Parental Advisory Rating: V, L

Break out those V-Chips, everyone!

Credits:

Created, Produced, Directed and Written:

XWPFanatic, TNovan and Tonya Muir

I hear the elevator doors slide open and glance at my watch. Harper isn’t due back for another two hours. I didn’t miss the buzzer, did I?

"Erik, hon, are you expecting someone?" I call across the hall to his room. Since he’s leaving for a well-deserved vacation in the Bahamas, it might well be his most recent ‘personal assistant.’

God, I’m glad I’ve never seen anyone’s name in quotes like that about me. I’d have to give up women. Well, maybe. Actually, that article really pissed me off. With everything that’s going on in my life right now, we don’t need the stress of some ass trying to ‘out’ Erik.

Even Harper, who is so out, agrees with me. In order to help the public image, while she went to The Rio to play cards the other night, Erik and I made an appearance at a trendy restaurant in Hollywood. We were followed, of course, very discreetly, by a couple of Bear’s friends on the force. Harper had her cell phone on at the game, despite the usual protocol, in case anything happened while we were out. Apparently it did little for Harper’s concentration and she lost close to a hundred dollars.

I made it up to her later.

Erik comes down the hallway and signals for me to be quiet. He pushes me back in my room and pulls the door closed.

Somehow, I don’t think it’s his new boyfriend.

I head for the phone to call the police. I pick up the receiver and punch in 9-1-1. It’s when I wait for the operator that I realize the line is dead.

Oh shit!

I need my cell phone. Where is it? Where the fuck did I put it?

Purse. It’s in my purse. In the goddamn living room. God, I swear I’ll start picking up after myself if you don’t let anything bad happen.

Harper. Where are you? I need you.

Erik. Are you all right? Why are you playing hero? Isn’t that why there’s a cop sitting in my foyer? Why isn’t he doing something?

Or can’t he?

Suddenly my claustrophobia rolls over me. I gasp, clutch my chest and try to remove the boulder, which must have landed on it. My heart might explode any moment.

I press my ear against the door and listen. All I hear is the blood pumping in my body. How do they get this to work in the movies? Jesus. This is bad.

I can’t leave Erik out there alone.

I pull the door open and listen again.

Nothing.

I step out and peek down the hallway.

Nothing still.

That’s good, I suppose, but it feels really bad. I just need to get to my cell phone. I’m gonna chain that thing to me in the future. I’m sorry for every bad thought I’ve ever had about it in the past.

I move down the hallway slowly, cautiously. Erik’s door is closed and I don’t even want to open it. Who knows what could be behind it?

When I reach the end, I see Erik’s stocking feet sticking out by the couch. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. God, let this be a dream, please.

I race to Erik and drop by his side. I see the little red dart sticking out of his shoulder. Pulling it out, I check him for a pulse.

He’s alive, thank God.

Okay, that’s good. Now, I just need to find my cell phone and we’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We’re going to be fine.

I move over to the chair and dump the contents of my purse. Where in the hell is my phone? I know it was in here. I know it.

"Looking for this?"

Oh God.

I turn and see him standing there, holding my cell phone in his hand. A thousand thoughts come to my mind, but none make it past my lips before I hear the ‘puff’ noise and feel the stab. I look at the dart sticking out of my thigh.

It’s almost like it’s in someone else’s body, that’s how unreal this whole scene is to me. This is just a nightmare. I’ll wake up soon in Harper’s arms. Everything is going to be just fine.

I reach for the dart to remove it. If I take it out, the nightmare will end, I know. My vision is already cloudy and the room is spinning.

Harper, I’m sorry.

* * *

I press the buzzer.

I know the old guy who runs this thing is slow, but this is ridiculous. I mean, doesn’t he realize I want to get upstairs to Kelsey? I hated leaving earlier today, but I had errands I needed to run. And my Harley had to be driven. What use is all that power if I only have it sit in my garage all the damn time? I need to get Kels a leather jacket and a helmet so we can go out cruising together. It may be the only way she can have her hands on me in public.

I snicker. Kinda like that godawful movie ‘Grease 2’ which starred Michelle Pfeiffer and that flash-in-the-pan Maxwell Caufield. He was some geek loser until he got himself a bike, something I never suffered from. I think the big song about him was ‘Cool Rider.’ Oh, did I want to give Michelle a ride when I saw that movie.

Now I have my own cute blonde. And, oh, do I want to give her a ride.

I buzz the penthouse again and wait … again.

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Crap. What if something is wrong? Terribly wrong.

Kelsey.

I snag my cell phone off my belt and speed dial Bear’s number. Come on, buddy, have your cell with you. And have it turned on.

"Brice here."

Two of the sweetest words I’ve heard today. "Bear, Harper. I’m standing down in the lobby of Kels’ building and I’m not getting a fuckin’ answer upstairs. Don’t you have a man up there?"

His voice is immediately alert. "Yeah, we do. Let me try and reach him. Hold on." I hear him grab his radio and try to get through to the cop stationed in the apartment.

I know there won’t be an answer.

Even as I wait for Brice to confirm my fears, I am moving to the security desk where the guard has just returned from his rounds. I rap on the wood. "Do you have a key to the service elevator and the fire door to the penthouse?"

My question surprises him and he blinks at me. "Yeah, but…"

That’s all I need to hear, buddy. "Give them to me!" I bark.

"I can’t."

I reach across the desk and grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him to me. "Give me the fucking keys!"

I see him reach for a small ring at his side and I snag it before he can.

"I’m calling the cops!" he protests.

"So am I, shithead." I release him and run to the service elevator.

"Look, Harper, I can’t reach our man. I want you to stay downstairs until I get there. I’m leaving right now."

I push the key into the slot and twist it, the doors closing in front of me. I press the penthouse floor and feel the jolt as the elevator begins to rise. "I guess you know what I’m going to say to that, Bear. Just get over here and bring the fucking cavalry!"

"We’ll be right there, Harper. Don’t do anything stupid."

Yeah, right.

I already did when I left this afternoon, I’m afraid.

* * *

The service elevator leaves me off at the back of the apartment. I step into the small alcove and fumble with the keys until I find the one that opens Kels’ fire door. Hearing the satisfying slide of the bolt, I pause for a moment to collect myself. If the bastard is in there, I don’t want to give him any more advantage over me.

I notice blood on the floor, but quickly realize it is from my own hand, from gripping the keys. Jesus, pull it together, Harper. I wipe my hand on the back of my jeans and slowly enter the kitchen.

No one else in here. Everything seems fine. I consider grabbing one of the butcher knives from the block, but refrain. Don’t need to get my damn throat slit.

Moving as quickly and as quietly as possible, I peer out into the living room.

"Oh fuck! Erik!" I can’t help but whisper.

My eyes freeze on the body. That’s what he is now – a body that the police will come and collect. I can’t seem to move as I take in every horrible thing that has been done to him. The smell of blood is overwhelming, and the dark fluid is everywhere. His face and neck have been hacked up with a knife, skin peeled back to the bone. The murder weapon is not more than a foot from his head, stuck through a picture of Erik and Kels.

My stomach lurches and I bite back the bile threatening to spill out. Lord knows I’ve seen this brutality before. But never to a friend.

"God, please don’t let me find Kels like that," I pray aloud.

Fighting down the nausea once more, I am on the move again. A glance to the foyer confirms my fear: the cop is slumped in his seat, shot once in the forehead, dead as dead can be. And lying in the elevator, feet sticking out of doors trying desperately to close but repeatedly bouncing open, is the old elevator guy. He’s been shot as well. Poor bastard. He was a nice old man.

I need to find Kelsey.

I rush headlong back into the apartment, no longer caring about being quiet or cautious. I only want to find her. And, yet, I am terrified of what I might see if I do.

I go into her bedroom, where not more than a few hours ago we were snuggled together, happy and content. It’s empty. Silent.

The bathroom door is closed. Thank God! She locked herself in there. She’s fine. She’s safe.

The door swings open when I grasp the handle.

"Kels!" I call out.

Only my own echo greets me from the tiles.

Fueled by fear, I rampage through the rest of the penthouse. I find every room empty.

She’s gone.

She’s gone.

She’s gone.

* * *

I don’t remember going back into the living room or sliding down the wall. But it’s where I find myself when Bear’s voice reaches me.

"Harper?"

"She’s gone. He’s got her," I manage to choke out past my tears. I am dimly aware of my wet cheeks and shirt. I have no idea how long I’ve been here weeping.

"I know." He kneels down next to me and lays a compassionate hand on my knee. "We’ll find her, Harper. I swear we will."

"Erik." I gesture futilely toward where his body is. "It’s so horrible … what he did."

"I know. Come with me. Let’s get you something to drink."

"We have to find her, Bear! My God, before he hurts her!" I grab his shirt and hold him close.

He hugs me gently. "We will. Let’s get you out of here."

* * *

I am in a daze as Bear takes me down the service elevator, to the apartment basement where a squad car awaits us. He helps me into the back seat, keeping me from smacking my head, as if I care anymore.

It’s dark as we pull out of the garage. The sun sets early in the winter months, even in Southern California. I see a few paparazzi gathered at the building’s entrance already. Fuckin’ vultures.

I endure the short ride to the station house and follow Bear inside. He puts me at his desk and motions to the phone. "You want to call anyone, Harper?"

I nod. My fingers grasp the hard plastic of the phone. "Thanks, Bear." I give him a grateful smile. "You get to work. I’ll be here."

"I’m gonna get the latest information. Sit tight."

Not like I have a choice. I punch in my parents’ phone number. The phone rings twice before it’s picked up by my father. I listen to his greeting several times before I can respond. "Papa," I whisper.

"Harper?" I hear him call for Mama in the background. "What’s wrong, baby?"

"He took her. He took Kelsey and he killed Erik." I’m surprised at how calm my voice sounds. It can’t be mine.

"Where are you?"

"I’m at the police station with Bear. I need to get going. I have to tell the station and prepare a press release. I didn’t want you to hear it over the news. And, then I need to find the fucking bastard and rip his heart out through his chest."

"Don’t you do anything stupid, Harper Lee. That little girl is going to need you when she gets back."

"If she gets back, Papa."

"No," he corrects me strongly, "when she gets back. You have your cell phone with you, sweetheart?"

I pat my hip absently, confirming its presence. "Yeah, why?"

"We’ll call you as soon as we get in town."

"You don’t need to come here. It’s going to be crazy. The paparazzi are everywhere already. It’s …"

"Be quiet. We’ll be there. We love you, baby."

I am about to say good-bye when Mama’s voice reaches me. "Mon Coeur?"

"Mama," I whisper, my heart breaking.

"Ecoutes bien ton Papa. Tu seras bien forte pour ta petiet copine. On sera la, avec toi, fort ensemble. On t'aime." You listen to your Papa. You be strong for the little one. We will be there and be strong for you. We love you.

"Bye," I manage and hang up. I give myself a few more moments to cry. Because that’s all I have.

Time to get my game face on. Gotta go be Kels’ senior producer and pull together the story of a lifetime.

Just hope it’s not our last one.

* * *

Next call. Franklin Saunders, the General Manager of the station. I have to tell him that his million-dollar-a-year talent has been kidnapped by a murderous psycho. And somehow I’ve got to do it without losing it myself.

"Saunders," he answers the phone the same way, whether at work or at home,

which is where I now reach him.

"Kingsley here. We’ve got a crisis. Stanton has become the evening’s top story, rather than reporting it."

"Tell me more." I hear him down the rest of whatever he was drinking.

"It appears the serial killer in LA has been following a pattern based on Kelsey: young, blonde, beautiful, athletic. As of a couple hours ago, he kidnapped Kelsey from her apartment and killed her live-in boyfriend, Erik Collins."

"Holy shit. Do they think she’s still alive?"

"As of right now, they do. The FBI is here as well. They’re worried the serial killer has reached a crisis point and he’s changing his pattern. They’re moving fast to try to find him and save her."

"Jesus H. Christ. That’s a hell of a story, any way you cut it."

"Yes, sir, and it’s ours. Send me some new talent down here and I can go live. The cops are organizing a press conference for an hour from now. I can do our breaking report beforehand and give us an exclusive."

I can hear Saunders thinking. Finally, he says, "I’m sending Jessica down there. You want your regular crew? That orange haired kid?"

"Yup, sure do." I’d be glad to have Jims around right now.

"Kingsley, I want sensitivity here. You keep the focus on bringing a serial killer to justice. I want Stanton’s role downplayed in this. She’s one of our own. Protect her, if at all possible. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely. Tell Jessica to use the side entrance and ask for Detective Brice.

That’s where I’ll be."

"Good luck, Kingsley."

* * *

I really hate Jessica Waters. And I just might kill her before the night is through.

First off, she’s a wee bit too damn happy about Kelsey being kidnapped. You’d think we were reporting on the opening of a new ride at Disneyland the way she is glowing. Second, she’s being a bitch on wheels to Olson. And third, she’s a fake blonde.

We’re standing in one of the back offices of the station house, ready to go live, when we get the go-ahead from the studio. We’re breaking into a repeat episode of ‘Veronica’s Closet.’ I hardly doubt that anyone will care.

"On in three, two, one ..." I hear in my earpiece, and so does Jessica. She faces the camera Jims is shouldering and begins her report, looking appropriately concerned.

"Thank you, John," she says to our anchor, who has introduced her. "The serial killer who has been stalking and killing young blonde women in Los Angeles over the past two months has struck again. Today, the killer broke from his prior pattern. This time the victims were three men, actor Erik Collins, concierge Carl Neumann and an unidentified police officer.

"A fourth individual, KNBC’s own Kelsey Stanton, who resides with Mr. Collins, has apparently been abducted. Police officials and the FBI have made the Twenty-third Precinct their command post as they try to piece together the events of earlier today and move as rapidly as possible to track the killer and protect Ms. Stanton’s life. Ms. Stanton fits the profile of the previous victims of the Blonde Scalper. There is no word right now as to her whereabouts or her condition.

"The police and FBI are expected to make an official statement about today’s tragic events at any moment. We will be there live to cover this unfolding tragedy. John?"

Over the airwaves, we hear his question. "What is the profile of the victims, Jessica?"

"As you know, John, all six of the prior victims have been women in the late-twenties/early-thirties, of an athletic build, with blonde hair and green eyes. The interesting thing about the serial killer is he has cut the hair of all but one of the victims so that it would be shoulder length. Police speculate that he was attempting to have each of the women look like some individual he has idealized, or for whom he has an obsession."

"Any information on what drives him to kill these women?"

"No one can truly understand such a mind, John. However, police sources theorize that he murders them when they do not measure up to his standards."

There is movement around us.

"John, it appears that the Police and the FBI are prepared to make a statement at this time. We understand that Ms. Stanton’s Executive Producer will also be making a statement on behalf of KNBC management."

We all turn our attention, and camera, onto the unfolding scene around us. A couple police officials step forward, followed by their FBI counterparts in dark suits and ties.

Greg Komansky, head of the Threat Management Unit, takes the podium.

"I’ll be making a short statement, followed by Special Agent Adams with the FBI. There will be no question and answer session at this time, due to the ongoing investigation.

"At approximately four-thirty this afternoon, the Los Angeles Police Department responded to a call of an unknown disturbance at the residence of Erik Collins and Kelsey Stanton. Upon arriving, patrol units discovered a multiple homicide crime scene.

"We can confirm that Mr. Collins and two others are deceased. One was Carl Neumann, the concierge of the apartment building, and the third was a police officer stationed there. The officer’s name is being withheld pending notification of the next of kin.

"We can also confirm Ms. Stanton is missing. We are doing everything we can to ensure her safe recovery.

"We will continue to keep you updated as facts become available for release. We also request at this time that anyone with any information on Ms. Stanton’s whereabouts call the LAPD at 213-555-TIPS."

Greg steps away from the microphone and SA Adams takes his position.

"To be honest, I cannot and will not offer much more information than Detective Komansky already has. This is an ongoing investigation and, of course, we won’t risk the health or well-being of Ms. Stanton.

"The FBI is doing everything it can, in conjunction with the Los Angeles Police Department, to ensure Ms. Stanton’s safe return as soon as possible."

Bear motions that I should go ahead with our statement at this time. I step up to the podium and ignore the lights, the camera, the microphones, everything. My only hope is that the sick bastard has the television on wherever he is and that Kelsey can see and hear me.

"My name is Harper Kingsley. I’m an executive producer at KNBC and have the privilege of working with Kelsey Stanton. Franklin Saunders, our General Manager, has asked me to make the following statement on the station’s behalf:

"The management and staff of KNBC are deeply concerned for the safety of our colleague, Kelsey Stanton. We are giving the police our full cooperation and assistance in this matter. In addition, we are offering a reward of $100,000 to anyone who provides the police with the information leading to Kelsey’s safe return, and the capture of this violent criminal. We ask that anyone with such information contact our Crime Stoppers Hotline at 213-555-KNBC. KNBC staff will assist the police in answering and responding to all calls we receive.

"Our prayers and thoughts are with Kelsey’s family, as well as that of Erik Collins, Carl Neumann, and the slain police officer, to whom we extend our deepest and most sincere condolences. Thank you."

I turn and leave, ignoring the shouted questions. I am not the news.

* * *

I’m still sitting at Bear’s desk at four in the morning. There’ve been no developments in this nightmare I’m living in. Somehow, the psycho managed to get into her apartment building, kill three men, take Kelsey, and no one saw a goddamn thing. He didn’t leave a fingerprint, a footprint, a drop of blood. No forensic evidence to help us find him.

Nor did he contact the cops with the prior abductees. He simply took them and killed them when they didn’t meet his expectations. I fear that even the real thing won’t live up to his approval. Especially not when you get Kelsey mad. She’s impossible to live with then.

I stifle a laugh. God, it’s not funny. What I wouldn’t give to have her here and furious with me. For any reason. I wouldn’t care. If she were safe.

Jims and Jessica left hours ago. Jessica couldn’t afford to look ‘droopy’ for her broadcast later today. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying everything that crossed my mind at that moment. Jims squeezed my shoulder when he left; I had told him not to stay. If I lose it, I don’t want anyone from work to see.

I hear Bear’s voice across the room and I look up, dully. I see him pointing toward me, my parents standing beside him. Mama’s face reflects everything I feel right now – utter despair. She and Papa are now hurrying over to me, and soon I am in their arms.

"Mon Coeur," Mama whispers, kissing my hair.

"My baby girl," Papa says, holding both Mama and I.

I shake, but I will the tears not to fall. I cannot let my little bit of control fall. If I do, I will be lost in this nightmare. "Thank you for coming," I say, straightening up.

"Where else would we be?" Mama asks.

"At home, in bed."

Papa shakes his head. "I don’t think so. Your Mama has been snoring a lot lately. It’s been hard to get sleep."

I burst into laughter at the unexpected humor. Mama scolds Papa in French playfully, knowing it was for my benefit.

"Come on, sweetheart, we’re taking you home."

"Papa, I have to stay here in LA. This is my story. And … she’s …"

"No, no. We’re taking you to your apartment. Your friend, Detective Brice, says there’s no need for you to be here. He let you stay because he didn’t want you to be alone. Now, you’re not alone."

If only Kelsey were as fortunate as I am right now.

* * *

My mouth is dry and my head is spinning when I begin to become cognizant. I realize very quickly I am on a small bed of some sort. A cot. At least, it feels like a small cot. I try to move my hands to my side, but find them chained above my head to the rail at the top of the mattress.

I haven’t opened my eyes yet. I’m afraid to. This is bad.

I’m gonna die. He’s going to kill me just like he killed the others. It’s only a matter of when.

Oh God, Harper. I’m so sorry. I never imagined it ending like this.

I know I need to open my eyes, but I take the time to listen first. I can’t tell if there is anyone in the room with me because I can’t hear anything past the sound of my own heart hammering in my ears.

I feel the tears slip past my eyelids even though I try to hold them back.

I flinch when I feel his hand on my face brushing away my tears.

"Don’t cry, Kelsey. It’s not that bad."

Oh, God! Please make him stop touching me.

"I won’t hurt you," I hear him pause as his hand leaves my face, "unless you make me."

"I won’t," I whisper, still not opening my eyes. Somehow if I keep them closed it’s not real. I can feel myself shaking on the inside. I have to keep some control here if I am to stand a chance of survival.

"You know, Kelsey, if you had come to me sooner I wouldn’t have had to kill those others. I only wanted to be with you." His voice is soft and it sets my nerves on edge with how cold it is.

I don’t even want to try and respond to that. There isn’t anything I can say that will work in this situation.

"But now, we’re together and everyone is out of the way. No one can keep us from being together forever." I feel him sit on the edge of the bed, taking my chin in his hand. "Open your eyes, Kelsey. Take a look at the face of the person you were meant to be with."

It’s amazing how fear can make you think the silliest things. The first thing to come to my mind is ‘if you’re not six feet tall with long, dark hair and piercing blue eyes, and female, forget it.’ I hear myself let out a frightened chuckle at the thought.

His grip tightens on my face and his voice becomes hard. "Open them!"

I do. Slowly.

He stares back at me, then a soft smile breaks out across his lips. "See? No monster."

Why does he look so familiar to me? I know him from somewhere.

"Could I have something to drink?" It’s a risky request. Hell, maybe he intends on poisoning me, but I need to get the dry feeling out of my mouth.

"Absolutely. All you have to do is ask. I love you, Kelsey. I’ll give you anything you want." He leaves me for a moment, retrieving a bottle of water from a small fridge in the corner.

Okay, how about we start with unchaining me and letting me go? Somehow I doubt that would be a popular request.

Heh, I sound like Harper. Such a smart ass, that one.

God, I must be cracking up. I should be terrified. I should be screaming at the top of my lungs. I should be doing something to try and get away. What in the hell is wrong with me?

Suddenly, I can see Harper in the corner, arms crossed against her chest, looking down at me. She smiles at me and winks. "It’s called a strong survival instinct, Little Roo. You’ve reported on this kind of madness so you know better. You’ll only piss him off if you get hysterical. So stay calm. The good guys are coming."

Oh yeah, I’m cracking up.

He returns to the cot, lifting my head, offering me some water. I take a few sips before he pulls the bottle away. "Better?"

I nod. I don’t want to say more to him than I have to.

"Good." He sighs, retaking his seat, brushing his fingers through my hair. "I know, eventually, you’re going to try to get away, or start screaming for help, or something. You’re in shock right now. Once it passes, you will have a bad reaction and do what comes naturally. But you can’t get out of this room. And it is soundproof. We’re in an old recording studio. So you can scream as loud as you want, but no one will hear you."

With these words, I finally let my eyes wander around the room. The walls are indeed soundproofed, and I now have a good estimate for the size of the room. Maybe I’ll get lucky and my claustrophobia will kill me first.

As I really begin to focus, I realize one wall is covered with photos of various people and me.

I zero in on one in particular. Harper. I remember that day. That picture was taken when we were leaving the station after I accused her of sending me the first batch of roses. Oh, how I wish she had sent them.

He looks back and forth between the pictures and me. Once he figures out the one I am staring at, he rises quickly and pulls the picture of Harper down. "This bitch," he hisses, "is responsible for keeping us apart!"

"No," I whisper. God, please don’t let him go after her. Keep her safe. I don’t care what he does to me, but don’t let him hurt her. "No, she wasn’t," I counter quietly.

He storms across the room, shoving the photo in my face before giving me a good hard slap. "Don’t lie to me, Kelsey! I know she was! I know she did everything she could to keep us apart."

"She was only being a friend."

He drops to his knees and forces me to look at him. "Well, it doesn’t matter now. You know why?"

"Why?" I hear myself ask.

"She’s dead. I cut her fucking throat."

Oh, God, please no!

"No."

"Yeah, I watched her bleed out all over her apartment when she slipped away from you today." He sneers at me. His face twitches as he crumples the picture. "See, I know all about that, too. I know she seduced you, deceived you, corrupted you. But, I don’t blame you, Kelsey. But she defiled you, and because of that, she had to die."

"She didn’t defile me! She loved me!"

"Shut up!"

He delivers another blow that rattles my senses. I can taste the blood in my mouth. As the pain and the anger overtake me, I let the tears fall. God, I hate that I cry when I’m angry.

She can’t be dead. I don’t believe him.

If she isn’t, why did I see her ghost a moment ago? Jesus. She is dead.

"Then kill me, too, because I’ll never belong to you." I tug on the chains trying to sit upright. I’m going to die on my own terms and not flat on my back. "Go on, kill me!"

He pulls his gun from his shoulder holster, placing it squarely between my eyes. "I can do that."

I close my eyes, hearing the hammer being pulled back. I wait for the shot as visions of Harper fill my mind.

Love you, Tabloid. We’ll be together soon. I promise.

<fade out>

<fade in>

We all climb into the limousine and settle in our seats. The ride is essentially silent. I watch as the barren landscape of Los Angeles passes by our windows.

Clark whimpers against my chest and tries to burrow into my jacket. I know exactly how he feels.

"When this is all over, we want you to come spend some time at home."

I nod. "I’d like that, Papa."

Finally, we pass through the wrought iron gates of Fairlawn Cemetery. My heart drops.

<fade out>

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