." Brock picked up a rock, tossing it up in the air only to catch it again, testing it's weight. With a mighty heave, the rock went soaring over the edge, down into a great, natural abyss, it's landing never to be heard by us. "Just amazing."
"When I was a kid we used to go to Anaheim, you know, the whole Disneyland thing." I watched progress of the mule tours as they made their way down into the great maw, almost black blobs.
"Never been there, either."
"Oh, you're missing out, my friend. However," I got brave and took a step closer, arms crossed tightly over my chest, as though I were trying to hold everything in so it wouldn't fall over the edge. "Disney World in Florida kicks Disneyland's ass, hands down. It truly is the happiest place on earth."
"Got a thing for Mickey, huh?" She looked at me, grinning. I raised a brow.
"Tigger, thank you very much."
Her guffaw echoed out across the canyon. "I suppose he would be more energetic in bed."
"Oh, you're bad." I smacked her on the arm and headed a bit further down the path, smiling at a couple as the three of us tried to squeeze between a huge wall of boulders and the rail. Unfortunately I got the side with the rail. Twisting my body quickly to give them even more room, my sunglasses made a suicidal jump down almost six thousand feet. "Shit!"
"Ohhhh, what do you think archaeologists will think when they find those in a thousand years?"
I turned, seeing Brock looking over the rail, following the progress of my glasses. I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up.
"They'll probably think it was some ancient tool used to wipe your ass or something."
Brock smirked. "Yeah, there ya go. Come on, I'm hungry."
$$$
One of the many restaurants at the canyon served the usual fare- hamburgers, hotdogs, chicken fingers, and others. We got our food and sat at a table for four next to the window so we could look out at the canyon as we ate. I noticed a couple sit not far from us. They looked to be in their late forties, early fifties. Talking, they didn't much notice us until, the woman dropped her napkin as she unfolded the silverware from it. Brock noticed and grabbed it, handing it to her with a smile.

"Thank you." The woman said, looking at her for a moment, then turned back to her husband. She leaned in, getting him to do the same. Speaking in very quiet voices, they looked over at us repeatedly. I could tell Brock was getting very uncomfortable.
"Shit," she whispered, almost gulping the rest of the bite that had been in her mouth, down.
"Do you think they recognized you?" I asked, eyeing the older couple. Abruptly the man got up, heading toward the restrooms. He reached into his pocket as he went, and just before he disappeared into the men's room, I noticed him pull out a cell phone. "Shit!" I hissed. "Let's go."
Standing, I tossed some money to the table and grabbed the backpack I carried. Without a word, Brock took one more bite, then we headed out, leaving half-finished lunches and growling tummies behind.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Brock buried her face in her hands, scooting down in the seat, as though she were trying to hide from the world. "I am such a total fucking idiot." Running hands through her hair, she looked all around us, seeing only normal drivers getting from here to there like everyone else. "I should never have gone to such a fucking public place."
"I'm so sorry, Brock." I wanted to cry, knowing that she had gone because of me. I may have gotten her busted, and my heart hurt. "So sorry."
"What the hell are you apologizing for?" she asked, incredulous. I looked over at her, just as confused.
"What do you mean? For making you go out there-"
"Oh, Ginny," she reached out, about to touch my face, then dropped her hand, looking out the window again. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's all me."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I don't know. Just keep driving, I guess. Let's get off this highway, though."
"Okay."
My heart was pounding, and I felt sick. The lunch that I did have was starting to make itself known. Maybe it had been good that I hadn't finished it.
"Pull over."
"What?" I was taken aback by the sudden command.

"Pull over. Do it, now."
With a screech of the tires, I found us a safe, private place and looked at her, waiting for instructions, or at least an explanation.
"Get out. Come on. Get out." She nearly pulled the seatbelt out of it's hiding place in her haste to get out of the car. I followed suit, not sure what was going on. We met in front of the car, and she slammed something into my hand. Looking at it, I realized that it was a wad of money.
"What are you doing?"
"Go." She ripped the keys from my hand.
"Wait, no, what-"
"Go!" She got into my face. "Get the fuck out of here, Ginny." She pushed past me, heading toward the driver's side. Coming to my senses, I looked down at the money, then stormed over to where Brock was about to open the driver's door. I slammed it shut, startling her. She looked at me, but her surprise was short lived.
"What the fuck are you doing? I said go, damn it!" She pointed in the direction of the surrounding area, like she was telling a dog to fetch.
"No! I'm not leaving you."
"You don't have a choice, Ginny." Her eyes were blue fire, and I met them. "I'm letting you go, now get! I'm not getting you hurt in all this shit. My shit, now get the fuck out of here!" She shoved me, knocking the wind out of me, but I held my ground.
"No. I'm going, too."
"Ginny, don't do this," she scrubbed at her eyes for a moment, then looked at me again, brow creased. "Please, just go. You'll be fine. Find some motorist, call the cops, call a cab, whatever. You'll be okay. Please just go." She was pleading with me now, which shocked the hell out of me.
"No." My voice was quiet, resolve firmly in place. "I want to see you find that happiness that you want so badly. Please let me help you, Brock. Please." I looked into her eyes, praying that she'd see just how much I wanted that for her, wanted that for me.
"Why?" She whispered. I smiled.
"Because. No one ever has before."

Yet again, I found the wind knocked out of me as I was gathered in a massive hug, crushed to her, a hand on the back of my head, pulling me so my cheek rested against her neck. As quickly as it started, it ended.
"Get in. Hurry!" Two doors slammed in the afternoon quiet, and the engine was revved to life. About to spin out of our hiding place, Brock looked at me, fingers holding my chin so I had to look at her. "If I tell you to duck, you do it, got me?" I nodded, and she let go, getting us back out to the road.
The day seemed to stand still as we pulled back out into traffic, which was relatively light for a Tuesday at noon. The sound seemed to be turned down, wild life hiding, watching, waiting. My breath held, too. Hell, time itself seemed to hold. We looked in every direction, trying not to look like we were looking out for our lives. Cars, shiny chrome and metal reflecting the hot Arizona sun. Every eye that met mine seemed to be accusing me of a crime I wasn't aware of. I had never felt so paranoid in all my life, and wondered if this must be what Brock had felt every second of the last week.
Cold, tickly beads of sweat were running down the side of my head, making my hair stick to me. There was a weight to the air, a tension, that I had never felt before. Something was out there, like a monster waiting for its chance to attack.
Then it did.
As we drove down Pine Street, a cop was driving the opposite way, and as soon as he spotted the red SUV, his lights flared up, as did his siren, as did my breathing, making my lungs hurt as they finally filled with air.
"Here we go,"
My hand instinctively found the handle on the door as the petal truly was put to the metal, and my head was forced back into the headrest. Brock had both hands on the wheel, save for when she had to shift, eyes focused on the road as she sped down the street, like an obstacle course, avoiding one car after another. My heart stopped as an older woman was about to step from the curb, seeing us just in time to fall back onto her ass on the sidewalk as we whipped around the corner, wailing sirens behind us, becoming a chorus.
"We've got to lose them before they get the helicopters in the air!" I yelled, looking back over my shoulder, seeing the officer in the passenger seat on the radio.
"What?!" Brock bared her teeth as we screeched around another corner.
"They'll get choppers out, with infrared heat sensors to find us in case they can't see us." I explained. She stole a glance at me.
"Jesus, Ginny! What the fuck kind of TV do you watch?"

Street after street we charged down, the SUV picking up speed, and jumping curbs, into fields and lands that was harder for the cop's cars to follow. An immense cloud of dust had gathered around us as we hit the desert, and I tried with everything in me to see where the cops were.
Thrilled when we plowed onto another street, paved street, that is, the entire car jolting me, making my skeletal frame feel as though it had come unhinged. Looking frantically around, I saw about half the cars behind us that had been before, and they were far behind.
"Shit," I muttered, looking around, to the left, right, behind us again, and in front. Where had the other cars gone?
"Where are they?" Brock asked, making another wild turn, heading into heavy traffic.
"I don't know. They're still back there, but only a handful." I turned as far as the seatbelt would allow, not daring to take the thing off. "Oh, shit!" Two of the cop cars that had disappeared careened around the corner, about four blocks behind us, smashing into the line of cops, one black and white ramming head on, flipping over the hood of his colleague, spinning in the air, and landing on the roof, skidding down the pavement in a wave of sparks. "Hit it! Fucking hit it!"
Brock slammed the SUV nearly to its limits as she pushed the speed, using the accident to her advantage to get away.
"God, I hope no one was hurt," I whispered, turning back in my seat.
"Just as long as they leave me the fuck alone,"
$$$
"You okay?" I heard quietly behind me. I nodded, slowly getting to my feet, closing the toilet lid as I did and flushing. "Here." A warm cloth was put in my hands, and I gratefully took it, wiping at my mouth and entire face. Next a plastic cup of cold water was put in my trembling hand. "Drink it, Ginny." I did, glad it wasn't glass as it probably would have broken a tooth, I was shaking so bad.
"I'm okay." I looked up into very concerned blue eyes. "How do you do this? How can you handle this?" I asked, making my way to the bed, needing to sit before I fell. Brock sighed.
"I don't know. Maybe I'm used to it." I felt the weight of the bed as she sat next to me, almost touching.
"I hate throwing up. Gives me the worst taste." I grimaced.

"Take a drink and swirl the water around. Spit it back in the cup. I'll toss it for you."
Following her advice, I was grateful to have it taken away. Mouth feeling fresher, and certainly cleaner, I laid back on the lumpy mattress.
"Should we turn the news on?" I asked, following her progress to the bed, with my eyes. She shook her head.
"No. I need some peace. If it's going to happen, it'll happen. Right now I don't want to think about it." She walked over to the window, shutting the heavy curtains, but peeking out the small slit where they didn't quiet meet all the way. Standing, I walked over to her, stopping just behind.
"That was scary today," my words were soft.
"Yeah." The dark head hung for a moment before Brock turned, facing me. She looked so tense, so scared. "Why didn't you run, Ginny? I don't want you hurt anymore. Why can't you see that?"
"And why can't you see that I've been running from things my entire life. What you did, stealing the money, kidnapping me, none of it was good, right. But I don't think you deserve any of this," I indicated the small, smelly room around us. "I can't help but wonder who you would have been if your dad had lived." I smiled, wistful. "Amazing, I bet."
Brock's eyes dropped as she looked at my neck, exposed by the v-neck t-shirt I wore. Reaching up, she traced the fading lines of the bruises, softest touch of a fingertip, sending chills down my spine.
"I will never hurt you again, Ginny." She looked into my eyes, and I saw truth there.
"I know." Taking her hand, the skin so warm, I placed the palm flat against the exposed skin of my throat and upper chest, sliding it down a bit, over my heart. "It's crazy, but though all this, you've made me feel alive again." I smiled, stunned by my own words, not fully realizing their truth until I spoke them. "I sit at home, typing up stories about things I don't care about, not facing the world. Not taking any chances or risks. Safe. My world is filled with safe."
"That's not such a bad thing," she breathed. I nodded.
"It can be. If you're dead." I covered her hand with both hands. "This beats again, because of you." I could feel the immense heat of Brock's skin through the thin fabric of my shirt, and it burned me to the core. "Till the end, Brock. I'm in this with you till the end."
My eyes seemed to close of their own accord as I saw that beautiful mouth coming closer, finally touching mine. The pressure was soft, but firm, that hand sliding down,

brushing against a nipple on its way to my waist. I gasped at the sensation, but didn't break the kiss. My arms went up around Brock's neck, pulling her more fully to me, feeling that familiar body against mine, all warmth and softness.
The kiss deepened, me inviting her inside. The exploration was slow, careful, hands running up and down my back, sending even more chills my way. I felt the soft warmth of Brock's neck as my hand weaved its way through her hair, feeling the strong jaw, graceful neck, which I wanted to taste.
Breaking from her mouth, I trailed kisses across her face, and finally down, barely tasting that strong, proud jaw, and finally smelling the saltiness of the skin of her throat. Brock moaned softly, baring more for me, her hair gliding against my other hand as she tilted her head back.
The skin was so warm, amazingly so, and supple, giving to the pressure of my lips. The kisses began to get bigger, wetter, until I ran my tongue up the column of her throat, kissing her chin, then finding a waiting mouth again.
We were moving, me forward, Brock backward, until she sat on the end of the bed, placing me between her spread knees. I stood there, looking down at her as she looked up at me. Nothing was said as she wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her head against my chest. I cradled her head, kissing the top of her dark hair, running my fingers through it.
She began to nuzzle between my breasts, and my eyes closed involuntarily, feeling the hot breath coaxing my skin to come alive. Hands began to wander again, full-fingered, up the sides of my thighs, over my hips and waist, then began to bunch up my shirt as they continued, revealing skin that needed to be touched so badly. I raised my arms, allowing my shirt to be removed completely, shaking my head to free tangled strands of hair.
Those magical hands roamed down the front of my torso, not stopping at any point or lingering. When I felt the softness glide over my stomach, my eyes shut again. I was so torn- it felt too good to keep them open, but I wanted to not miss a single moment, either.
Warm breath, wet tongue, gliding up the center line of my stomach, just to the underwire of my bra. I sigh escaped my throat, and my hands found that thick hair again, gently pressing her toward me. Wet kisses covered the entire area, little nips here and there. Then that hot breath was targeted over my right breast, causing the nipple to grow rigid from the moisture and anticipation. When it was sucked into a hot mouth, material and all, I groaned, arching into it, wanted Brock to absolutely devour me.
I reached back behind me, fumbling with the clips until I heard the satisfying snap, and felt the straps loosen. The bra slipped down my body, and I tossed it aside, leaving me bare. Our eyes met, and Brock smiled. I smiled back, then cried out as that same nipple was taken a set of even, white teeth, and tugged at. I was clawing at her head now, silently urging her to take more.

With a yelp, I found myself laying flat on my back, Brock straddling my legs. She held herself up on her arms, looking down at me. She bent down, kissing me, rough, dangerous and possessive. I met her need for need, clawing at her shirt, wanting so badly to feel her skin against mine. She helped me, trying to stay attached to my mouth. We both realized this wasn't going to work, so switched to trying to get undressed as quickly as possible.
Finally, on my back again, I watched Brock's slow progress as she laid herself down, inch by inch of bare, warm, sexy as hell, skin.
She sighed into my mouth as full contact was made. I ran my hands up and over her back, feeling every muscle work as she moved to my neck, one hand finding my breast again, teasing, feeling, taking me to a place I had no idea existed. As she worked her way lower, there wasn't a single part of me that she missed, her tongue lapping up any last bit of resolve I may have had somewhere.
"Oh, god!" When her tongue created a path through a sea of want, I nearly jumped off the bed. She held me down, exploring, tasting and carving her initials upon my eternal memory.
My body jerked in almost painful spasms, Brock kissing and licking her way back up my body, spending a few moments on each breast before she reached my mouth. I kissed her with a renewed vigor. Exhaustion by ecstasy be damned!
Pushing her to her back, I ran my hands all over the unbelievable body that lay before me, bare and beautiful. I wanted to taste every last inch of her, too. I brought a fingertip to one of her nipples, amazed at just how hard it was, and how much it felt like my own.
"Oh please, Ginny," my hand was grabbed and drug down her body.
"I want to do what you did," I started to move down, but she stopped me.
"No," she gasped, her need taking her breath away. "I haven't been tested. No."
"How do you know I haven't been? It doesn't matter," trying to go back to my task, I was stopped again.
"Please, Ginny. You have a full life ahead of you," my hand was thrust in the wetness between her legs, and I decided that wasn't the time to argue about it. I could feel how hard she was, and it excited me to no end. I kissed her as my fingers moved against her, trying to bring even one-tenth of the pleasure she'd brought to me
Brock's eyes squeezed shut, her breathing heavy and erratic. Head thrown back, her thighs clamped down around my wrist, her hand holding me hard against her as she throbbed against me. I watched in awe at the magnificence that was Brock's pleasure.

She was trembling, so I pulled the blankets around us, and took her into my arms, brushing the hair away from her face, watching as her breathing became a bit more normal. She swallowed several times, then turned, face buying in my neck. I held her, stroking her back, tucking her in.
Sighing in contentment, I fell into a peaceful sleep.
$$$
BANG! BANG! BANG!
My head snapped up, looking around frantically.
"Brock Madson! This is the police. You are surrounded. Come up with your hands up and no one will get hurt."
"Brock," jumping up, I saw her behind me, head turned toward the door. We looked at each other, then she jumped out of bed, hurrying over to her clothes. I followed suit, heart pounding out of my chest. "What are we going to do?" I nearly cried, so terrified.
"I need you to trust me." She tugged on her jeans, not bothering with the underwear, almost ripping the material of her brat as she snapped it into place, then her shirt.
"Of course I trust you," pulling on my shoes, I tried to tie them, but wasn't having much luck. I couldn't get my fingers to do what I needed them to.
"You have to the count of five, then we're coming in!" The officer yelled, his voice loud, but muffled through the walls.
"Please," Brock grabbed me, pulling me to her in a crushing hug. "trust me." She looked at me, begging me with her eyes. I met her gaze, trying to say so much that I didn't understand. She smiled, as if she had understood, then kissed me. With that, she grabbed her gun from her bag, then grabbed me, pulling me to her, tightly, almost painfully, my back to her front. "I'm coming out!" she yelled, putting the gun at my temple.
Stunned, almost stumbling, my hands grabbed the forearm that was around my neck, the hold getting tighter as she opened the motel room door. I gasped as blinding lights met us, red and blue, red and blue, red and blue. Officers stood behind their open doors, using them as shields, guns drawn and aimed right at us.
"Don't do anything stupid or I'll blow her fucking head off!" Brock yelled, the barrel of the gun pressing into my head. In a strange moment of thought I envisioned some strange crop circle-looking mark in the skin.
"Let her go, Brock. You're outnumbered and surrounded. There's no place to go now. Let's end this."

"Fuck you!"
"Come on, Brock. Don't do this. You're out of options. We'll do everything in our power to help you, but to do that, you have to let go of the girl. Let her go!"
"Brock, please," I gasped, so terrified for her. "They'll kill you." I had no idea what she was doing, but I was looking around frantically, trying to make a mental tally of just how many officers were there. She didn't stand a chance, and I had no idea what she had planned. If anything.
Time slowed again, the sun beating down on me, making me feel like I could melt. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I heard shouting, though nothing made sense to me, no words intelligible. All I knew was that suddenly the cold metal of the gun was no longer touching me, and Brock's arm was slipping from me, and with a small caress to the back of my neck, I was shoved, hard. Stumbling, seeing the ground getting closer, hands were on me again, and I was almost being drug as the first shots rang out.
"No!" I cried out, trying to get away from those hands, but they were like a vice, and I was shoved into the back of an ambulance, more shots echoing into the afternoon, BANG! BANG! BANG!!
I turned in time to see Brock go down as the doors were slammed shut.
"So basically, if you're in the mood for a happy-go-lucky ending, this isn't the novel for you." Ronald Stone smiled, and so did I, after shaking myself out of my reverie.
"Not every story has a happy ending. Tragedy comes in all shapes and sizes."
"What do you say to your critics who say you've simply taken a news story from twenty-odd years ago an turned into your very own fiction?" Ronald shut the book with a quiet thump.
"Well," I sighed, looking at my hands for a moment, "I'd say that you'll have critics no matter what you do. I think a critic is someone who is jealous because you thought of it before they did." I smiled, full of charm, and Ronald laughed.
"Well, it was certainly a pleasure to have you here today, Virginia." He turned to the camera. "Virginia Kelly, 'Eight Days In October,' available in stores now." He turned back to me, taking my hand. "Thank you so much for coming, Virginia, and good luck to you." Back to the camera. "Until next time, America," he gave his signature salute, and we were called clear.
I looked at the audience, clapping and smiling. My eyes found the redhead in the front row away, also clapping, warm, brown eyes smiling. I smiled back. I knew beneath the veneer those blue eyes were twinkling.

The Ninth Day- ten months later
(the hidden chapter)
I tried to be patient, my knee jiggling like mad as my foot tapped a nervous beat.
"Miss Roth?"
My head snapped up at the woman's voice, and I stood.
"Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Wilma Lawson, director of Pine Gardens. If you'll follow me please?" she said after we shook hands. I followed her down the familiar halls of Cora's home, wondering what this was all about. She indicated that I should precede her into a medium sized, paneled office.
"What is this about, Miss Lawson?" I asked, seating myself in a chair in front of her desk that she sat behind. She entwined her fingers on the blotter of her desk. "Is Cora okay?"
"Oh yes, she's doing fine. Miss Roth, about a month ago we received a letter from an anonymous party who wishes to sponsor the removal of your sister from this facility, relocating her to a facility in Minneapolis."
"What?" Incredulous, I leaned forward in my chair. "Who?"
"We only just found out today. We arranged this meeting with you and the liaison, Sarah Kelly."
I turned in my chair as a beautiful woman entered the office. She wore a skirt suit in brown, which complimented her long red hair and brown eyes.
"Miss Roth," she extended a hand and I stood to shake it. I looked at her, taking in the full face, carefully shaped brows and delicate ears that peeked out from beneath the hair, hoops dangling from their lobes. My eyes met Sarah Kelly's again, and I froze.
"Sarah is here representing the Winston Myles Carter fund."
"Oh," I breathed, my head reeling.
"Shall we discuss the details, Ginny?" Sarah said, the barest quirk of the corner of her mouth making my heart beat again.
"Yes. Let's do."
It's been four years since the generous donation from Winston Myles Carter IV, and Cora seems happy in her new home, which is three miles from the home I share with Sarah Kelly. Imagine my surprise when I saw her!

I had to know, had to know what had happened that day. Brock had been hit, several time, in fact. The crazy thing is, she had carried around that iron frying pan of mine all those days, stuffed in her bag along with her gun. I hadn't even felt it against me that day, I'd been so scared. It had saved her life, keeping the slugs away from her more vital areas.
After I'd been whisked off to the hospital to make sure I was okay, then interrogated for hours by a victorious police force, and the FBI, Brock had been collected, formally arrested, and taken to the hospital for surgery to remove nine bullets from her body. She lived, and she escaped. Tsk tsk for careless officers who think flirting with pretty nurses is more important than guarding a dangerous criminal.
Months of recovery after plastic surgery, a whole new look, and whole new name, a whole new life, Brock found me.
Oh, and by the way, Cora smiled for the first time today on command. The doctor said she's making progress.
My life is nothing but boring, now. Who knows, maybe someday I'll write a book about it.
The End

Storm Chaser

Some people have their futures set by their parents' station in life. Some people's futures are set by circumstances, and some people just don't have any idea what their future will be.
I'm one of the pre - destined, though I prefer to call it pre - cursed. My story was set, and now I get to live out the legacy my mother gave me the day she died, and the day I was reborn, before I was even born.
This is my story. This is her story. This is our story.
&&&
"God damnit!" Dale slammed her hand down on the steering wheel of her small, compact car. Days like this she wished she had a Hummer or a tank, and could just drive over the idiots who apparently had no clue how to drive.. They stopped, or never start, because they don't pay attention to a damn thing. Traffic had been backed up for more than an hour, and Dale Bailey was at the end of her rope, and instead wanted to use said rope to strangle the two idiots who hadn't been paying attention, and therefore caused an accident that made everyone late.
The blonde tapped her frustration out on her steering wheel, deciding that slamming her hand did nothing but make her hand hurt. She glanced over to the passenger seat, growling in her throat when she saw the metal case that was belted in. She needed to get the specimen to the lab before the water samples were damaged, and before anyone was alerted that she had swiped it in the first place.
"Damn it." Never had she cursed so much in her life until she moved to a bigger city. Growing up in Plainsville, Georgia, after earning her masters in chemistry, Dale had taken a job at the prestigious Murtz Institute in Chicago. She'd been there for three years, and loved her job, though despised the traffic. Some days she missed the slow, laidback life she'd left behind. Then she remembered her father was there, so decided that maybe Chicago wasn't so bad after all.
To try and distract herself from the rigors of big city driving, the researcher turned up the radio, pushing buttons until she found a station she could live with. Fairly removed from pop culture and all its media forms, Dale had no clue who the artist was, nor the song, but it didn't grate on her nerves too badly, so decided to give it a shot. At least it wasn't rap, whiney R&B or twangy country. Anything else she could stomach.

Dale's older brother often called her every parent's wet dream. As a child and teenager, she didn't drink, do drugs, party, have sex or mouth off. She was a perfect child - dutiful, intelligent and driven. Unbelievably driven.
Since she'd been a small child, Dale had been curious about the world, what made it tick, taking apart whatever she could get her hands on, then putting it back together. Sometimes she was able to get it to work again, other times not. But either way, her mind never stopped working. Even now, as she sat in traffic, she was thinking ten steps ahead, to the testing of her sample. She was trying to calculate in her head what she'd need.
Her attention was caught for a second by the rumble through the heavy, dark clouds. A storm was brewing, and it looked like it would be a doozy. With the holdup in traffic, it would be a long night for Dale. She sighed heavily, resting her head against the cool glass of the driver's side window.
&&&
Randy Hobbs was chewing on three sticks of Wrigley gum, one stick never sweet enough for his pallet. His cheek bulged out as he bobbed to the music coming out of his truck radio. The traffic had just started moving again, which he was glad for. It's not the he was looking forward to getting to his mother - in - law's house and fix her dryer, again, it's just that he was tired of sitting on his ass. He was a man of action, and was quickly getting bored.
"Man, look at them clouds," he muttered to himself, rolling down his side window to stick his heat out a bit, looking up at the sky. Blowing a whistle through his teeth, he was surprised when a sudden, massive gust of wind drowned it right out, the pressure nearly making him swallow his gum.

&&&
Dale was finally getting into a song that came on when her brows narrowed. Up ahead, above the slowly moving traffic, she saw . . . lightning? Almost a horizontal flash of it.
"What the hell was that?"
She wasn't allowed to ponder that thought for long as a speeding corvette, tired of waiting in his lane, made his way up the shoulder of the road to Dale's right. The inexperienced driver, taking his Daddy's car for a spin, hit a rut in the side of the highway and smashed into side rail, bouncing off and right into Dale's 2006, brand new Volkswagon Rabbit. She didn't have time to react as suddenly she was viciously pitched to the left, her head slamming into the driver's side window. The crack of the glass barely registered before her upper body was pitched to the right, her legs caught under the smashed steering column and the front of the car, smashed in when the blonde's car had been shoved into the Hummer next to her.
The last thing Dale remembered seeing was a blinding bolt of lightning, which seemed to flash right over her car, then all went black.
&&&
Her face was pale, deathly pale, as there was no heartbeat. Her shirt was soft to the touch, except for where the wet, sticky blood was gathering. A small push, flow of energy. The cadence was weak, but there.
&&&
"Jesus! I haven't seen a storm like this in years!" EMT, George Fields complained, starting as yet another streak of lightning split the sky, followed almost immediately by another crash of thunder.
"I know. We're gonna get fried," his EMT partner, Louis Metzger agreed. They tried to work steadily as the fire department disentangled the mangled cars and trucks, the pileup ugly. Louis worried there wouldn't be much for them to do, except call in the paddy wagon. It looked like it had all been started by some impatient ass in a corvette. The dude was lucky to be alive. Couldn't say as much for his car, or for the lady who was still in the tin can that had once been a yellow Rabbit.
"Louis, come quick! We got one still alive!" George yelled out, stunned, considering the condition of the blonde. Her legs were crushed under the dash, undoubtedly her pelvis, as well. She had a huge gash on the side of her head, and from the shattered remnants of the driver's side window, he thought he knew why. Her shirt was quickly becoming covered in blood, the stain growing larger, telling him her heart was still beating.

Calling a few firemen over to help them pry the woman out of the disaster that was her car, she was rushed to the nearest hospital.
&&&
Jimmy Todd sighed happily, the five bucks that kid gave him earlier coming in awfully handy. Settling himself on the park bench, his shopping cart of worldly belongings not two feet away. Glancing up at the sky, he saw that the earlier spill apparently hadn't been enough for the rain gods. The fresh smell of the afternoon's deluge still hung in the air, even as the night sky clouds gathered.
Ignoring the approaching storm, as he knew he'd be able to hide under the park bench, just like he always did when it stormed, Jimmy popped the top of his whiskey bottle, mouth watering in anticipation. Humming in contentment, Jimmy glanced over at the giant statue of some dead guy, where the birds liked to shit. Every year the parks and recreation department tried to clean it all off, only for it to turn into a shitter five minutes later.
Jimmy chuckled at his own thoughts, then took a long swig. The night was lonely and getting cold. Summer would be coming to an end soon. The summer thunderstorms had been a constant for weeks now, always indicative of the changing of the seasons that was just around the bend.
As the transient settled against the seatback of the bench, bottle at his lips, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Lowering the bottle, he turned back to the statue, squinting up at it. Though the statue was no more than a black object against the backdrop of an even blacker night, he swore he saw something atop it, like . . . crouching.
"What the hell is that?" he muttered, taking a quick pull from the bottle to help clear his head. A distant flash of lightning brightened the night just enough to see that, indeed, there was someone crouching on top of the statue. Jimmy was trying to figure out how the hell they'd gotten there, when he knew damn well they hadn't been five minutes ago. As he watched, a low rumble rolled through the clouds, the figure rising to their feet. It looked to be a woman, by the shape of the body. No clothing flapped in the rising winds, the silhouette smooth and trim.
Jimmy was enjoying his eyeful when the rolling thunder exploded into a crack of sound and light. The figure raised her arms, palms up, head falling back. In the blinding light, Jimmy cried out, watching as the white hot bolt of lightning came down in a smooth arch, fingers of electricity running over the woman's body, down her arms and legs, swirling around her head and mid - section. The light intensified, the smell of burning rubber in the air. Jimmy covered his eyes, the images before him burned into her retinas. As soon as it started, it was gone. When he looked again, the night was black, figure gone. More distant lightning illuminated a scorch mark on the head of the statue.

"Jesus, God," he whimpered, sucking down a gut full of whiskey to still his frazzled nerves.
&&&
"Damn, Dale," Blake Jones murmured, taking in the small blonde spread out on the hospital bed. She was bandaged on most of her body, tubes sticking out of her body. Machines beeped her vital signs softly. His co - worker and friend had been through hours of surgery already, her eyes puffy and back as they remained closed. She seemed to be as comfortable as possible and hanging in there, so Blake left the room.
As the chemist walked down the hall, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his rumpled suit, sighed heavily. He knew he should've told Dale how he felt. His defeated form disappeared around the corner, headed to the cafeteria to get some coffee. He'd been there half the day already, and needed a pick - me - up.
Dale continued in her medicine - induced sleep. The dim light above her bed flickered once, then twice, then a staccato beat of flashes. Her equipment tripped, sending an alarm to the nurse's station.
Gretchen Thomas cursed softly under her breath as she raced toward room 301 of the ICU, nearly sliding past as she grabbed onto the doorframe of the glassed - in cubical. The heart monitor screamed its warning, as did the blood pressure machine. The veteran nurse looked at the patient, noting as healthy a color as could be expected after such trauma, as well as could see a pulse in the blonde's throat. Turning to the machines, she shut off the alarms, resetting them. Taking Dale's wrist in her fingers, the nurse timed herself as she took the patient's pulse. It was steady and strong.
"Weird," she muttered, placing Dale's hand back at her side, making sure the morphine drip was still in place and running smoothly. Everything looked fine. After a long day, she was ready to go home. Running a hand through her hair, one last look at the petit body in the bed, made bulky from casts and bandaging, Gretchen headed back to her post.
Green eyes slowly blinked open, unfocused and disoriented. She could barely make out a face, looking down into her own. Concerned blue eyes looked into hazy green depths. The image was fuzzy around the edges, dream - like, even.
"You're going to be fine," the dream image said, voice soft and whispered. Dale felt herself falling further into black depths, where there was no pain, and there was no fear.
&&&
She sat alone on the roof of the building, watching far below as ambulances and police cars came and went, sometimes with their sirens blaring, other times silent and without preamble. She loved watching the people below, like ants running around, just lacking

the leaf. She wondered who they were, why there were there, and for whom were they scurrying for.
The crash had been bad, terrible, in fact. Like dominos, one careless driver had caused the chaos that took three lives, and injured dozens more. There were almost four fatalities, but she just couldn't let the young one die. Looking into her face, peaceful and smooth even in death, it just couldn't be. She had a feeling the blonde one was special for some reason, though she had no idea why. One touch and the blonde's heart had restarted, giving the paramedics a chance to save her. And they had.
It had been risky to venture inside the hospital, but she needed to know if the blonde one had survived. She guessed the injured woman to be in her early twenties, far too young for one to die so uselessly. It was unfortunate that the others couldn't be saved, but their injures were far too severe. One woman had lost part of her head. There was just no going back from that. But the blonde, she had a strong heart, and it had started to beat proudly. She was only glad she could help. She'd go back soon to check on her, see if maybe she'd awaken again. Maybe this time she could find out her name. Or at the very least wish her well.
There was nothing left on the roof, no evidence of the woman who'd just been sitting on it. A distant rumble echoed across the night.
&&&
Dale groaned softly, wondering why the tuba section of a marching band was practicing in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that made it hurt even worse. Finally giving up, she tapped her finger to the beat that pounded in her skull, her heart pounding in the same cadence.
"How're we feeling this morning?" a sing - song voice boomed into the room, making Dale wince.
"Wh - " the blonde cleared her throat weakly, then tried again. "What happened?"
"Oh, honey, you survived quite the ordeal." The nurse, dressed in scrubs covered in fuzzy bunnies, stood next to the bed, a hand on her hip. Dark brows drew. "Do you remember anything? Nothing at all?" she asked at the slight shake of the blonde head, covered in bandages. "I'll tell your doctor you're awake now, and he can come in and explain things to you."
"'Kay," Dale whispered. Her throat felt like it had been given a thorough rubdown with sandpaper. She saw a pitcher on the rolling tray next to the bed and whimpered slightly, an oasis to a desert dweller. The blonde took inventory of her body, making sure it was all still there. She could feel just about everything, except for her legs. Raising her head as much as injury and medication would allow, she looked to see if they were still there.

"They're still attached," a soft, male voice said from the doorway of the glassed in room. Dale was shocked to see her entire lower half in traction, though could feel none of it. "Your legs were caught under the engine and dash. The entire left front of your car was pushed in on you," the doctor explained. He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, arms crossed over a lab coat - clad chest.
"How?" Dale wasn't sure what she was more terrified at - the fact that her entire lower body was apparently crushed, or that she couldn't remember any of the reason why.
"There was a pile up, and you were in the middle of it. Your injuries were substantial, Dale. You were extremely lucky to have survived it. In fact," the doctor sighed, clasping his hands in front of himself. "I'd say it was pretty much a miracle."
"Why can't I feel my legs?" The blonde wasn't sure if she were happy about her miraculous survival, or wished it weren't so. She was starting to feel a dull the practicing marching band march down into her neck and shoulders.
"Right now you're on a great deal of medication to stop the pain. Your pelvis was broken as well as your femurs."
Dale tried to take in everything that was being told to her, her cloudy brain barely able to concentrate on the words or comprehend the scale of destruction that had rent her body. Another question managed to get through the medicated haze. "How long have I been here?"
"Two weeks."
She groaned, her thoughts lamenting the fact she'd lost her window to study the water specimens she'd taken, before drifting off into peaceful blackness.
&&&
She tried not to be noticed, though wasn't sure exactly how successful she was. She drifted down the long, sterile halls, trying to appear no more interesting than the cheesy, motel room artwork that adorned the walls. She hated wearing clothes, but had no choice in this case. They were uncomfortable, and horribly restricting, although some may be want to argue her regular attire was more so. She didn't think so. To her it was like a second skin. Though, in many ways, it was.
Stealing clothing sure sounded easier than it actually was. She had tried to find an errant clothesline strung between buildings, as she'd seen in Chicago before, but unfortunately, with all the rain they'd been having, laundry had been brought in. She had to resort to going into an actual store. The temporary power outage perfect cover.

She headed into the ICU, smirking when she heard a rumble behind her, the soda machine in the waiting room surging, cans of Coke products shooting out of the slot to the delighted shock of those waiting for loved ones.
The nurse's station was darkened, just a couple reading lamps turned on so as not to disturb sleeping patients in their glassed in cubicle - like rooms. A Hispanic nurse smiled at her from where she sat at the desk, her attention returning back to the novel she had been reading. Glad the nurse hadn't bothered to question the lab coat and stolen nametag, turned backwards, she headed into room 301.
She knew she had to be careful, so strayed clear of the small army of machinery that was attached to the blonde, who was deeply asleep. Her face looked better, her eyes not so bruised and swollen. She could almost imagine what the small woman looked like in the real world. Her hair, which at the time of the accident, had been long and tangled with blood, was now cut very short. The bandages had been removed, leaving an angry looking wound on the blonde's forehead and a smattering of healing cuts and bruises on her cheeks and jaw. Her legs and hips were still in extremely uncomfortable - looking equipment, almost as though it were holding her together.
She was surprised to feel tears sizzling her cheeks. Reaching out, long fingers barely stroked the softness of the blonde's cheek, mindful of a large bruise there. To her surprise, green eyes opened, yet again, looking up at her.
"Sleep now," she whispered, hoping the young blonde would listen and obey, perhaps thinking it a dream that she had a midnight visitor at all. She was not so lucky.
"You've been here before," Dale whispered, her words thick from sleep and heavy medication.
"Yes. Sleep now."
"Who are you?" Dale barely got the question out before her eyes betrayed her and slid closed.
She felt relief when once again the blonde slipped back into peaceful slumber. She looked down into the sweet face, that had started to haunt her dreams. She'd helped people before, and certainly had checked back on them to make sure they were okay, never finding anymore interest in them than simply a fellow human being whom she had helped. But this one, this one was different somehow. It made her heart hurt, knowing that she was so young, yet everything had been stripped away from her - including almost her life. She wanted no thanks, no tribute or gratitude, just simply to know the injured woman's name.
Glancing toward the wall by the door, she noticed a holder, the blonde's chart tucked safely inside. Taking one last peak at the patient, making sure she was still asleep, she grabbed the chart and flipped through it until she found what she was looking for.