Rhapsody

By Silverbayn

All disclaimers apply.

Part II

"I have no life but this,

To lead it here;

Nor any death, but lest

Dispelled from there;

Nor tie to earths to come,

Nor action new,

Except through this extent,

The realm of you."

~ Emily Dickenson

What the fuck . . .?!

Before she could react, Midii felt her gun being torn from the small of her back where she always kept it while a knee pressed between her shoulder blades kept her trapped to the ground.

The third man she had never expected put a little more pressure on her spine, making her grit her teeth. "Did you really think I'd send two rookies to take down someone like you, Artemis?"

She knew that voice. "Seht," she growled, digging her nails into the dirt.

"Bingo, Blondie, you got it."

"You fucking bastard, what the hell do you want?" Like she cared. She just had to keep him talking until she could get her arm free from where it was stuck underneath her. An egotistical idiot like him would be happy to tell her his master plan.

"Getting rid of the competition," Seht explained, and she felt the muzzle of her own gun in the back of her head. "One more empty slot in the Hilt, Huntress."

Almost . . . Midii thought. Got it!

Her arm slipped free of her body and her fist rammed upward directly into Seht's groin.

He fell back and the gun went off once, missing its target. Immediately, she rolled over, grabbed the gun from his hand, and started to pull the trigger. Before she could, a grunt behind her warned her of her other two problems. She twisted around and kicked the legs out from under her approaching attacker. He hit the ground hard.

Scrambling to her feet, Midii was able to give his brunette friend a roundhouse kick to the face.

But Seht recovered faster than she had calculated and slammed the butt of his gun into the side of her head.

She hit the ground and dropped the gun, disoriented. She was given no time to recover before the blonde came over, lifted her by the collar, and punched her in the jaw. She'd barely fallen when his boot connected with her stomach.

The agonized sound that escaped her lips was more painful to her than the hit. She hated sounding weak.

Seht dragged her to her feet and shoved her up against a tree, putting the gun to her chin.

"You always were a bitch, Artemis," he snarled, his face still flushed from the pain of her previous hit. "And now you're a dead bitch."

And all she could think was: If I hadn't been so worried about getting people hurt, this never would have happened. That's how things end up when you care too much.

Then Seht let out a yell of surprise right before it was cut short when a fist collided with his face.

It hadn't been a hard task to follow the trio into the woods without being noticed. After pulling on a shirt and stepping into his boots, Trowa silently crept out of his motor home and after Midii and her entourage.

Whatever she was doing with them, it couldn't be good. He considered himself to be a fairly good judge of people, and those two men, both the blonde and brunette, looked like they were just waiting to cause chaos.

If he was lucky, the whole lot of them would just disappear and he could leave it alone.

But often, as Trowa had found out before, these kinds of situations never worked out so simply.

He lost sight of them when they went into the trees. For a minute he paused, calmly wondering if he should let Midii be. After all, she'd seemed to know them, and as long as they were away from the troupe he had no reason to be concerned. Midii's business was her own when it didn't involve his family.

Then he heard the gunshot and abandoned those thoughts completely, breaking into a run.

By the time Trowa made it to the scene, Midii's limp form was already being picked up off the ground and pressed up against the tree. A third man was preparing to shoot her through the head. The original two stood watching the scene with evil smiles.

Trowa moved fast.

The first he grabbed by the neck and slammed face-first into the nearest tree. The second he elbowed in the throat when the man tried to draw his gun then backhanded him into the ground.

Both of which he did so quickly that there was no time for Midii's captor to prepare when Trowa finally came up to him and broke his nose with a well-placed punch.

Cool and businesslike, Trowa took the fallen man's gun and trained it on his face.

"Take your men and go," he ordered. "Come back here and it's your head."

"Why you motherfuc--arrggh!"

A shot to the right shoulder ended his insult in a scream.

"I won't say it again," Trowa warned.

Trying to simultaneously stop the bleeding from both his nose and his shoulder, the man crawled off, his barely-conscious allies right with him. Trowa kept the gun trained on their positions until he heard a car start up in the distance and disappear into the night with a squeal of tires.

All was quiet again.

Lowering the gun, Trowa turned to look at the cause of the trouble, who had fallen in a seated position against the tree. The blood trickling from her temple and the way she held her stomach told him that she wasn't going anywhere on her own.

"Hey, Nanashi," she murmured, laughing weakly, "great timing"

Before he could react to the sound of his old title, another sound distracted him.

"Trowa? Riven!"

Catherine came running up to them, and she dropped down beside Midii, demanding, "What happened? I saw that Riven had disappeared and I heard gunshots . . . oh, God, are you two all right?"

"We're fine," Trowa reassured her. More gently than he thought he should have, he helped Midii to her feet and draped one of her arms across his shoulders, sliding an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

She said, "I'm not going to thank you."

He didn't reply.

"She can stay here for the rest of the night," Trowa said. "I want to make sure those guys don't come back for her. Besides, we need to talk. You don't have to worry."

Catherine looked at him dryly as she closed the top of the medical kit. "You always tell me not to worry when I have every reason to worry. But she seems okay, so I guess it's fine." She shook her head. "She did tell me that she lived a crazy life."

Trowa didn't have an answer for that. He couldn't explain to her that the attack on the girl she called "Riven" had not been coincidental. That was a planned ambush if he'd ever seen one. He needed to know if there'd be any more.

But Catherine didn't seem interested in any explanations. All she wanted to make sure of was Midii's well-being.

They've became friends rather quickly, he thought, watching Catherine as she started walking towards her motor home. He waited until she had gone inside before turning toward his own.

But if Midii was involved in any underhanded alliances, that friendship might have to be cut short, for everyone's safety.

He didn't want to think that way, but certain kinds of friends were even worse to have than all kinds of enemies.

This he knew personally.

As he opened the door and entered his motor home, he let his gaze fall upon the sole occupant of his bed on the far side. Midii lay there sleeping lightly, and she hadn't taken off either her leather jacket or her work boots. She looked so young, almost innocent, like a little girl with light hair that fell about her in gentle waves.

But it was just an illusion. This girl was not innocent. She was seventeen years old with the past of a spy and assassin, dangerous, cold, and jaded . . .

Right then, however, she was just a person. Weary, sad, and yes, vulnerable.

He closed the door with a click, never taking his eyes off her, and wasn't surprised to see her stir at even that slight sound.

Her eyes opened slowly; she looked disoriented. "Nanashi?" she whispered. The soft, almost heartbreaking hope in her voice made him want to go over and reassure her with a hug, a touch on the shoulder, something, anything.

And hearing that name that wasn't a name, that dehumanizing mockery of an identity that had held him prisoner for most of his life, made him want to strangle her, just to make sure she never said that word again.

Instead, he just corrected her, his tone gray and intermediate. "Trowa."

The intelligence and wariness came back to her eyes, and Trowa sensed her emotional walls slam back into position. "Ah, yes. Trowa. I keep forgetting that." Her voice was level as she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, and she looked at him sharply. He could tell she was wondering whether or not he was asking because he was concerned for her or because he wanted her gone as soon as possible.

"Better," Midii replied noncommittally. "They didn't beat me that badly." There was still a bruise on her cheek, but it was fading, and though she moved stiffly, it was without difficulty.

For a moment, there was silence. Then she asked, "What did you tell Catherine?"

"I couldn't tell her what I didn't know," Trowa said, and Midii's eyes narrowed. "But she didn't care. She was worried about you."

A ghost of a smile passed on Midii's lips. "She's a good friend."

"She is." His eyes narrowed slightly, and he warned, "I suggest you don't hurt her."

"I wouldn't dare. She might slap me across the face for it," Midii muttered ironically.

Trowa realized the incident to which she was referring, but didn't comment. He only crossed his arms and looked at her. "Who were they, Midii? More importantly, will they be coming back?"

She sighed. "They were some amateurs trying to make a reputation. I'm almost embarrassed they nearly killed me. I was careless. But they won't come back."

"I have no desire to take your word for it."

Gingerly touching the bandage on her temple, Midii glanced at him coolly. "Once burned, twice shy, huh?" She stood. "Well, you don't have to take my word for it. That was a one-shot attempt. They know they're lucky to still be alive."

Not convinced but resigned, Trowa turned the conversation to another thing bothering him. "If they're your enemies," he began, reaching out and lifting the dagger pendant of her necklace, "then why are you wearing the same symbol as they were?"

She took his hand by the wrist and pushed it away. "Family feud," she explained shortly. "Now, are you finished with your little interrogation? I'd like to go to bed. And not here, if you don't mind. I'd be afraid you'd shoot me in my sleep."

"I could say the same of you."

"Why don't you just say it, Trowa? You don't trust me as far as you can throw me."

"Give me a reason why I should."

"I can't. But the good little hero in you won't let you kill me either way, which is really a shame. If the positions were reversed, I might kill you."

As she moved past him to leave, Trowa said, quietly, "No, you wouldn't."

He felt her stop. "Why wouldn't I?" Her voice was quiet, too.

"Because we're not that different."

A long silence, then soft laughter. "There's our difference right there. You still believe that."

Suddenly, she turned around, as if a thought had just struck her. "Hey, why Trowa?" she asked.

Trowa raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"Why choose the name 'Trowa Barton'?"

"It was convenient." It was the usual kind of short answer he gave to people who asked him that question.

"Really? Seems like it's more trouble than it's worth. You've probably drawn a few late-night visitors yourself." Midii shrugged. "But I guess a name is a name. Good night, Trowa. Oh, and don't worry about those guys," she added, opening the door, "they won't be coming back. I guarantee it."

With that, she was gone.

It really hadn't been necessary to ask her what she had been doing wearing the same symbol as her attackers. He had seen that symbol before. In his old mercenary unit, a few of the men wore necklaces just like it. Living on the edges of society as he had, he had seen a number of people bearing that dagger, and each had been engaged in unsavory activities. Bounty hunters, assassins, mercenaries . . . spies.

What the organization was called and what it took to join it, he didn't know. But no good could come of Midii being a part of it, as had been proven that night.

But Trowa decided not to pursue either her or the matter, at least not yet. Something about the cold look in her eyes told him that she would handle it with much more finality than he would.

Maybe they were that different after all.

Why do I always do that? Midii wondered with frustration as she pulled her wireless phone out of her pocket.

The second time in six years she had spoken to Nanashi--Trowa--and she had sounded like more of a bitch than she usually did. She hadn't intended to be that way, but the close quarters had completely fucked up her thinking processes. He had saved her life, given her his bed, actually wanted to have a civil conversation with her . . . she had been feeling too vulnerable not to give a cold response.

So many times, she thought, too often he's done that. Let me live when it would have been smarter and easier to let me die. Real hero mentality.

She didn't think she would ever understand it.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she dialed a particular number on the phone. She still had to take care of one little problem.

It rang once.

"Yeah, Artemis?" a male voice answered.

"I have a favor to ask."

"Go ahead."

"Seht's gone too far. I want him dead, and I want him dead now. See if you can contact an assassin nearest the East coast of the U.S. here on Earth. Tell him he gets a favor out of me if he kills Seht within forty-eight hours."

"Don't feel like doing it yourself?"

"I'm busy."

"Your call. I have just the man in mind. What finally set you off?"

"The bastard caught me in a bad mood. Thanks, Khaos."

"No problem."

Midii clicked off the phone and stood for a moment, looking at the sky. She then looked down at her pendant, wrapping her hand around it until the sharp edges pierced her palm.

Her life did have its perks. Killing whoever got in her way was one of them.

If only all problems could be so easily destroyed.

I have such a blatant disregard for human life, she thought, and laughed.

"Hey, do you like snakes?"

Midii turned around to face the questioner and instead found herself facing the flicking tongue of an extremely large boa constrictor only an inch away from her nose.

She looked at Kess mildly, not reacting at all to the snake's close proximity. "Do you try that on all the new ones?" she asked.

Kess sighed, looking disappointed. "Yep. And usually they scream bloody murder--even the guys. A few even fainted. One ran and was never seen again. You're a tough one."

"You have no idea," Midii said with a slight laugh.

Trowa listened to all of this from where he sat low on the bleachers, watching the acrobats practice a new, complicated act. They used cables to swing from a support high above them, twisting and twining in the air in a complex dance. According to Catherine, they had gotten their inspiration from a Cirque du Soleil show. It looked promising.

But he wasn't really paying attention. His mind was on other matters.

A week. A week had gone by and it had been as mundane and uneventful as any other week. He didn't know if he had been expecting Armageddon to fall or what, but he hadn't been counting on things going the way they had.

Midii had neatly folded into the circus troupe. It was as if she had always been there. Though she wasn't very social, people took to her presence immediately, and Kess and Catherine seemed to love her.

Midii seemed to like them in return. But something about the way she had so easily become a part of the troupe bothered Trowa. She had done it too skillfully, as if she was used to doing it, slipping into places and seeming to belong. Without question, without suspicion, without getting caught.

He knew that technique. He had perfected that technique.

Why was she here?

"Trowa!"

Distracted, Trowa looked towards the familiar sound and saw Catherine coming towards him. She was dressed in all dark colors: A sheer long-sleeved blue shirt with a V-neckline that plunged almost to her navel, a lace-up black halter underneath, a black miniskirt, sheer tights, and high black boots, both of which possessed sheaths for her knives.

She did a little twirl to show off her outfit. "What do you think?"

"Different," he answered, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"You," she said, "are no help."

"Forget him, Cath, you look great!" Kess called out helpfully. "That should really get their attention at the show."

"Thanks, Kess!" Catherine smiled and looked at Trowa. "So? Thinking about getting a change for your own performance outfit?"

"Take any more clothing out of the ensemble and I'll be breaking laws," he remarked dryly.

"That'd definitely get my attention," Kess put in, and Trowa glanced at her as if she were insane while Catherine laughed.

Kess grinned, not finished heckling him yet. "Come on, Trowa, admit it. You are one sexy clown. Everyone knows it. Right, Riven?" She nudged Midii.

The blonde girl reclined against the bleachers, looking disinterested. But when Kess nudged her she glanced at Trowa thoughtfully, then tilted her head back and closed her eyes, saying, with a slight smile, "Sure. Why not?"

Her almost strange response didn't faze Kess, who started to continue her flirting when her snake started coiling more tightly around her upper body.

"Hm. I better go feed this thing before he gets the idea to eat me. See you guys later." She hopped off the bleachers and disappeared beyond the tent curtain.

Catherine shook her head. "I guess I'll go get some more opinions on the outfit. See you, Trowa."

He nodded to her as she left. Then he glanced up at Midii.

She was in the same position, stretched out, eyes shut.

Ever since the ambush, they hadn't spoken. By either some miracle or extremely good timing, they managed to stay out of each other's way. Trowa wasn't sure what he could do about her; she had posed no further threat to the circus, therefore, he had no excuse to try and get rid of her.

A part of him didn't even want her gone, not yet. That part was the boy who had, for a brief moment in time, found someone he had hoped would give him a semblance of a heart.

That boy was fading, though; more swiftly everyday that Trowa grew closer to his surrogate circus family. But the old hope, the pained confusion at an unwarranted betrayal, was still there. Somewhere.

Midii must have felt eyes on her, because she shifted and lifted her head. Her gaze met Trowa's. He didn't bother pretending he hadn't been looking.

There was a moment of unsettling stillness.

Then, she pushed back her hair with one hand and said, in a nonchalant tone that might have been flirtatious if it hadn't been so flat, "Kess was right, you know. You do make a sexy clown."

Trowa saw the comment for what it was: An attempt to distract him. It didn't work, and he just kept looking at her, projecting a silent question that she had still failed to answer.

Finally, he could see her losing patience and composure. She rolled her eyes and glanced at the practicing acrobats, and then she ran both hands through her hair and let her head fall back, stretching out once again. She didn't look up a second time.

He let it go, but wondered: Why wouldn't she tell him why she was there? What was she hiding?

And why couldn't stop himself from caring?

"Dark-eyed man, you draw me in/Dark eyes, the sanctity of time and sin/Like velvet, like stone, you're soft and hard, a rebel alone/You break my heart and make me alive/With those vivid dark eyes piercing mine."

I, Midii thought caustically, have got to stop listening to all these heavy metal songs. All they do it remind of him and myself with its ridiculously appropriate music that only depresses me.

But the all-female rock band Jaded Eve was one of her favorites. It always seemed like they were singing her song.

Midii fell cross-legged in front of one of the animal cages, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands and looking at the lion within, which looked back indifferently. The sounds of cheering and music drifted from the big top, where the show was going strong in the evening.

She couldn't bear to sit in the stands and watch Trowa perform like she usually did. Kess's teasing, "sexy clown" comment had hit closer to home than Midii had anticipated. It was bad enough to try and figure out what was going on inside of her emotionally. She had NO time for wanton physical attraction.

No point in lusting after the unattainable.

"Hey, what do you think?" she asked the big cat. "Is it worth the trip to put up with his unnerving stares all the time? Should I even be here?"

The lion stared at her a moment. Then he yawned and went back to sleep.

Shaking her head, Midii sighed. "Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that."

"I didn't know you talked to lions."

Caught completely off-guard, she leapt to her feet, only to turn and face a man who wore two masks: One artificial, covering one side of his clean-featured face, the other all-too real, revealing a single emerald eye.

The reality of what she had just allowed to happen set in, and she narrowed her eyes at Trowa, angry at being surprised. That had been happening too often lately. If she didn't clean up her act and get focused, one of those surprises was going to get her slaughtered.

About time something killed me, a part of her thought with a curious lack of emotion. I've been alive too long anyway.

Shut up, Midii thought in return, and that part of her quieted.

"You're even sneakier than I am," she said to Trowa, crossing her arms. "Have you ever considered a career in espionage? It pays well."

Something hard and cold flashed in his eyes, and she knew her biting remark had hit home. She had gotten paid rather well for destroying his life six years ago. To throw that in his face was unforgivable by any account.

If he hated her, maybe she could find it within herself to leave and never look back.

But Trowa wouldn't give her even that satisfaction. Just as he had denied her a death she deserved, he denied her the simplicity of his anger.

"It must," was his only taciturn reply.

The lack of reaction, so common with him, only fueled her negative emotions. "That's all, huh?" Midii asked bitterly, turning towards the cage and wrapping her hands around the cold metal bars. "Nothing makes you angry. Nothing makes you sad. Except, of course, if something happened to your friends." She paused. "What would you do if something did happen, I wonder?"

This she said with nonchalant thoughtlessness, not thinking Trowa would do what he did: Grab her by the shoulder and whirl her around, forcing her to face his blazingly cold green eyes.

Green-eyed man, you draw me in. Green eyes, the sanctity of time and sin.

"Don't even think it," he said in a low voice that would have seemed calm, if it wasn't for the frigid undertone. "Don't you dare."

For a long time, an eternity, perhaps, they stared each other down in silence.

He's too close, Midii thought. She leaned against the bars, and had to tilt back her head in order to look him in the eye. He was only inches away, wordlessly demanding that she either give her word not to cause trouble, or agree to leave.

Like velvet, like stone, you're soft and hard, a rebel alone.

What to do? What could she do? Her tongue was suddenly incapable of speech, her body immobile. This hadn't been calculated in her plans. She hadn't expected things to go the way they were.

She hadn't expected him to be so beautiful, or smell so good.

You break my heart and make me alive . . .

Stepping closer, her hand moving as if of its own accord, she reached up and slid her fingers under the edge of Trowa's mask, just beneath his chin. He didn't flinch, didn't stop her, as she removed it and let it drop to the ground.

He didn't stop her when she moved that same hand behind his neck and brought her lips to his.

With those vivid green eyes piercing mine.

At first, Trowa couldn't think of what to do. In all his sixteen, seventeen--or was it eighteen . . . who knew--years of life, this was one situation he had no experience with handling. It wasn't the first time a woman had come on to him. Kess's shameless flirting was a prime example of that. It wasn't even the first time he had ever been kissed. Soldiers didn't remain physically or emotionally innocent for very long, even as young as he was.

But it was the first time he had no control over what was happening.

The kiss started out light, a gentle pressing of lips; but when Trowa didn't resist, or couldn't, something seemed to snap in Midii. Suddenly, she had both arms around his neck and pulled him forward roughly and deeper into the kiss.

Eyes open and wide, Trowa braced his hands against the bars behind her, trying not to fall into her. They were pressed together now, his bare chest to the soft fabric of her camisole and the dagger pendant resting on top of it.

Her mouth was demanding, relentless, bruising his. She managed to part his lips, and the warmth of her tongue was a new shock.

Most shocking of all, he didn't want her to stop.

His eyes slowly beginning to drift closed, a stray thought skittered through his mind.

Lilies and rain. She still smelled like fresh-cut lilies and spring rain. Her hair, her skin . . . just like all those years ago.

As he realized this, Trowa regained his senses and firmly broke the kiss.

Midii let herself fall back against the bars, her arms dropping from his neck as she tried to catch her breath. Her gray eyes were hooded and dark with longing.

Trowa took a step back, putting some distance between them. He still couldn't formulate appropriate words, if there even was such a thing, so he just looked at her, breathing deeply.

She dropped her head, and then ran her fingers through her hair, pushing the silken strands back from her face. Her _expression was unreadable. But the desire that had been in her eyes only a second ago had been replaced by unexpected anger.

"You weren't supposed to let me," she said softly, coldly. "Why didn't you stop me?"

Finally, an answer came to him. "I don't play by your rules. Ever."

"Who said there were rules? I don't know why--I never planned this. Any of this. So why did you let me? Why?"

Her vehemence surprised him. Trowa shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted quietly.

She looked at him a moment longer, in confusion and disbelief.

Then she pushed off the bars and walked away.

Maybe he should have called after her, gone after her, something. But he couldn't. Not when he had the awful, deathly feeling that she was drawing him into her world again, into the turmoil where she seemed to permanently exist.

I can't let her, he thought harshly, the silent words pushing aside the memory of her touch. I can't. I was almost annihilated so that I could get away from people and things like her. I have everything, now. People that mean something, a life that means something. Letting myself fall into her again is just going to destroy it all.

That's all she knew how to do. Destroy.

Staring down, Trowa suddenly noticed something. Low on the center of his chest, there was a drop of blood. Bemused, he wiped it away with his thumb, revealing a tiny, fresh scratch in his skin.

How . . .?

Then he remembered. The dagger pendant she had worn, how it had been pressed so tightly between them.

That dagger had actually wounded him.

It was as obvious a bad omen as he had ever seen.

Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .

Midii gasped as the cold water from the shower nozzle hit her bare skin, but she was grateful when it cooled her raging emotions and the heated reaction in her body. Her thoughts, however, and the memory of what had just happened, wouldn't be so easily soothed.

Why did she do it? What had she been thinking? Had she been thinking?

She knew what she had been thinking. That a kiss would give her a step up on him, show she wasn't intimidated by him or his presence. That had been the plan. More or less, anyway, because another part of her had been going into that situation with different intentions in mind.

She had expected him to push her away. She had expected anger, bemusement, rejection, something, anything, except what she had gotten.

A response that, if she didn't know any better, seemed to have been charged with something completely opposite to rejection. Almost like . . . passion.

"Argh!" Midii slammed her palms against the tile wall of the shower, letting the chilly water slide down her back in a river. "Why don't you ever react the way you're supposed to?" she snapped to the memory of his eyes, his heat, his taste. "Why do you always make me feel this way? You bastard!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Why do you always make me feel . . .?"

Suddenly, a knocking sound made her eyes snap open.

Catherine's voice came through the bathroom door. "Riven? Are you all right?"

Riven. Who was Riven? Some woman who thought the past could be walked away from so easily, who thought she could be normal. And Artemis, the woman from the Dagger's Hilt, the huntress, the spy, the killer--she ignored life and caused death shamelessly, for profit, for purpose.

She knew those women. But when was she just a girl, just Midii?

Whenever I'm with him.

"Riven?"

"I'm fine," Midii called back. "I'll be out in a sec."

The silence told her that Catherine had gone. She turned off the water and, shivering, stepped out of the stall and grabbed a towel. All the rubbing in the world couldn't bring warmth back to her skin.

When her hair was as dry as it was going to get in a few minutes, Midii braided it back, slipped into her robe, and padded out of the bathroom. She headed straight to her bed and curled up under the covers.

Catherine, who was arranging her performance outfit on a hanger, glanced at the other woman curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Too quickly.

After hanging up the outfit, Catherine came over and sat on the edge of the double Aerobed. She touched Midii's shoulder, and then pulled back quickly. "You're freezing. Why were showering in cold water?"

"It's hot out."

"Not that hot. What happened? I passed Trowa on my way here. He never has much in the way of expressions, but I could tell something was up with him. Did it have anything to do with--"

"Please, Catherine." Midii shut her eyes. "Just let it go. I don't want to talk about it."

A pause. Catherine sighed. "All right. But if you change your mind . . ."

"I know. Thanks."

"Sure." The auburn-haired woman rose and went towards the light switch. "Lights out?" she inquired.

Midii sighed. "Yeah."

"Goodnight, Riven."

"'Night."

The motor home went dark, except for the sparse light of the moon filtering through the blinds.

But she couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts in her head, too many memories. And there was only one way she knew she get rid of the turmoil within her, at least, temporarily.

She reached over the side of her bed and into her traveling bag. A few seconds of rifling brought up her laptop. She opened it and entered a new, unused document.

For a moment, she paused, fingers hovering over the keys.

Then she started to write.

Thrill me;

Sing a song unnatural in its agony

Kill me;

Yes, with words that slash the soul . . .

Closing her hand around her pendant, Midii stayed awake for hours before finally falling asleep.