Turn Of A Card, a UFO story by Amelia Rodgers

by Amelia L. Rodgers
©2003 all rights reserved
E mail author
Not to be used without author's permission.
Turn Of A Card (previously also titled Homecoming, but reedited in 2003 to make changes I wanted) a UFO CSI story (sequel to Longer than Always).
Dedicated to Tae, who took the time to help me complete this story when pieces went missing, without that kindness you wouldn't be reading this story, and my Ed-Claire saga wouldn't have any continuity.
And as always, that extraordinary guy named Straker.

"You know what I wanted to see you about. I don't think this sentimental clinging to Straker's memory is doing the organization the least bit of good. Nobody around here is acting as if they have any common sense. I mean, take a look at this office. Nothing's changed. Not even his damn pens have been moved. I don't think I need to tell you we're fighting a war here, and we need somebody new to be in charge."

"Then you're wasting your time and mine, because I've heard this song and dance from you before. Now if you'll excuse me --I have an organization to run."

"Look at yourself Alec. What are you now, in your seventies? It takes discipline and youth and know-how to make this place work, and all you and your ilk have is tired old ideas from the seventies. You couldn't make your marriage work, what makes you think you're capable of running this place?"

"Trying to goad me into a fight so you can get me determined unstable, Paul? The whole I'm stronger, I'm leaner, I'm more virile, I'm younger than anyone else is something you're big on, isn't it. I seem to remember that Straker saved your little overdeveloped arse when the aliens attacked your aircraft. The same Straker that you thought was too old and too feeble. Where you had brawn, he had intellect. Where you had youth, he had will power and wisdom. Ed would have found a way to survive."

"He's dead, Alec. He's been dead for months. There are a couple of us that would like you to finally come out and acknowledge it. The Straker legend blew to bits in that helicopter you gave him on a whim, and he burned with it. His property almost burnt to the ground along with him. Let's face it, you don't want to look at the facts."

"With Virginia Lake in charge? I wouldn't have a prayer. She won't even answer my calls."

"Maybe you should have taken her to more expensive restaurants when you two dated. I hear women like that sort of thing. She might be holding a grudge."

"I want to sleep with Marilyn Monroe, but neither of us has much chance at making our dreams a reality, do we?"

"I'm taking your job, one way or another, Alec. It's nothing personal. This doesn't have anything to do with you, it has to do with the welfare of the organization."

"You really believe that, don't you? What a crock. I always wondered why Straker never leaned harder on you. I'd appoint Captain Ford in my place before I'd ever allow you to hang your hat on the studio office hat rack, and Keith would be a hell of a lot more successful because unlike you, he's got a heart. Now get the hell out of here, before I ring up Constantine to do still another psychological study on you. I figure the more she does, the more chance I have of finding a legitimate reason for kicking you out of the sky and making you a baggage handler at Heathrow." Alec jabbed the door button. Foster snarled, went to the door, turned in the doorway. He pitched his voice high enough for all the operatives in Control to hear him.

"This isn't over, Colonel Freeman. You're putting everyone in jeopardy with your loyalty to a man who is dead and gone. I have the guts to tell you so, even though nobody else seems to."

"Straker's wife? Everyone knows she's balmy. Someone has to face the reality of the situation. This isn't over."

Alec watched the door close, studied the cigar, and tossed it back in the cigar pail in disgust. He picked up the phone.

"Harry, get me a secure line to Mrs. Straker, and then ring me back. No other calls."

"Hiya Alec," Claire said. "What's up? Graham told me you were on the phone. I was just looking over some receipts."

"You're just as bad as Edward was, you know. Letting him get to you. I suppose he isn't happy with me?"

"Well, let's see, I paid an enormous amount just to buy another Palladian window to install in the master bedroom. That qualifies me, I think. Or it might be a few nights ago at the fund raising dinner for Edward's Foundation, Foster made a big play for me. He actually kissed my hand for the cameras, all the while talking about how grand I was for continuing in Edward's footsteps. I smiled and Graham and I ushered him into my office and I slapped the hell out of him. With my prosthesis on too. Must have scared the shit out of him when my fake fingers went flying."

"The prosthetic fingers stay on with suction, and they work well, but I don't think they were designed to stand up under fist fights, Alec. Anyway, I think Graham put his nose out of joint after that. Literally. By the time Graham threw him out of the party, and Yvonne tossed his butt into his car, he already had the makings of a shiner. If he's saying I'm insane, that's probably why. Men and their wounded male egos. Excluding you, of course."

"Of course. That makes two Strakers that have beat the hell out of Paul Foster," Alec said appreciatively.

"Don't be. Yetunde and I agreed to seek a friendly divorce. I'm seeking custody of Ayomide and Yetunde isn't contesting it. I found a wonderful woman to look after Ayomide, too. My daughter's getting to the terrible twos, you know, and she won't shut up. I had to attend a Commission meeting to get funding to train new personnel, and the nanny I usually use was sick, and Yetunde's visiting Carmella, helping her with Carmella's new baby daughter, which unfortunately looks like Nate. So I had to practically toss Ayomide in my attaché case and take her to the meeting with me. She was a big hit, she told them all about her Barbie or whatever doll it was she insisted on taking. I got the funds without any problem at all."

"Edward could have used her back in his negotiations with the General," Claire chuckled. "As his secret weapon."

"I keep myself busy. Graham and Yvonne nag me to keep going, Frances and Angel make sure I eat. The Foundation is considering extending from funding Mayland Hospital and children's causes to include homeless. I've been hiring homeless to work on Silk Wood Manor with the backing of the Shelter organization, and we house and feed them as they learn a new trade. I tried to keep Angel out of it, but he insisted on incorporating saving their souls while the Foundation improved their lives. I haven't had any complaints yet. Angel converts you so subtly that you're baptized before you even realize he got you in the chapel. If you're really a tough case, Frances feeds you and you're a goner, you'll memorize the entire Bible to get another meal."

There was a long silence on the phone. Alec really didn't need to ask the question. He knew what she'd say.

"I miss him, Alec. I miss him so much. I replaced the oil painting of him that was in Mayland's lobby with one of the publicity photographs he took for the Foundation press kit. I had the oil painting put in the lounge of Silk Wood Manor, over the marble fireplace so it'll give me the feeling that he's watching over me. Alec, the restoration after the fire is coming along well, can you come for dinner tonight, and I can show you around? The new dining table and chairs should finally be here by then." she laughed quietly.

Alec looked at the phone for a minute before he replaced it in the cradle. How many more times could he use work at Shado as an excuse not to see her? Every time he saw her it was just heartbreaking proof that Ed Straker was lost to them. Probably for good. The terrible emptiness in her eyes always reminded him of Ed's absence. He would have given anything to just turn his back on the job and take Ayomide with him, maybe go back out to Australia, show his aging Mum her grandchild, help her with the station. Let Foster have what he wanted.

"You're why I won't do it, you lousy beggar. You'd never forgive me. You won't let me go."

Alec hurled the pen against the wall. Then he got up, bent and retrieved it, and put it gently back where it belonged.

"I was hoping Alec would show up. This damn rain is getting to me. I think I'm going to just go home and up to bed, now that I have one. Staying in that hotel was suffocating me."

"You could have stayed with us, Child." Angel said, pausing between his bites of shepherd's pie.

"I know that, Angel. I just wanted to come home to Silk Wood Manor instead, and now that it's practically completely finished, I can stay there. Wait until you see the gorgeous oak canopy bed for the master bedroom that was delivered finally. Yvonne and I found it in the most beautiful little antique shop in London. We bought all the linens at Harrods. Paintings and furniture are still arriving."

"When everything is finished, we will have a housewarming party for you." Frances said, "Angel and I will come see Silk Wood Manor when you are done with it."

"I'd love that. Thank you for the meal and your company. I'm going to go home now, Graham, where did I leave my coat and umbrella?"

"I can manage, Graham. My first night back in Silk Wood Manor. It sounds just wonderful. Dinner was marvellous, as usual, Frances. Goodbye Angel. See you in the morning if weather permits."

"Not tomorrow, Child, it's Saturday and Frances and I are going to relax for once." he chuckled.

"I don't expect that the workmen will miss you teaching about heaven when all they want is a square meal, a roof over their heads and their paycheques." Claire grinned, kissing them both on the cheek.

"A little religion never hurt a soul, but it's saved many," Angel declared with a laugh.

"Quite frankly I've never liked the idea of all those men being in so close a proximity to the Manor when you're all by yourself. Some of those men are ruffians, if you ask me. They scare me. "

"They're homeless, Frances, they barely survive even when the weather is good. The work on Silk Wood Manor is almost finished, and as soon as it is, the temporary structure they're housed in will be turned into a house, and they'll be gone. Besides, I have Graham and Yvonne staying with me, and Edward watches over me too. Good night."

"She has faith Edward will find his way home to her, and faith is all that is carrying her, Stanley, and if she believes that he is alive, then I do."

"Oh Stanley, why would the Lord allow such a thing? Sometimes I think there isn't any God." Frances went to the sideboard and poured herself a brandy.

"We both know better. Frances, you're beginning to worry me the way you drink these days. Next thing we know, you'll be in the sacramental wine," chuckled Angel, joining her and holding out his own snifter for her. "You're practically turning into Alec."

"Stanley, you know perfectly well that I rarely touch it. Besides, dear Alec hasn't touched a drop since our Edward disappeared. He's become a perfect father to his little girl, and he works himself silly at Shado. I'm worried about him."

"You worry over everyone. That's why I love you. Now stop this getting yourself in a tizzy over nothing."

"Over nothing? Edward is dead, Stanley! Edward is dead!" Frances broke into a sob.

"I know. I think Q-tip would want us not to mourn him, and go on with our lives. After all he died doing what he loved best, fighting the alien beasties. Come on, Frances, my sweet. Leave the cleaning up for the morning. Let's go on up to bed. I'm needing the feel of you in my old arms."

"Now don't forget, the guards will be patrolling the perimeter, but you have to remember to lock the main doors and turn on the security system for the Manor itself before you go to sleep. Graham and I will be within yelling distance in the staff's quarters, just push the button on the wall. Sure I can't talk you into going to bed so that I can do it myself before I leave?"

"I'm not tired yet. I'm going to finish my coffee and sit and read here a while. Goodnight Yvonne."

"Good night, Claire. Don't forget the security settings. Sleep well." Yvonne sighed.

Claire curled up on the small velvet couch that faced the fireplace, and studied the gilt framed painting hanging over the mantel. The painter had captured her husband sitting in a forest green wing chair, mouth barely curved in a crescent of an impatient smile, white-blond hair perfectly groomed, Navy double-breasted suit and striped tie immaculate, shoes shined, hands in lap, one hand resting on his Swiss wristwatch. She listened to the logs crackling in the fireplace and to the rain pounding on the windows as she sipped a little coffee then put the delicate porcelain cup and saucer on a nearby oak bookcase.

"Where are you, sweet Edward? Do you have enough to eat? Are you in pain? When are you coming home? This is your home, you know. Silk Wood Manor isn't really mine. I share it with you. Edward, you have to come home, darling. I'm not doing very well as the grieving widow. I know you're alive somewhere, somewhere far away. You left during a storm like this, Edward, do you remember? Can you hear me sweetheart? I think I'll sleep here; I'm too tired to go upstairs. No. That isn't true. I just couldn't stand to be in a bed that doesn't have you in it. Nothing I eat has any flavour. Nothing I drink satisfies my thirst. They want me to have a service for you so that everyone can have closure. I won't, Edward. I'll wait for you until hell freezes over. They can all go to hell. Everybody thinks I've turned into a real business executive, taking care of the homeless and running your charity. If I didn't have something to do, I'd lose my mind. Maybe I already have, talking to your painting. Know what would tickle your sense of irony, Edward? One of the only things that wasn't damaged in the fire were the Grade 2 gates you hated so much." Claire chuckled softly, then suppressed a sob. "I'm tired, Edward. I think I'll sleep now. Good night beloved."

Claire lay on the couch, pulling a chenille throw in soft pastel colours halfway over her, and cried herself into an exhausted sleep. The doors to the Silk Wood Manor remained unlocked.

Eventually, the fire in the fireplace died down and the light in the lounge faded away with it, leaving near-darkness in its place. The rain settled down to a mere icy sprinkle. The grandfather clock in the Great hall chimed the Westminster chime to inform the Manor occupants that it was midnight.

The heavy oak door to the Manor opened a cautious crack, and the newly installed security system, useless because the activation code had not been punched into it, failed to register the fact.

A bearded, scarred figure limped in, leaning on a hickory cane, and closed the door behind him quietly, and waited for his good eye to adjust to the darkness. The rain dripped from his bedraggled, patched clothes. Then he crossed the hall wearily and unrolled his sleeping bag in front of the fireplace, set down his rucksack, removed his shoes and peeled his socks off and settled into it, and fell asleep almost at once, oblivious to the woman who slept a few feet away on the settee.

Graham Lancaster went to the master bedroom with a breakfast tray while Yvonne surprisingly remained asleep. It was rare to manage to rise before she did but not only had he taken his morning shower and fully dressed, he had managed to steal into the kitchen with its shiny new Aga, and fry two eggs sunny side up, and cook up a rasher of bacon. Claire liked grapefruit juice, coffee and toast as well. It had become a game between Yvonne and he to see who looked after Mrs. Straker better. He rapped lightly on the door and opened it.

Oh sod all. She'd stayed up all night again and probably was asleep downstairs. That often happened in the suite he'd shared with her at Claridge's. She wouldn't sleep, and then she'd be practically sleepwalking through the day. It wouldn't do. Americans were so exasperating.

He walked down the stairs and as he expected, there she was on the couch, dozing. What the? There was someone fast asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace. Male by the look of things. One of the unkempt men she had hired through the charity. All very heart-warming, but enough was enough. He put down the tray on the sideboard noisily, and coughed meaningfully. The unforgivable thought entered his mind that perhaps she was having a liaison with this stranger? Absurd. She could have had her pick of the bachelors among the aristocracy of England. She loved Commander Straker even now; despite the fact the Master had been dead for nearly a year. The thought was unworthy of him; she didn't possess the guile to invite a man secretly into her bed. Claire stirred, yawned, smiled at him.

"Good morning, Graham. Something smells good. Oh thank heaven, we might actually have some sunshine for a while. What time is-oh my God! Pins and needles! Who is that?"

Although she was fully dressed, she grabbed the chenille throw and covered herself and peered at the intruder over the edge of it.

The figure on the rug was aroused by their voices and he looked startled, although his expression was hard to make out because of his beard, black eye patch and shock of white hair, which was practically screaming out for a cutting.

The man gestured at them, shaking his head in a firm no, pointing to his throat. He then put up a hand, with difficulty climbed out of the sleeping bag, which like him had seen better days. He fumbled for his cane, stumbled in the necessity to leave, and would have fallen if it hadn't been for the mantle, which he grabbed. Claire lowered the chenille fortress, the doctor in her winning over her reserve. The man's leg seemed painfully stiff.

"Are you one of the workers? Wait. Don't go. How did you get in? Oh oh, I don't think I locked the door and I forgot to activate the security-Graham close your mouth or the flies will go in."

"Ma'am. How many times must we tell you? This is really quite inexcusable. You're a wealthy woman and the possibility for you being kidnapped is unfortunately quite high."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, now I know why Edward hated security," she muttered to herself.

"Fancied you could steal something valuable to pawn for alcohol, no doubt." Graham guessed. "Common drunkard."

"What on earth is going on?" Yvonne said, wrapping her robe around her and hurrying down the stairs just as the grandfather clock chimed eight times.

"So much for your flawless security detail, this man snuck in during the night, I found him only a few feet away from Mrs. Straker."

"Yvonne, it's all my fault, I fell asleep and didn't lock the door and neglected to turn on the security systems," Claire said sheepishly.

"Tabarnaque!" Yvonne growled. "You. Who are you? Wait a minute; I've seen you about you're the mute. I heard the others mocking you because you don't take your meals with the others. You're very lucky that Mrs. Straker gave you a chance of making a decent living, and you repay her this way? No wonder you aren't liked by the rest of them."

"I do as I see fit," he croaked out in a painfully hoarse voice that sounded like a combination of ground glass and pumice stone. A kerchief he wore around his neck slid down enough for Claire to see that he had scarring that might have been from a cord pulled tightly across his throat. It almost looked like he'd been hung at some point and had somehow survived.

"I wasn't the one who said I was." he retorted in that same heartrendingly painful tone. "I am not an alcoholic. I take whiskey for the pain. You think you are better than me," he rasped. "You are wrong. I suppose I am sacked? That suits me, I can work hard, I'll find work. I don't need the lot of you." He looked at Claire. "I'm sorry I disturbed you, and that is the truth. I just thought for one night I could sleep where it was warm and quiet and safe. I'm going."

"Wait. I haven't sacked you, and it isn't them that make the decisions around here. What's your name? Sit down. Wherever you like," she added.

"You should have figured that out when she admitted she didn't lock the door!" moaned Yvonne.

"Leave us alone," Claire said. They stared at her in unison. They left the same way. "Sometimes I'd give anything to just be plain old Claire living in an apartment in the States, with a faucet that leaked," she complained. "Sit down. Are you hungry? Graham always cooks breakfast like he's feeding his old Army unit. There's plenty for both of us."

"Then come sit with me and share it, and help me eat my breakfast too. Those two don't let me talk to normal people. If I meet one more member of the aristocracy, I may scream."

"Does your throat give you much pain? Were your vocal cords damaged in the accident, Neal?"

He nodded. He steadied himself on his cane and crossed to the black leather wing chair and sat down gingerly, rubbing his knee.

"How do you take your coffee? No, don't get up again, I'll fix you a plate. Last night I was having cookies and coffee so I have an empty plate I can put your food on, I only drank the coffee, I never touched the cookies, if you'd like them."

He takes it the way Edward likes it, she thought with a smile. Poor lonely man, I bet he just wanted some intelligent company.

The two of them ate in comfortable silence, and she tried to ignore the way he wolfed down his portion so it wouldn't embarrass him, and was a little surprised when he daintily dabbed at his mouth with the linen napkin afterwards. He traced his finger around the empty glass, seemingly enjoying its texture. Then he tapped the rim of fine crystal glassware to hear the reassuring, beautiful tone and she smiled. "Vibration analysis," he said.

"I don't know. I should go now. This sunshine won't last, I should go get an early start. There is a lot of painting to do. I'm very good at it." He winced again, let his heavily calloused fingers rest for a moment on the patch then fall away.

"These fingers are prosthetic ones," she chuckled, wiggling them, pulling one off and watching his single blue eye widen.

"I'm glad. Glad that a beautiful woman such as yourself-oh. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't have any right to say that."

"Why ever not, Neal? I can tell when a person is being genuine and you were being genuine. I'm flattered. Neal, what happened to you, what caused you to be so crippled?"

"I'm not helpless," he said in rising anger. It sent shivers through her. She wasn't at all sure why. What she was sure of is that this strange man needed some affection, some friendship. Someone that cared about whether he lived or died. My God listen to me, that's the exact thing that got me into trouble with Edward. We're not going down that road again.

"I didn't say you were, but you have a pronounced limp as though one of your legs is shorter than the other, and sometimes that happens when a leg is fractured and doesn't heal as it should. I noticed you have pain in your knee, too."

"We're a pesky lot. Neal, would you let me look at your leg? I promise not to harm you. It won't hurt."

She frowned as his whole body stiffened and he blanched, he seemed as if he wanted to flatten himself against the wing chair, disappear into it.

Here, tear his clothes off and hold him down. Lie still, will you? Do as I say, do as I tell you, lad! I have to straighten that leg out, I know how to do it, done it plenty of times. Otherwise you'll never take a step again, lad. Take another swallow of this, lad and it won't hurt. They'd forced it down his throat until he nearly suffocated. It hadn't helped.

It had hurt. He had screamed. He had remembered he had screamed. Screamed every time they tied his leg to the board, every time they had used a penknife they'd held in the fireplace to kill off the germs, and stuck it into his kneecap, working out the shrapnel embedded in it. He had screamed. And it seemed to him they'd taken a liking to it. He was among monsters.

Nothing they had done to him in those first days hurt as much as when they'd forced his wedding ring off and taken his wristwatch, he had fought it with everything in him, but they'd insisted that he owed them for saving his life. He had wept. Then they'd tightened the rope around his leg again and he'd screamed himself into welcome unconsciousness.

Claire had stood up and gently taken his hands in hers, knowing it might not be a wise decision. Obviously he was lost in some nightmarish memory. He'd wanted a warm, safe place to sleep. What in God's name had happened to the man? Was he a veteran of some war? It was impossible to tell with the matted hair, patch and beard what his age was. He'd been badly treated by someone; that much she was sure of.

He pitched forward, jerking, starting to seizure, and she caught him before his head hit the floor.

Alec Freeman, in the long tradition of assailing male guilt with flowers, had popped into the florist's, plunked down change for a bouquet of baby carnations, and was pushing the door to get out when he ran into someone he didn't want to see. He figured karma was out to get him.

Translated that meant that Jack was always broke and always looking for a loan, which he never paid back. So why was he in one of the more expensive Bayswater florist shops with a huge bouquet of roses?

"I've had a bit of luck at poker, can you imagine? Those for the missus?" Jack slapped Alec on the back, and Alec felt his spine decidedly crack into a z shape.

Here it comes. All right, what excuse do I use this time? Illness, maybe. Bubonic plague? Acne?

"What sort of favour, Jack?" he heard himself say cautiously to the man's bulbous nose. Jack had been a boxer in his youth, and Jack was now at the age where Alec doubted whether Jack still knew what the word boxer meant.

"You know how London Transport is, bit of a pain, and car hire is a waste of money. I was wondering if you could drive me round to a pawnshop back home in Liverpool?"

"Oh we can have a spirited conversation about old times all the way up the M11 to the M1, to the M6 and M56 into Liverpool, won't take but two shakes of a lamb's tail. The new girlfriend saw a sparkly she liked in the window, hard to find a pawnshop these days and I wouldn't be but a moment, and you could give me a lift home afterwards, we'd knock back a couple of pints together?"

"Don't drink? I suppose you've found religion too!" and he slapped Alec heartily, guffawing, and Alec imagined his spine looked like crushed tinfoil by then. After four hours of listening to Jack, his brain would undoubtedly match.

Yvonne hurriedly swooped Claire Straker into her Mayland office and closed the door.

"I'm afraid there's more. Foster intends to force Colonel Freeman into resigning."

"Foster needs help zipping up his own pants, Yvonne, he'll never get Alec to resign until Alec wants to. What I'm enraged at is that Foster would have Edward's special hospital room here turned into an ordinary ward, and do it behind my back, and take what was left of Ed's personal belongings and dump them in cardboard boxes. I hope Alec kills him. Because if he doesn't, I will."

"Foster, rutting bitch that he is, found a little used mandate written into the Shado bylaws that decrees any operative who reaches the age of seventy must be forced to retire. Alec's going to technically turn seventy in less than a month."

"I can't stand it anymore, Yvonne! I can't handle this. I don't want to ever set foot in this hospital again. Nobody here stood up to that tin god and told him to go to hell. I thought I had friends here. Nobody even called me or even Alec. They just allowed Foster to bulldoze through my husband's things in the pretence of saving some money when he knew damn well Edward paid for it out of his own pocket and it never cost Shado a cent! They never would have allowed this if Edward were still with us. This is a power grab, Yvonne. And now Alec, using Edward's own law against him! I'm taking the Foundation's support away from this damn hospital and its damn board of ass-kissers, Yvonne. Foster wants to run things here? Fine. He can come up with a way to fund it. I'm finished! I'll have Neal moved, I was going to have someone at Moorfields Hospital look at Neal anyway."

Claire settled down, took a deep breath, picked up the bronze nameplate that said Dr. Claire Spencer, Paediatric Surgery and threw it toward the nearest window. Yvonne gawked as the window splintered.

"He can fund the replacement of that window, too. I'm surprised he didn't have my office carted off, and have me shoved into a broom closet. Come on. Help me with one of these boxes. I'm getting Neal out of here."

Yvonne hoisted the heavy box containing Ed's belongings and trotted after the indignant Claire Straker who acted like she was Cleopatra on her barge. I'm a good Roman Catholic, Yvonne thought, but I never really believed in demonic possession, until now.

Alec stood around with his hands in his pockets, and listened to the pawnshop owner and Jack discuss local politics until he was sure he'd go potty. Finally he started to look around at what the shop had available, since he still had a few hours before he had to leave and drive to Silk Wood Manor. He surprisingly spotted a familiar looking watch under a glass case, a Certina Certiday. The same brand of watch he'd given Ed as a present on Ed's fortieth birthday. You didn't see many of that brand and particular style these days. He wondered if he should buy it for Claire, or would it be too painful for her? He decided to get it, have it repaired if needs be. Get a new strap to fit her wrist. Resist the inclination to keep it himself.

"Oh yes, good choice Sir, if I may say so, got that in a couple days back, you can always have the inscription on the back removed by a silversmith. Perfect working order, too. Here you go. Will that be cash or credit, Sir?"

Alec turned the wristwatch over, and his face drained of blood. There was an inscription just like the shopkeeper had said. With the date inverted in American style.

Alec actually growled, hurled himself over the counter in an athletic exhibition more worthy of a twenty-five year old man than one aged seventy-four and grabbed the terrified shopkeeper and shook him the way a Doberman might tear into a piece of raw meat. Jack just blinked and stared at Alec as if the Australian had suddenly taken off his Burberry to reveal a pink tutu and tights. Alec shoved him against the wall, and several goods crashed off the shelves to the floor.

"Who brought this in? Tell me! Tell me or by God I will smash your little beady eyed face in until you do! You keep records on everything, right?"

Holding his prey by the scruff of the neck with one hand, Alec fished in his wallet until he found the card that identified him as Detective Chief Superintendent Cedric Powell of New Scotland Yard, and held it in front of the terrified man, who looked well on his way to forgetting the potty training his Mum had taught him. Alec shoved his wallet back in a pocket. The shopkeeper was feeling a bit like Tokyo and Alec at the moment was Godzilla.

"I want to see everything you have in the way of paperwork on this wristwatch. You've got a video camera in this shop, do you have the footage on whoever brought this thing in?"

"Y-y-yes, I think so, I've been busy with other things, so I didn't erase the tape."

"I want the receipts, and I want the tape and I want it now, or I'll stick you in Her Majesty's prison for so long your balls will crumble into dust before you get out! Now find what I want! MOVE!"

As the man stumbled toward the back, Alec clenched his teeth together. No matter what condition he might be in, or how impoverished a situation he might find himself in, Ed Straker would never have pawned the treasured memento. So that meant Ed might be alive somewhere and someone else had taken it from Ed, and done it.

Graham Lancaster turned the pages of Country Life in a snit. Here he was, ex-Army Intelligence, had been a hound among the Russian foxes with the best of them, making decent money being one of Mrs. Straker's staff, living in a sprawling manor in a suite of rooms that was better than his old flat, living the good life. And what was he doing on a Saturday evening? Nursing a man that looked like a one-eyed Father Christmas. Not that he envied the chap, the fellow had been through more medical procedures than he'd had exams at university for his six O levels.

Graham checked his watch. He peered at the man in his sickbed over the edge of the magazine. Yes, he appeared to still be breathing. Super. Now where had he seen that article about a ban on hunting? The very idea!

The man was muttering something. Sounded like he was saying don't, don't. He'd been in and out of sleep. At least when they'd done the brain scan on him with the electrodes pasted to his skull they'd had to wash his hair afterward. A good cutting is what it needed, length of the boar bristles on a Kent brush. Honestly, the man looked more like a woman then a woman did. They'd combed it out and collected it neatly with an elastic band. Graham made up his mind to make him cut it, and trim the beard as well, at least, although dispensing of it altogether was preferable. Graham wondered if he could get away with accidentally on purpose losing the man's patched clothes. Graham hadn't bothered to stick them in the wardrobe; he'd merely rolled them up in a ball and stuck them in a drawer, washing his hands afterwards of course. He decided to pretend he didn't know where they were when Mrs. Straker and Yvonne came to fetch him. After all, if he had to be under the same roof with him, he should dress decently. The troublesome fellow certainly looked more presentable in the standard hospital logo pyjamas they'd given him, even if they weren't striped with a monogram over the pocket. Monogram, they didn't even know the beggar's Christian name. Were they going to call him Neal forever? He was beginning to think that Mrs. Straker had adopted the fellow the way you'd take in a stray cat. If she wanted a pet, she could have chosen a better breed. The man had snuck into her home, for heavens' sake. And had she called the police? No. She'd allowed him to stay, even fed him. Americans!

Graham put down the Country Life and picked up the Independent, but his perusal of the newspaper was interrupted by a turbaned chap in a doctor's smock, who entered the ward with a chart, closed the curtains around the bed, and smiled at Graham. God, to think India was now independent.

"Forgive my manners, I am just coming off duty after a long day. I am Dr. Mukesh Lokprakash, new on staff, you see and I have the results of the tests we did on him. No indications of epilepsy. But there is much more that troubles me. He has some sort of bacteria in his bloodstream that doesn't seem to be responding to the antibiotics we tried. He seems to have an allergy to many of them. Not having a medical history, this is difficult."

"I'm Mr. Lancaster." Difficult? thought Graham. Trying to repeat your bloody name is what I'd call difficult, I can't be sure if you gave it or if you merely hiccupped. "I'm afraid that isn't my area, my employer brought him in, she is on the staff of this hospital. She tried to have him checked into a private room upstairs but there was some problem with it, and so she went with an assistant to find out what was wrong. Been gone several hours now. Worrisome."

"I see." the doctor pulled up a chair and took Neal's pulse, both at his wrist and at the carotid artery in his neck. "You see the ligature marks on this man's throat? Most disturbing."

"Graham," Claire Spencer said breathlessly, bursting in through the curtain with Yvonne and setting down the box she had been carrying, "We're getting out of he-oh. You assigned to Neal? I don't recognize you. I'm Mrs. Claire Straker, I brought Neal in."

"Dr. Mukesh Lokprakash, pleased to meet you. I was just getting acquainted with Mr. Lancaster and telling him that I accumulated a wealth of knowledge about this unfortunate man after the battery of tests and the two medical procedures we did on him."

"The usual, MRI, Wada, brain imaging EEG, and the like. The brain scans show no indication of brain damage or injury, no sign of what may have caused the grande mal, although there is a faint scar that may be from a past skull injury. He had a corneal abrasion in one eye, which we treated, fortunately it was not serious, but naturally it must have caused him a good deal of pain. He seemed quite stoic about it, and it will heal as long as he follows my directions carefully, is disciplined about using the drops and has a follow up to make sure there are no complications."

"I was about to have him checked in at Moorfields, I'm a doctor, or at least I was, an injury ended my surgical career. I'll make sure he gets the best of care. Go on." "However, as I was saying, this case disturbs me. You will note that he has ligature scars at the throat, evidence of some injury to the vocal cords, accounting for his raspy speech. Findings show that his voice may return to normal, provided he rests it. The scars on his throat and on his entire body trouble me. He has some sort of bacterial infection in his bloodstream that doesn't seem to be responding to the antibiotics we tried, and as I told Mr. Lancaster he even appears to have an allergy to some antibiotics. He had a fracture of the tibia, which has started to heal, but not perfectly, plus a hip and shoulder implant with faint scarring that indicates previous surgeries. We removed some foreign bodies from his knee, which was practically one massive, infected wound. He admitted when the pain from his multiple injuries was severe; he would drink any liquor he could afford that was available to ease it. I fear he is undernourished, obviously underweight. He got extremely frightened, and quite agitated when I would touch him and he refused to try and recall the accident that he had, or tell me where he'd been before he met up with you. He seemed certain that you had abandoned him when he couldn't locate you, and I assured him you would return after he underwent testing. I suspect he is suffering from traumatic induced amnesia and possibly even the seizure was caused by repressed memories breaking through. I would suspect at some time in the past he may have been tortured."

"Tortured?" Claire said in disbelief. Yvonne got uncharacteristically pale and even Graham shuddered. Lokprakash nodded gravely.

"I don't recommend allowing him to go on working, he should have extensive medical and psychological care and in particular have a microbiologist study that bacteria. I think he was intuitively very wise to break into your home, Mrs. Straker. I would say more than anything he requires tender loving care." the East Indian physician chuckled. "I have a list of the drugs and a form outlining the follow up care he needs, here you are. I will sign his paperwork so you can take him with you, and get a wheelchair."

"No wheelchair." a voice rasped decidedly. "I'll walk on my own two legs. I'm not helpless. I'm not returning to Silk Wood Manor. Where are my things? I won't be a burden to anyone or anything. And Doctor Lokprakash, in all respect, your theories are bullshit. Where's my cane?"

"If you think you're just going to sail on out of here, forget it. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world you walked into mine, and I'm keeping you there until I decide to throw you out." Claire snapped. Neal scowled at her.

"Or what? You'll beat me up? With a lousy eye and a lousy knee and a lousy leg? Guess who would win if we arm wrestled." she smiled. He entered into a staring contest with her. She was triumphant, even if she did have the advantage of two good eyes. His shoulders slumped a little, but only a little. It was one battle lost, not the war.

"I am going to pay for that one safe, warm, peaceful, comfortable night of sleep for the rest of my life?" Neal complained.

"Unfortunately, Ma'am, I couldn't find them, perhaps they disposed of them in the dustbin," Graham offered.

"You still think you're better than me, don't you, Lancaster? One day you will come to regret your attitude."

"Neal, don't wear out what's left of your voice. Yvonne, bring the boxes to the car. Graham, go get the wheelchair. "

"Lancaster," Neal said softly. Graham turned and looked at him without enthusiasm. "One of the plastic buttons on your off the peg blazer is coming off. Thought you'd like to know."

Claire swiftly turned her head so that Graham wouldn't see her face, and with as much composure as she could muster while desperately trying not to giggle, took a robe and helped Neal put it on over his pyjamas. Graham made a sound between his teeth and exited.

"Neal, you are positively evil," she laughed. "Graham's Navy blazer is bespoke and his buttons are gold plated brass." Neal shrugged.

"Gold plated brass, like him. People wrapped up in themselves make small packages. I can tie the sash, you know. I'm not helpless. Listen, Claire. You have to let me pay you back for all you've done for me. I will, you know. Eventually. I'll pay you back."

"The man in the painting. Lancaster said he'd gone missing." Was there sadness in his voice? No, she must be imagining it.

"Home," he repeated, with passion. Their fingertips brushed briefly as she helped him into the waiting wheelchair, and both quickly looked away not wanting to acknowledge the event.

Pins and needles, stop it, he just reminds you of Edward, everything about him reminds you of Edward, down to the colour of his eyes. Don't get involved with this man. Don't. Edward isn't dead. He isn't. Don't you dare get involved with this man.

I love her and I've never even touched her until just then, and I have to pretend it meant nothing to me. She's so beautiful, funny, caring and sweet. But she belongs to that solemn man in the oil painting, a man from a world I'll never be a part of. Dear God, what am I supposed to do? I can't battle this loneliness anymore, but I have to, I have to, I have to.

Claire's mobile phone rang and she answered it as Yvonne wheeled a sombre Neal toward the car, and Graham loaded the boxes in the boot.

"Hello? Oh hiya Alec. Tonight? Sure, Frances and Angel might come over too. Something to show me? Okay. There's someone I want you to meet anyway. Bye."

I like just listening to her voice. I couldn't possibly have fallen in love with her. I have only known her for a matter of hours. No. That isn't true. Oh don't be silly, of course you don't know her...but I do. I've seen her. I've touched her. We've made oh . . . sweet Christ, stop having an idiotic fantasy. You'd think it was your wife or something. Wife. Sometimes I wonder why she doesn't . . . I don't know. Why does she make me feel so strange? This isn't her car. Something about her car. Oh just stop it, stop it. Your head is screwed up by the drink. That's all. Her hair's gotten longer, I like it like that. She smells like sandalwood. When did she get that brown sweater? Stop it, stop it.

He stared out the window, as Yvonne pulled out of the parking area and headed toward the main roadways. Claire made a brief call to Frances and Angel and told them to stop by, and Frances agreed and mentioned she was trying a new recipe for a chicken casserole and would bring some.

"We have to stop in Knightsbridge, Yvonne I want to pop into Harrods for some things," Claire said. "Neal's going to need some outfits, for one thing. Graham I need to borrow your coat."

"Whatever for, Ma'am?" Graham said, puzzled. Yvonne had been driving for a short time at a leisurely pace, and she grinned to herself knowing what was coming.

"Well, Neal can't shop with me in his pyjamas and his robe, now can he? He'll have to borrow your coat. Neal, it'll only take about, oh, a half hour, do you feel up to it?"

The impromptu shopping trip took two hours, and Neal sat contentedly in the back seat with his shopping bags.

"That felt like the mad shopping my mother used to do with me just before the September school term started. After the shopping was done came the ritual of having hamburgers and milkshakes downtown, she always had vanilla and I always vacillated between chocolate and strawberry. Her handbag was shiny black patent leather; I remember her looking through it for her billfold. The very next morning my chin would break out in dots, and I'd threaten to throw myself in the river if she made me start the first day of school looking like that. Wonderful memories. She smelled of Evening in Paris, these tiny little bottles of scent. She'd keep the empty bottles in the drawer with her lingerie. I know, because I sneaked an illicit peek in that drawer. Her cashmere sweater was so soft. Every boy thinks his mother is the most beautiful mother in the world, but in this case, she actually was. I know she was..." Neal's voice, still sandpapery, trailed off. Claire noted Graham gave Neal a curious look. She guessed Neal was finally seeming human to the upper class Lancaster, and she grinned.

Claire's mobile went off as the car pulled into the Silk Wood Manor driveway. She noticed that the Brisby's station wagon was already parked there, meaning the Aga would be cranked up at full throttle, knowing Frances. She and Angel had keys to the Manor.

"Hello? Oh, hiya Alec. A little late? No, that's fine. We were all late getting back. Hmm. Oh pins and needles, you're kidding! Oh the poor little thing, Alec, you beast! Hee hee. Okay. Heh, that much? Sure. Okay. Okay. Bye."

"What was that all about?" Yvonne inquired, pulling the boxes out of the back of the Vauxhall estate wagon. Claire had finally settled on a green one to replace her beloved Volvo.

"Alec went to pick Ayomide up from a birthday party she went to with her nanny, and the birthday girl had pierced ears with little jewelled bee posts. So Ayomide insisted she wanted to have hers done too. So she drove Alec nuts about it and he finally gave in, and she screamed and screamed during it. So everyone looked at Alec like he was the Creature from the Black Lagoon for putting a poor child through that. Alec wound up buying nearly thirty pounds worth of Hello Kitty stuff for Ayomide to make amends!" laughed Claire. "They're both on the way here, shouldn't take them too long."

"It's a anime style cat, very big in Japan, all sorts of accessories. I have a niece back in Quebec who loves it too," Yvonne laughed.

"I never heard of Hello Kitty, Yvonne. I feel culturally deprived." Neal reached for the polished walnut walking stick Claire had bought him to replace the handmade hickory one, and she gave him a startled look as he got out of the car.

"Something amiss?" he asked her, with the minute raised volume in his voice when he pronounced the final word in a sentence, in this case, amiss. The way Ed often spoke.

"Sounds good to me. I am too," Neal confessed, placing a hand lightly at the small of her back for an instant as she passed him. It was like jumping willingly into a nuclear reactor with no clothes on simply for the thrill of the experience. So was the bewitching smile he gave her.

Culturally deprived. Edward said that to Nathaniel. Dear God, what's happening to me? Claire thought wildly. Pins and needles, I need a stiff drink. I hope Angel brought some Pimms or something. I'd drink Thunderbird out of the bottle at this point. It isn't possible for Edward to have a doppelganger. Or for me to be falling in love with him.

At Neal's request he had gone upstairs first, out of the view of Frances and Angel, who were in the kitchen with Graham and Yvonne, having refreshments. The boxes had been placed in her bedroom and Claire managed to stick her coat in the wardrobe in the foyer, escape to the kitchen, grab two glasses of Pimms, and hurry back upstairs. She handed him his glass. He sipped a little, frowned at it and put it down on a nearby table in the hall. The table had a large green plant on it, in a faux Ming Dynasty vase.

"Do you mind if I look around first then shower and dress afterwards? I'd like to look decent before I meet your friends."

"Oh heavens, no, while you're looking around, I'll run you a bath, just remind me and I'll reapply the medication on your knee and bandage it again tonight. Oh, and let me show you where your rooms are."

"Neal, simply taking Graham Lancaster down a peg on occasion is well worth having you around." she chuckled.

"Neal, that isn't nice." Claire laughed. "Now, behave, and here are your rooms. You have a tub and shower right in there."

"Why can't I be closer to the master bedroom, nearer where you sleep? I can help look after you, Claire. Goodness knows you need looking after, if you failed to lock up Silk Wood Manor, and allowed someone as nefarious as me to come in."

"Yes, in the master bedroom, which is adjoined to my home office. I hear the door chime, probably Alec and Ayomide arriving, I better get going. Will you be all right up here alone?"

He stepped in front of her momentarily, so close that she imagined she could feel him breathing. Neal reached out and gently caressed her cheek with a solemn expression on his face, then he vanished inside the rooms she'd showed him. Claire stood there for a full minute, then gulped down most of her Pimms and disappeared down the stairs.

When she was gone, Neal stepped into the hall, and peered into the master bedroom. He entered and stood there a moment, looking at the large Palladian window that had been set into the wood panelling. Gloucestershire was a dismal grey, so there was not much to catch the eye other than the raindrops that bounced against it, but he admired the window as though it was fashioned from stained glass. It was not surprisingly cold to the touch. He stepped away, and sat on the bed's edge a while, stroking the beige comforter, touching the smooth cotton sheets. He didn't quite understand the longing and unbearable feelings of loss as though something of his had been taken away, no, not even taken. More like seized.

With a sigh, he rose again, using his walking stick for balance, and noticed something on Claire's desk. It was a small-framed colour picture of her husband, sitting on a white cast-iron bench in what looked like a garden. He was in pyjamas and silk dressing gown, hooked to an IV bottle, looking at the camera with a grin, wanting the business of being photographed candidly to be over. It hardly resembled the grim man in the oil painting, but it was clear they were one and the same.

Neil picked up the photograph, and unexpectedly, slammed it down so forcefully that the glass broke.

"What's wrong with me? What have I done?" he cried aloud. "I don't belong here anymore. I'm called Neil."

He looked at the photo, and carefully worked it out of the frame. It hadn't been harmed. He worked it out carefully, left taking it with him and picked up his shopping bags again, slid the plastic handles down one arm. The glass of Pimms remained where he'd left it. On an impulse, he poured the contents into the plant's soil. He seemed to consider the levity of what he'd done, and grinned. Then he marched purposefully into his rooms, a man on a mission.

"Did you get an ouchie, Sweetheart? Did that terrible man make you get an ouchie? For shame, but you look so pretty in your new dress and earrings!"

"My credit card is what has an ouchie," Alec complained, sipping coffee, and playing with one of the beads on Ayomide's braids. "Say, Claire, when is this fellow you want me to meet going to come down? He putting a mudpack on his face up there or something?"

"Oh Alec, it'll wait until after dinner. And Neal will be here soon, he's probably deciding what he wants to wear; I think he's probably a little nervous meeting strangers for the first time. Alec, you won't believe how much he's like Edward."

"He's like Ed? I've known Ed for more than thirty odd years. Believe me no man on earth is like Ed, Claire. There is only one Ed Straker."

"Alec, we have bad news for you, cherie. Mister Foster is going to have you fired." Yvonne sighed, feeding Ayomide a forkful of casserole.

"Icky!" Ayomide declared, eyeing the freshly baked macaroon cookies Frances had put on the table.

"Mide, you like chicken and pasta, so shut up and chew, or you won't even get a crumb. Now what the hell are you talking about, Yvonne?"

"For heavens' sake Alec must you swear in front of your daughter?" protested Frances.

"Frances, if I lose my job, I may not be able to feed my daughter or myself or make alimony payments so corrupting my little Mide is the last thing on my mind. Now what's going on with that idiot this time?" Alec stabbed into his casserole portion with the fork; clearly wishing it was a sensitive part of Foster.

Yvonne took a deep breath, and described what had happened, adding the business with Foster violating the sanctity of Ed's hospital suite.

"That bloody bastard! Well, he can just forget it. I have a lead I intend to follow, and we'll just see who gets fired in the end. Arrogant little tin headed demigod! And he had the guts to complain that Ed was empire building? Ed busted his arse to save the bloody moron and he does this? I'm going to use his shrivelled balls for a cricket bat."

"Daddy mad again," Ayomide said sombrely, and crammed more casserole into her mouth. Claire grinned at her.

"Daddy is plotting homicide," grumbled Alec. "It's Uncle Foster's soul that's going to need saving."

Upstairs, Neal turned off the taps of the shower and stepped naked, still dripping, onto the plush rug, took a large white Egyptian bath towel and wrapped it securely around his waist. He dried himself off vigorously, applied deodorant, and then examined his face in the mirror. Claire had included a small selection of toiletries for him, in particular some Bronnley shower gel in the lemon-lime scent, and he had used almost all the bottle, relishing the smells and the feeling of being really clean. Now he dabbed a little of the men's cologne on. He looked inquisitively in the looking glass. Impulsively he pulled off the black eye patch that he'd taken care not to get wet during his shower, and tossed it into the small bathroom rubbish bin. There, all that remained was the gauze protecting his eye. That was fine.

He picked up the photograph again, and studied it carefully. Then he set it down, and rummaged through the toiletries again. Nail file, no. Comb, yes he'd make use of the comb and its accompanying hairbrush. Hair cream too. Shaving cream. Razor and blade. Yes. But there was something else he needed. The medicine cabinet didn't hold the prize he wanted, so he dug deeper into the packages. Voila! There it was, a tiny pair of moustache scissors. He started whacking at the beard until it was nearly gone, and then he lathered up, shaved carefully, God it felt wonderful. Civilization at last!

He stared at a clean-shaven face that looked back at him with equal wonder. Then he looked at the photograph again.

"I'm called Neil," he said aloud. The voice came, the voice that was never very far from his ears, unless he drank to deaden it, and the pain.

"You listen and you listen up something fierce. You're Neil, boy! Neil Brown, and that's who you are, and if you as much as think otherwise, we'll have to dig into that knee again and straighten that leg, won't we? You're called Neal. You'll be my son now. Blasted son got what was coming to him, wouldn't do chores, wanted to go and do his whoring, I had to discipline him, now didn't I? You saw, didn't you? Blood gushing out like the milk from a cow. Made you watch, didn't I? Tied you down and made you watch. You try and cross me and I'll slit your throat the way I did his. He's rotting in the yard, boy, you want to join him? Whatever life you had before doesn't matter, you understand, boy? I saved you from choking on that parachute line, you would have hung from that tree and suffocated if I hadn't pulled out my penknife and cut you down! You owe me and the wife, boy. You'll work the rest of your life making amends for what you put us through, looking after you when you were messed up. Lots of work to do on this farm, lots. So remember, you're called Neal."

"They hurt me, they hurt me so badly. Monsters. When I had nightmares in Boston, Mother told me there was no such thing as monsters. You were wrong, Mother. But don't worry about me, Mother. They won't find me here. I'm called Neal."

He looked solemnly into the looking glass, and he straightened his back as much as he could. He squared his shoulders.

"I'm called Neal. I always told them I was called Neal, I never said that my name was Neal. My name isn't Neal. I wonder what my name is?"

Strange relief that he didn't quite understand flooded his being. He picked up the scissors again, and stared at his hair. It was going to be like climbing Mount Everest with a toothpick.

It certainly did. When it was finally over, mounds of hair lie in the rubbish bin along with the elastic that had held it together. He examined the results. One sweep of silver hair over his ear was shorter and more scraggily then its companion. Carefully he worked a bit of the hair cream into his hands, rubbed them together and swept both hands through his hair, making a part on the left, like the man in the photograph had his hair parted. Then he quickly dressed, and he headed for the door, hesitated, turned back, looked at the gauze, carefully peeled it away, suppressing a yell of pain at the adhesive pulling his skin. When it was off, his vision was a little blurry, so he waited. It took some time to focus through both eyes, but he soon was ready.

He walked into the bedroom she had assigned him, using his walking stick, and looked in the Cheval mirror at his reflection. Black leather slip on shoes, with snaffles. Black ribbed socks. Grey trousers, with pleats. Black calf belt with silver buckle. Light blue V-necked sweater with a Polo player logo in red embroidered on it. Blue pinstripe shirt with button down collar. No wristwatch, damn monsters had taken it. Taken the ring too. Monsters. Taken everything. Monsters.

The worst one of them all was the one that always came, and promised him a safe, peaceful warm place to sleep, promised him he'd take him home where he belonged, but never delivered on the promise. Just another monster.

"Claire dear, shouldn't you go up and see what's wrong with your house guest? He's been up there for hours, and the casserole and vegetables are getting cold."

"He didn't exactly break in, she didn't listen to me and she didn't lock the door. If you ask me, I bet she subconsciously didn't want to lock the Commander out."

"You might have something there, Yvonne. But what I was trying to say is that for the first time in nearly a year, we have something solid on Ed's-"

"MY GOD MY GOD MY GOD MY GOD!" Claire was screaming. Alec grabbed Ayomide and shoved her into Yvonne's arms, ordered her to stay with her, then he took out his gun, and ran out of the dining room toward the great hall, where the oak staircase was. Angel and Frances leaped up and followed.

Alec reached the stairs. In the middle of the staircase, Claire was practically smothering someone who sat on one of the stairs, grasping at him, sobbing, near-hysterical. The stranger was whispering something comforting to her.

Alec hurtled himself joyously at Ed Straker at the speed of a runaway train, while Frances and Angel and eventually Yvonne gasped. Ed made the most heartrending keening sound, a sound that Alec never had heard come from out of Ed's throat, not even when he was the most badly injured. A sound like a wounded, dying animal. A sound like a rabbit's frightened squeal. The sound a person who is terrified beyond all comprehension would make. It grew and grew and Alec stopped, not understanding, frightened, confused.

"Edward, my darling, it's all right, that's Alec, sweetheart, oh my darling, that's Alec, he wouldn't hurt you," wailed Claire. Ed flung himself into her arms, saying something. "Sweetheart, oh my precious, how could I have been so stupid? All this time, oh dear God, all this time you were with me. Edward, I can't hear what you're saying."

"Make him go away! He was there! He was one of the monsters! He always said he'd help me, and I screamed and screamed for him to help, and he promised, but he never did! He lied! He lied! He let them HURT me! Make him go away!"

"Dear God," Alec said. "Dear God." Alec practically crumbled at the foot of the stairs and Frances and Angel came running over. Ed buried his head in his hands and then clutched at Claire, like a small child wanting the comfort of his mother.

"I've never seen him like this. Never. Dear God in heaven. Never. What did that bitch do to him? I swear when I find her I'll tear her limb from limb, she'll regret the day she was born. Oh Ed. My God. What were you going through to be in this state? Claire, we found Ed's wristwatch. It had the inscription I had put on it. I even double-checked and ran it through the New Scotland Yard lab. The watchband had dried blood on it, and the back of the watch had two miniscule light hairs stuck in the casing. Still had the root on it. Wrist hair. DNA matched. It's Ed's. I've got some friends looking for the woman that brought it into the pawnshop. Elderly hag. The address on the photo identification she gave was a false one, and her prints on the watch were smeared. But don't worry. I'll find her. I'll find her."

Graham Lancaster unceremoniously passed out on the carpet. Nobody took immediate notice, except tiny Ayomide.

"He go asleep." she squeaked. Nobody paid attention, so she skipped into the dining room again. Yvonne, tears streaming down her face, same as everyone else, didn't notice her charge escape.

"Alec, do you have the wristwatch?" Frances asked, the only one besides Ayomide that was barely retaining any composure.

Alec dug in his pocket for the plastic evidence bag containing the Certina wristwatch. It had various labels on it. He broke the seal, took the watch out and showed it to her.

"Yes, Frances, yes! Show it to him. Show it to him," Claire said, rocking Ed in her arms. His mournful keening had quieted to a soft humming sound. Alec made his way up the stairs. Sensing he was coming closer, Ed gasped, and recoiled, but Alec put a hand up.

"Oh yes, darling. Yes. You're my dear, precious husband, and you're finally home, home where you belong. Alec just wants to show you something."

"That's MINE. Alec gave it to me," he said quietly, still clutching Claire's hand.

"I'm Alec. Look. I had it engraved. On your birthday. Do you remember me coming and taking you to birthday dinner?"

"He wouldn't hurt you darling. Why don't you put your watch on? Let Alec help you, I can't do the buckle with my hand anymore."

"They hurt you and you cried out for him to help you, to save you?" she said in sudden comprehension.

"Yes," Ed said ever so softly. "And he came sometimes. He came. He was there. In my dreams. But he always went away. Always."

"Let Alec put it on, and ask Alec to say he's sorry. That's the right thing to do, isn't it, darling?"

"You won't make me stay with those men, outside, will you? I can't stand being with them. I don't like them. I can stay here, can't I? Please."

"Edward, this home, Silk Wood Manor, is not really mine. It belongs to you, and when it was nearly destroyed in the fire I knew I had to --" Claire paused and sobbed, took a breath, "I knew I had to restore it again. I prayed that some day you'd come home, and I wanted it to be like you remembered. Oh dear God, how could I have not known you'd come home for me? You did, you were there, and I didn't even know it. I didn't even know --" she sobbed.

"Don't cry. I'm here. Don't cry," Ed whispered. "Am I the man in the painting? I pretended I was, you know, I wanted so badly to be, you know. Because then you'd love me the way I love you."

"Oh Stanley!" Frances sobbed, and went into her husband's arms, and Angel patted her on the back, tears streaming down his cheeks, mouth moving in silent prayer of thanks.

"You're my Edward, you're the man in the painting, and I love you with all my heart, and so does every person in this room. Edward, let Alec show you the wristwatch," Claire said softly. Ed searched her face, nodded.

Alec approached slowly, and although Ed trembled noticeably he didn't flinch, only held out a wrist. Gently, Alec buckled it in place.

"That's yours. You're Commander Ed Straker, my senior officer for more than thirty years, and more importantly, the best thing next to my daughter that I've ever had in my life. You called for me, and I couldn't come, Ed. I couldn't come. I would have torn mountains down with my bare hands to come to your side, but no matter where I searched, I couldn't find you. I couldn't save you. I let you down when you most needed me. Can you find it in your heart to forgive an old Australian? Can you?"

Alec bowed his head and sobbed. As did Claire, who buried her face in Ed's chest. Ayomide came in, her mouth full of macaroon cookie, and another in both hands.

"Daddy, here. Cookie make you feel better. Why are you crying? Did you have a fight with Mummy again?"

"Mide Freeman, I thought I told you no cookies!" Alec growled. Ed smiled a little.

"You couldn't come. I thought everyone had abandoned me, but you couldn't come."

"Please forgive me, Ed. I couldn't go through the rest of my life with any peace if you didn't forgive me."

"Alec, for heavens' sake it wasn't your fault if you didn't know where Q-tip was."

"Hush Angel, just let them speak," Claire said, having sat up, barely composing herself, gently stroking Ed's hand. Ed looked solemnly into Alec's craggy face.

Ed extended a hand. Alec took it slowly, and sat across from Ed. Alec's rough fingers closed over Ed's calloused ones, reality hit him in the face like a ten-ton anvil dropping on his head, and he started sobbing again. Ed looked at him and pulled him closer. Gently he laid Alec against his chest.

"I'm home now. Everything will be all right. I'm finally home." Ed said, triumphantly. "I'm not Neal. I'm Ed."

For a long time there was a teary but joyous silence and hugging. Interrupted only by Ayomide's soft crunching of cookies. Finally Graham, like Sleeping Beauty awakened by a kiss, stirred. Yvonne noticed, realised what happened and grinned at him.

Graham sat up, stared at Ed, stood, wiped himself off, accumulated some dignity.

"I think I will warm up the casserole and the vegetables for Mr. Straker and then break out some champagne. The Master is home. Late, mind you, and giving all of us a bit of a scare, but home. Will that be acceptable, Ma'am?"

Claire started laughing, as did all of them. Alec wiped away tears, and grinned.

"Very good Ma'am. As for you, young cookie thief, you are finishing your dinner."

"Oh sod her dinner, let her eat the cookies, it's a celebration at Silk Wood Manor. I'll bake more and start in on Edward's favourite lemon drizzle cake," Frances said decidedly. "And start the coffeepot again."

"Cookies! Yay!" Ayomide skipped away to get what she hadn't yet eaten, which was a small supply indeed.

"Two miracles in a day then. I think the good Lord is making up to us for all of us being worried for a year," he said, and followed Frances off. Claire was stroking her husband's hair.

"You try cutting yours with moustache scissors," retorted Ed in an echo of his usual irritation, and Claire chuckled, holding him.

"Nothing to worry about, just a injury to the vocal cords that is healing. At least it will heal if he rests his voice. And why, Edward Straker, is your patch gone? Do you really want to re-injure your cornea? Come with me." Claire jumped up, pulling him with her.

"All right, all right," Ed complained and went hand in hand with her back upstairs.

"He went from one sort of captivity to another. Yvonne, where does Claire keep the good stuff?" Alec said, standing up with a pleased grin.

"Paul Foster is going to be a very surprised man when the Commander returns to Shado," Yvonne determined, pouring Alec a whiskey. Alec took it, took a long satisfying pull at it, then shook his head in a firm no.

"Ed doesn't have his memory back, and whatever they did to him is still going to interfere with his behaviour. He can't return to Shado now. You know what Claire said. That his injuries indicated he'd been tortured, and we can't push him into remembering unless we want to do even more damage."

"Can wait." Alec smiled. "I have my work cut out for me. I intend to find that woman on the videotape, and when I do, she'll wish it was the aliens and not me that found her. Now, let's go celebrate. Ed Straker is home."

Everyone sat in the oak-panelled lounge, Ed curled up in a green leather wing chair, his feet on the matching tasselled hassock, eating a piece of lemon drizzle cake, with two scoops of ice cream on it. He ate delicately, delighting in each bite, holding on to the plate possessively. Claire sat on the floor beside him, her hand on his leg, sipping coffee. At intervals, she looked up at him to make sure he was still there. He was, but his food wasn't, and he set the empty plate aside, looking satisfied. Ayomide was playing jacks with Angel, and giggling when Angel lost the ball, which was often. Alec sat cross-legged on the floor next to Ed, making a series of phone calls on his mobile. Graham and Yvonne were opponents in a fierce, take no prisoners game of checkers. Frances tended the marble fireplace between pouring coffee for everyone, using the fireplace poker to rearrange the logs. The fire snapped and crackled.

"Us. Here. I can't remember all of you, but it feels like I'm with my family. I do fit in here. This is my home. I want to see all of it, Claire. I want to see everything I own. I want my life back."

"Wait until you see the garden, Edward dear!" Frances said enthusiastically. "Claire did the most magnificent job in the garden. There's new things as well. There's a stone fountain, and a gazebo, and the new conservatory is joined with the greenhouse, and there's an indoor swimming pool, and a health gym... "

"Frances. Frances, and that's her husband, the Right Reverend Stanley Brisby, except everyone calls him Angel, because of his beautiful voice. When you served in Vietnam-"

"Sure, Q-tip, son. You saved all of us, you finally got the Medal of Honour that was way overdue." Angel smiled.

"Not now, Edward. Remember what we discussed? We need to go very slowly. We aren't in any hurry. The important thing is that you are here, and alive and well."

Everyone had said their goodbyes, and expressed their wishes of gratitude, and gone home, or in Yvonne and Graham's case, to their rooms in the manor. Claire had examined, dressed then rebandaged Ed's knee, and placed fresh gauze over his eye. The two of them wandered through the manor, hand in hand, Ed in silent amazement that everything he saw belonged to him. Finally, when it was long past three in the morning, Ed remembered he'd been weary, and they went back to where the bedrooms were situated.

"Goodnight, Claire. See you in the morning." Ed said, leaning on his walnut stick, then he went across the hall to the room she'd given him.

"No, I'm fine, it's just a little hard to take. Goodnight Edward. Sleep well. God bless you." Claire turned, put her hand on the doorknob of the master bedroom door, and suddenly her composure was shot to pieces and she sobbed, sliding down the door until she was a fragile mass curled up on the carpet. She squeezed her eyes shut. He watched her in silent agony, tentatively put a hand on her shoulder.

"I've hurt you. Maybe it would have been better if I'd never come home. I'm flawed, I'm the man in the painting and yet I'm not whom you need."

"No! Edward, it isn't you, I'm just selfish to think of myself and my needs when it's obvious you can't remember, when it's so obvious whatever they did to you has traumatised you so much. But is it too much to ask that we share a bed, we don't have to be intimate if you're not ready for it. I just can't stand being without you. I just can't cope without you anymore. Please hold me Edward!"

He lowered himself to the floor and extended his arms toward her, and enfolded her in them, kissing her on her hair. He stroked her cheek, looking at her, deep in thought.

"Claire, I need you to help me remember. That man Alec will lose his job and I will lose my job if I don't get well. He explained to me I have this tremendous responsibility, and when I look at him it's if he isn't seeing what he's always seen."

"He's frightened Edward, he's always drawn strength from you and you from him. He couldn't prevent what happened to you, and that's a heavy burden."

"There was a man. A man and he would come; he'd come to my door. They'd lock my room. I hated that room. Claire, I need to look behind me, to remember, and I don't want to remember."

They stood, helping one another up eyes locked on one another; he wiped away her tears with the back of his dressing gown sleeve. He chuckled.

"Did you see Ayomide's little ladybug posts? The other little girl at the birthday party, she had little bees, so Alec's little daughter got ladybugs. Ladybugs. Ladybug on your wedding gown. Ladybug. Like the little ladybugs on Ayomide's ears."

"Yes, the day we got married. Yes, do you remember that day? Oh God Edward, what's wrong?" she exclaimed in alarm, seeing the fear grow on his face.

"You said he couldn't come, that Alec, that Alec couldn't help me. I couldn't help that man! My God! Stop him someone! STOP! Make it stop, Claire, I'm begging you, oh God, he's doing it! Monster! She's watching it. She's watching so calmly. She's praying. MONSTERS!"

Claire grabbed him, his eyes were rolling back in his head and she feared he might have a seizure. She shook him and he looked at her desperately, focused, sobbing.

"Edward, look at me, look-at-me, listen-to-me! Be here! You're HERE with me, and I love you. My voice and the voices of the people who love you and need you are stronger than any voice they put in your head. They cannot change the man that you are. They can harm your body and destroy your spirit but they never can take away what makes you Edward Straker. They chose the wrong person to try and hurt."

"I need to remember what I experienced, so that Alec finds them. I saw him, I saw him kill that man. He killed his son. He slit his throat. There was so much blood. He said it was with righteousness. For the glory of the Lord. I couldn't help him. Oh Claire! Alec promised he'd find them, he will, won't he? He killed that innocent young teenaged boy, slit his throat open, the artery gushed and he made me watch, he made me watch, he-made-me-WATCH!" Ed broke down and sobbed, and she held him tightly, her teeth clenched.

"I swear I'll kill the murdering son-of-a-bitches, Edward. Alec has the woman on video tape, and he'll get New Scotland Yard to tear the countryside apart until they find her and make her pay. She'll know where he is."

"Yes-yes. Tell Alec. No, I'll call Alec. Jerusha March! YES! He-he was-damn. Biblical, Claire. I'll remember. Where's the phone? I want to call Alec."

"Of course." Claire chuckled a little and he frowned at her as she showed him where the phone was in the master bedroom.

"Edward, if the long tradition of you waking poor Alec up in the wee hours of the morning continuing like this is any standard to go by, then you're well along on your road to recovery." she smiled. "Only I'm not sure Alec would want this to be the first trait of yours that came back!" He grinned, and it made her heart leap, it was the old smile that she remembered so well, the boyish demi-smile that signified he was about to do something mischievous, and relish doing it. Ed looked at the alarm clock.

"You love me anyway," Ed decided, punching in the number. On his own, Claire noted with silent joy. He remembers the number. He's coming back. It'll take a lot of hard work to bring him back completely, but he just took the first step out of the darkness into the light.

"Cream and two sugars." he added firmly. Claire recognized it as his commander's tone of voice. She concealed her happiness and wrinkled her nose at him.

"Edward Straker, I know perfectly well how you take your coffee it's you who lost your memory, not me. So save that superior to underling tone for when you get back to work. Alec's in charge, not you." Claire reached forward and rumpled his hair affectionately, then winced, stifled a laugh. His hair stuck out all over his head like he was a platinum hedgehog.

"What?" he said in irritation, running his hand through his hair to straighten it without much success.

"Your hair looks like you cut it with moustache scissors." she giggled. He opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it together in a pretend line of indignant martyrdom at having to put up with her. His eyes sparkled. He pointed at the door, grabbed the phone and dialled Alec.

"Just go get me some coffee, Mrs. Straker! Alec, It's me Ed. Yes, it's Ed. No, nothing's wrong. I have some information for you get a pen and paper-"

"You're sure you want to see this, Ed?" Alec cautioned. He, Graham and Yvonne, Claire, Frances, Angel and Ed himself had gathered in Silk Wood Manor's media room, where there was a large screen television unit, hooked up to tape and VCR.

"Just run it, Alec. They're killers. What they did to me they could do to anyone. I escaped somehow, and they'll be looking for their next victim. This is no time to cosset me." Ed's voice was full of the old confidence, but he was holding tightly on to his cup of coffee. Alec yawned, Ed gave him a brief grin, and Alec started the videotape rolling. Ed went white, and the cup clattered on the rosebud design porcelain saucer from his hand shaking.

Ed pressed his lips together until it appeared he didn't have any. When he spoke again, it was with a little of the old authority. What surprised Alec was that Ed's voice seemed to be returning. Where it was once unrecognisable, now it sounded like his throat was merely dry. The Shado Commander made an effort to stay calm, but it was like coming face to face with the devil again, even if it was only on a screen.

"Her prints were on it, but too smeared to be of any use to us." Alec corrected. "But now we have undercover men searching every last inch of British soil looking for one Jerusha March, with that face plastered on distributed flyers. We'll find her."

"When, Alec? No DNA. False ID. Nothing to go on but that ugly face." Yvonne put in. "And the entire United Kingdom to search for her in. There just isn't enough evidence."

"Evidence. Well, I disappeared for a year. That woman and her husband took away an entire year of my life. My wristwatch turns up, my wedding ring will. Only a matter of time-hmm. The answer is locked up in my brain. Claire, can you inject me with sodium pentothal and . . .Claire, this isn't any time to . . ."

"Damn it Edward, you push the healing process and we could lose you permanently. You're already having seizures from the trauma of the events!"

"I'd rather have it be you than anyone else. But this needs to be done. You know it needs to be done. Before they kill someone else. Please."

"Q-tip, there are things you don't remember. If that young whelp Paul Foster sees you as being in anything less than in full health, he'll try and steal the very floor from underneath you." Angel cautioned.

"Maybe not, maybe the shock of seeing Edward will knock some sense into him. I'd like to knock some sense into him with the business end of a soup ladle," Frances said firmly. Ed chuckled.

"That isn't very-" Ed hesitated, and they all looked at him. "Not very Christian of you." Ed smiled in satisfaction. Claire brightened.

"You're remembering so much. I wondered when the alien bacteria that was dormant might kick in your body. I wonder if the fact that you were so psychologically traumatised over a year's time prevented it from becoming active? Caroline is studying it now, I better see what she thinks."

"You, I and Alec have alien bacteria-uh, I'll fill you in later, Edward. Don't worry, it's benevolent. We think." she grinned. "Maybe it gets unbenevolent real fast when husbands take unnecessary risks and ignore their doctor's advice." The others chuckled, but Ed raised his eyebrows at her.

"Maybe I'm not as safe as I led myself to believe when you're around." he chuckled. "Maybe I was wrong to hire you and Ryan." Ed seemed to hear what he'd said. "I hired you and Ryan, didn't I?"

"I had- I had lost my memory back then, too. I was injured. And you coached me on how to react. Wait a minute-that's it," Ed said triumphantly.

"You want us to do it again? So that you know what to say to Foster?" Alec grinned.

"Actually if I remember the story the way Nathaniel told it, the Commander carried index cards around to help him remember. Suppose we upgrade that a bit?" Graham asked.

"A simple transmitter placed in his ear, we can tell him what to say, and we can conceal a camera on the Commander's suit, and see and hear what's being said. That way, there will be no problems. He goes in, tosses that young upstart out on his bum, changes the bylaws of the Shado rules with the cooperation of Colonel Lake at the Commission and Alec gets job security."

"Just when I thought I could finally sack Alec, and get a real professional as second-in-command." Ed said, with a telltale gleam in his eye.

"As if looking after your skinny arse is a plum assignment? You really think you're going to find another Australian stupid enough to follow you around and clean up your messes?" Alec folded his arms.

"Hard to tell they've been friends for over thirty years." Graham said with a grin.

"So where do I get these little electronic toys, considering I'm supposed to be conveniently dead as far as Foster is concerned, and I can't just breeze into Shado yet. Hope the voice print identification still remembers me." Ed smiled a little.

"The bastard may have taken your voice out of programming. Well, Harry is on and he'll take you down, and make sure that your voice is re-issued into the machine. The change in your voice won't matter, the machine is meant to pick up on whether someone is trying to impersonate someone else, and your voiceprint is as distinctive as a retinal pattern or a fingerprint. As for the equipment, leave it to me, I have some poker-playing colleagues in MI5 that owe me money," Graham said.

"Considering I wiped you out in last night's checkers game, it's amazing you can win any poker money," Yvonne put in.

"Who said it was poker money? Might be blackmail," Graham said, looking smug. "Besides, I let you win."

"Ha!" she retorted, watching him pick up the phone, and then leave to pick up what was needed.

Claire lovingly poured another cup of coffee for Ed, and then momentarily let her fingers rest on his neck. He took the cup and smiled up at her.

"Well, Edward's going to return to Shado this evening. After an absence of a year with no trace. It's bound to shake up Foster, not to mention all of Shado but who'd want to be Captain Ford when it happens?"

Alec started to guffaw loudly. Ed looked perplexed, and Claire started to fill her husband in on the hapless Keith Ford, and Ed's rather strained relationship with him, and Ed began to chuckle.

"What is it with you and Keith anyway? He's a good man, you know." Alec grinned.

"Hard to believe there's still a story you haven't told me or I haven't told you, Ed." Alec smiled warmly.

"Arrange for a tailor to alter a Nehru off the peg to fit me. Old habits die hard, and I want to make a good first impression."

"Make it cream, Alec, he looks so gorgeous in cream." Claire put in. Ed chuckled.

"I think he needs a hairstylist sent up here too." Claire said, playing with jagged wisps of Ed's silvered hair, and he grimaced at her, causing her to chortle. Then a smile formed on his lips.

"Kill the fatted calf and stick it in the Aga, the prodigal Commander has come home," intoned Ed dramatically and they all laughed.

"Well, well, Harry, it's been a long time. I must confess I'm rather surprised you haven't reacted yet. On the way up here, I caused two construction workers to accidentally blow a hole through a set, five starlets to scream, four stunt men to crane their necks and bump into a man dressed as a giraffe, and the security guard to have what he thought was a heart attack but what the studio lot medic branded as simple hyperventilation. I won't even bother to include the receptionist that fainted dead away. So I figured you'd at least get pale. Must be that English stiff upper lip business." Ed gently put his fingers upon the device he was concealing in his ear, grinning somewhat at hearing Alec's laughter at his remarks on it. Then he removed his aviator sunglasses and slipped them into a pocket of the new cream Nehru suit. Ed had chosen to remove the patch, which by now he was using mostly to prevent anything getting into the eye, which was rapidly mending without complications. With a few experienced sweeps of a brush, the hairdresser had fashioned his hair into a version of the style he'd gone back to, parted on the left and swept back, with a touch of gel pretty much concealing his disaster with the moustache scissors. To Harry Andrews, it was a miracle on the same level as parting the Red Sea.

"Commander. You don't know what it's like to be able to see you again. It's like having steady rain for months and suddenly the sun comes out. I did nearly faint when Grey rang me up and pre-warned me. Let me be the first to say welcome back, welcome back indeed. I see you're walking with a stick, hope you weren't injured too badly, Sir?"

"I'm fine, Harry, just need the stick for a while until my leg mends, might need a surgery or two. Is this thing going to work?" Ed had gone into his studio office soon as Harry Andrews punched the key on the desk to open the doors, and immediately he had frowned. "I see Foster did a bit of redecorating. I'd appreciate it if everything was put back the way it was, Harry. Commander Straker," Ed had opened the cigarette box and drummed his fingers in irritation on a desk he didn't recognise. "It appears the good Colonel did indeed erase my voice print. It'll take a lot more than that to get rid of me."

"Sir, it'll be restored within the hour, and so will this office. Harry Andrews."

"Voice Print Identification positive. Harry Andrews," the machine intoned, and the lift descended. Ed plopped down in the chair and was again irritated when he discovered the replacement chair didn't swivel as much as his original had. When the office stopped, he took a deep breath as he rose. He smoothed the edge of the cream Nehru jacket, pulled it down. The only sign of his physical injuries was the walnut walking stick he used for balance. His face turned thoughtful. The perfectly formed lips curved in a peculiar way. The body became as erect as was possible with the injured leg.

"Something wrong, Sir?" Harry said nervously to Ed's back. It looked like the Shado Commander was hesitating. He'd never seen the Commander show fear of anything or anyone.

Ed Straker turned on his impeccably polished black ankle boot heel toward Harry, and nodded, ignoring the frantic pounding of his heart. Then with a deft gesture he pulled off the earpiece, and undid the snap that secured the mini camera to his black turtleneck collar. He dropped both items into Harry's hand.

"Look after those for me, Harry," Ed said, sounding no different than the day when he had first walked into his Shado office and formally taken command. Then he disappeared through the entrance of Shado headquarters.

At Silk Wood Manor, six people just stared in a stunned silence that was broken by a tearful Claire.

Ed Straker walked calmly down the corridor, completely enjoying the commotion he was causing, but not in the least reflecting that in his expression. On occasion, he'd nod formally to some operatives, some he graced with a crisp wish for a good evening, and they all wound up looking like shell shock victims. After a time which in his opinion was comparable to the space of eons it took for man to walk upright and pollute his environment, he entered Control. Jaws fell open. Papers dropped. There were gasps. Eyes threatened to pop out of eye sockets. All that, he could handle and was amused by.

It was the rise of cheering that took him entirely by surprise. It started out softly, then grew, and then was joined by whistling and applause and people getting out of their seats.

"All right, I'm obviously as pleased to be alive as you apparently are to see me alive, but let's continue to get some work done, shall we? Where might I find Colonel Paul Foster?" Ed asked in less than an innocent manner.

"In his-" Lt. Ayshea Johnson, one of the ones who had clapped the loudest, started to say. Ed turned his inquisitive blue eyes on her exotic brown ones, expectantly. She swallowed. "In your office, Sir."

"I have business with him. Tell me, where's Captain Ford-ah." Ed stood there like a gargoyle, waiting for Keith Ford, who had just entered Control, whistling to himself and examining a readout in his folder. Except for the whirring of the computers, the room was absolutely silent. Ford finally looked up and around. And turned green when he saw his nemesis.

"What's- wha-wha-wha-wha-wha-" Ford started sputtering and backed into his station, nearly losing his footing, as the folder and the paperwork in it fell to the ground.

"Might want to have medical centre see if they can help you with that stutter, Ford. Bring me a coffee, will you? Not the sediment at the bottom of the pot, either. Fresh. Light, two sugars. I'll be in my office." Ed said, stressing the possessive word my. He walked off, and there was an almost totally unified round of laughing.

Ed Straker pressed the button that signalled the occupant of the office of the Commander of Shado, and the doors parted to greet him. Paul Foster was bent over a massive desk, nose in a manual that Ed recognised as being the rules and regulation of Shado. I should recognise it, Ed thought, mildly amused. I wrote most of it. Ed studied the rather ugly painting that had been hung up in place of his electric mural of swirling colours. It looked to Ed as if a giant fly had been swatted with a paintbrush dipped in various colours and the corpse lie in repose on the canvas. And Alec told me Foster once said I was no art lover, recalled Ed. From the moment he'd entered the building, memories were coming back to him as surely and as swiftly as the swallows returned to Capistrano in spring.

"Just put it on my desk, Ford, that'll be all," Foster said, taking a pull at a drink of amber liquid. Well, Ed thought, he at least kept my drink dispenser. I doubt it was from his overwhelming sense of sentimentality.

"No, that won't be all, Foster." Ed growled. Foster half choked on his ale and Ed had to admit for a moment he was truly worried for the younger man. After all, he didn't want Paul to die that easily.

Ed brought his finger down on the switch that closed the door. Then he picked up his walnut cane and slammed it sharply down on the desk, missing Paul's hand by centimetres. Foster turned white but got a second wind.

Ed moved so close to Foster's face the younger man could have easily counted the number of pores on his face. Foster edged back, nervous. He'd seen Straker furious before but never had he been the cause of it.

"Frighten you, Foster? Think? Were you reading that manual? Wasn't throwing Alec Freeman out of the organisation, Alec Freeman, the first and best recruit to Shado, wasn't throwing him out enough for you? Were you determined to find a way to ruin him as well?"

"The law you created states clearly that Alec has to retire. I'm following the law. Your law. "

"Actually, let me tell you about another law. The one that states clearly that attempted murder is considered not only immoral, but illegal under any law, and treasonous. Punishable by firing squad. The one I ignored to save you years ago when you watched me pass out from lack of oxygen, and then failed to put a bullet in my head. The day you and your companion were directed by the aliens to kill Straker, an action that violated that law. The one I ignored to save your life. That one, Paul. So if exceptions can't be made, and Alec can't be saved, then maybe you have a march to the shooting range long overdue for me to put a bullet through your damn skull. And believe me, Foster, believe me, the next time you even think of pulling a fool stunt like this, I will drag you down there by your inflated ego, and this time I won't deliberately miss. If I ever see you go near my wife again I will beat you so badly there won't even be a DNA trace of you left. Now you're suspended without pay for three months, Foster. When I decide you can return to Shado you will start from the bottom and work your way up again. I am officially demoting you from the rank of colonel to second lieutenant. You'll have duties as a busboy in the restaurant until I decide otherwise."

Ed reached forward, grabbed Foster by the scruff of the neck, and tossed him to the side like he was made of paper mache. Foster fell helplessly. Ed felt the blood boiling in his veins and closed his hands into fists, and then controlled his fury and carefully picked up his walking stick, lay it against the wall, and settled into the chair, from fire to ice in an easy transition.

"FORD! He's lost his mind! Call security!" Foster wildly yelled. Ed didn't look alarmed. Neither did Ford. Foster's overblown dramatics had all the impact of a baby spitting up oatmeal. Foster had had the knives out for Alec, and Alec was one of the few people in Shado that had genuinely showed an interest in Ford. Ford didn't have the power to do anything about it. But the man who sat in the chair did.

"Ford, as of now, Paul Foster is persona non grata in Shado for three months, and his rank is reduced to second lieutenant. He is to be escorted to his apartment by armed guard and he is not to leave his apartment without such. By my order. I also want all department heads to meet me in half an hour for a complete overhaul of the rules and regulations of Shado. Understood, Ford? Oh, and I'll be temporarily on medical leave. Alec Freeman will be filling in for me. When I return, I expect to see everything returned to the way it was when I left. Any objection, Ford?" Ed asked, picking up a telephone and speaking into it.

For the first time in the presence of the man who usually made his blood run cold and his goose bumps flutter their wings and fly South for the winter, Ford smiled.

"Good coffee, Ford." Ed muttered after a sip, setting the cup down as Ford turned to go. Ford turned around. Straker was actually smiling at him. Next, Big Ben would probably strike thirteen.

"Get up, Foster," Ed said without looking at him. "Turn yourself in to the security detail."

Ed Straker in his entire life, despite his compulsion for excellence and sense of duty, his personal striving for perfection and then some, his somewhat eccentric and a trifle outdated sense of personal style, his self-admitted addiction to the coffee bean, etc etc etc, sometimes made mistakes. Now there were mistakes and then there were mistakes. Cutting his hair with moustache scissors fell into one category.

Snarling, maddened, Paul Foster jumped up and grabbed Ed around the neck, holding him in a headlock, building up pressure on his windpipe, and Ed suddenly wasn't there at all.

He was falling, and his altimeter was cracked, and the wind was whipping at him sans merci.

Preferably with a chute that worked. And his hadn't. And the earth was coming up fast on him, and he didn't want to be strawberry jelly. Secondary emergency chute, please God, let it work. There was an enormous jolt and whoosh that knocked him out for a few seconds and then he hit something that scratched his face, and then the lines were around his neck, crushing his windpipe, stealing his oxygen, the blood pounding in his veins, vision fading, struggling to survive.

But the spectre with the scythe seemed to be winning. And then someone blessedly cut the lines choking him, someone with a foul smell, and he fell to the ground, a needle sharp pain ran through his knee and leg, a screech of pain knocked out of him like a slug from his Glock. A bullet fired. And he was once again in the place that was a part of him.

A bullet fired. A single bullet, which made a third eye on Paul Foster's forehead almost as if Foster had suddenly decided to wear Middle East garb and had painted a bindi in the middle of his forehead. His hands around Ed's throat went limp and Ed bent over, pulling at his collar and throat, gasping for air, wheezing. While Ed's vision and a decent rate of breathing returned, Foster had slumped to the ground.

And Alec Freeman stood in the doorway, slowly lowering his Heckler and Koch, and slipping it into his hip holster. He went up to Ed and made him sip a little of the coffee. Ed appeared ashen, looked up at Alec wearily as medics and security came in and took away Foster's body. The doors closed behind the macabre parade after Ed waved away Dr. Shroeder and Alec nodded. Ed's expression was tortured as he rubbed his throat.

"Christ, will you listen to yourself, Ed? Don't be an idiot. He was living on borrowed time. He had the potential to make a damn good Shado operative and that's exactly what he was. But instead of gaining wisdom and humanity over the years the way you have, he gained a misshapen idea of his own importance, and thought it was a substitution for the ability to command. You did what you could, Ed. Now let it go. Come on, I'm taking you home." Alec took Ed by the arm, and he noted for once Ed didn't protest very strongly, which worried him.

"Yetunde has said so on many an occasion. What's your point?" the Australian said, handing Ed his walnut stick.

"Alec, I don't think I want you to retire just yet. I think I'll keep you around. It's probably poor judgement caused by lack of oxygen but I'm going to make sure that you are promoted to brigadier general someday."

"Ed, the RAF equivalent is Air Commodore. Sounds more grand to the sheilas." Alec said dreamily.

"Women are going to be the death of you yet, Alec. Besides you're a father now and its time you settled down. You're giving me grey hair."

"Ed, you already had grey hair. Now I asked Nina to get up here while I was driving here and she's on her way, she'll cover for us."

"You mean beside the fact you tossed aside the transmitter and camera, you bloody idiot?"

"I decided I didn't want to be helpless anymore. The memories are coming back, and I figured if I had to think on my feet, force myself to rely on me instead of technology, that I had a chance."

"Straker versus technology. Anyway, I had a gut feeling Foster might pull something like this," Alec said. "Come on Ed. Let's go home."

"Alec, have I ever told you how much I've appreciated your loyalty and friendship to me?" Ed asked quietly. Alec was silent for a long moment.

The two men greeted a stunned Nina Barry and Ed was so weary he just gave her a brief nod of thanks as they went past and all the way out to Alec's waiting car in the studio lot. Ed snapped on his harness as Alec did his up and then picked up speed.

"Ed, have I ever said how much I valued you being in my life and how appalling this year has been without you, most people thinking you were dead?"

"I think that may be getting dangerously to the edge of maudlin, Alec." Ed said gently, with a touch of ironic playfulness.

The two men grinned briefly at one another with enormous warmth, and Ed contentedly lay back on the headrest, and closed his eyes, and was almost instantly asleep. Alec kept one eye on the road but reached behind his seat and picked up a plaid blanket that he usually kept in his car for Ayomide, and smoothed it over Ed's lap, pulling it up to his waist.

"Will it ruin some grand universal plan if you at least have breakfast before you force me to shoot you up with sodium pentothal, Edward? Will it?"

"I'm not hungry anyway." Ed replied. He was dressed in white pyjamas, blue silk dressing gown and leather slippers. The weather in Gloucestershire was as murky as his mood.

"No, of course not, the great Commander Straker doesn't have to eat!" Claire slammed the silver coffee server down on the dining room table, and Ed watched the resulting splash of coffee stain the Battenburg lace edged tablecloth. Claire ran out of the room.

"What the hell happened to my professional wife?" Ed asked of nobody in particular as he mopped up the spill with a napkin. "This morning is quickly going to hell isn't it? "

"No. I can do it, as a matter of fact, I'm perfectly capable of doing it, must you hover around me like that? Don't you have a home of your own to go to?"

"Well, if you're going to be continually rude, Edward! All morning it's been Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with you."

"You don't appreciate being my houseguest, you know where the blasted Class 2 gates are!"

Ed watched Stanley Brisby pick up a half-buttered piece of toast, bite into it, take his now weeping wife by the arm, and lead her out. He looked over at Alec, who calmly looked up at him from over the edge of the Independent, then toss it down.

"All right, all right, everybody else has had their piece of me this morning, jump right in, Colonel."

"You've been a detestable bastard since the moment you opened your eyes this morning. Work often does that to you, but this particular mood's origin lies elsewhere." Alec added some fresh coffee to his already steaming mug, and then pushed the bacon around on his plate with his fork.

"You're half scared out of your mind. You're asking yourself questions like can I really run Shado after a year's absence, and what will happen to me when I remember the events of the year I lost, will I be able to face it, will I snap?"

Ed just stared at him, and twisted the napkin around. When he spoke again his voice was quieter.

"That's a question for you to direct to my doctor. Go on up and tell Claire to get ready. I'll be right with you."

Ed waited until Alec went upstairs, and he then moved out into the garden for a moment, tightening his robe sash, ignoring the light rain that was beginning to turn into a deluge. He bent and chose a single white carnation to pick, and he went back into the house.

Claire Straker was completely disgusted with herself, but it was difficult to stop shaking. Why had Constantine decided to go on a holiday in Aspen this weekend? That meant she didn't have any other choice but to attempt to retrieve Ed's memories herself. She certainly wasn't going to let the Shado psychiatrist who was filling in for Constantine get at Ed. Rose Mela had assured her over the phone it was a straightforward procedure. It wasn't straightforward when it was your husband who had to go through the ordeal. She knew perfectly well why her husband had turned into the creature from the Black Lagoon overnight. Edward was just as afraid to find out what other nightmares he'd experienced as she was to be the instrument that would lead him down that road.

"All right, Edward, I want you to go back, to go back to the day you disappeared, and tell me what is happening."

"I can't get the doors open, I can't walk, I've got to get out of here, I've got to stop the UFO. Yes! Through there, I can jump through there, a Beantown boy has to leave the womb sometime-falling now, falling oh shit the altimeter is smashed, when do I release the chute? Ground coming up fast, some sort of trees. When? The chute isn't opening! Come on, come on, secondary please, passing out-passing out, leaves hitting me, branches, oh God the lines are twisting around my neck, choking me, choking me! CAN'T BREATHE! CAN'T BREATHE! Someone's helping, oh God the pain, can't see. What is that smell? No wait, listen I'm Ed Straker, please, you're hurting me. Dragging me, where are they taking me? Stay calm. Stay calm."

"Edward, it's all right, you can see and hear everything but there's no pain. No pain. What are they doing to you?"

"Strapping me down, must have passed out. Telling me I am Neal. Who are these people? Who are you?"

Ed went limp, and Claire quickly got the blood pressure cuff around his arm, placed the stethoscope in her ears and pumped the instrument, noting when she first heard his pulse and when it faded. She removed the cuff, lowered her stethoscope around her neck, counted his respirations and felt his pulse.

"He'll be all right, Alec. Edward, it's all right, it's about a week later now. Where are you? Where are they? What do you see and hear?"

"My leg is hurting so much they strapped it down to a piece of wood, my knee is burning, they dug something out of it with a small knife, I couldn't stop screaming, they told me it's full of pus. I hear cows off in the distance, a plane. Hum of a refrigerator close by. The only window is shut. I think I'm in an attic, attic of their house. They've got me tied down to a wrought iron bed with wire and ropes, took my clothes, all my belongings, my watch, my ring, all I have left are my Y-fronts on me. Rooster crowing. She'll be up soon, they give me oatmeal, biscuits and water, and what I think is whiskey for the pain, they force it down me. Bucket in the corner for a toilet. Ceiling fan. Walls feel like they're closing in on me, sometimes I scream myself raw in the throat. They keep saying I am Neal. I can't shave, I can't wash up, I don't recognize my own voice anymore. I'm so tired, is this a kidnapping? How long have I been here? Days? Weeks? Months? Must be months. I hear someone arguing. Footsteps on stairs. Sounds like someone is struggling. Loud now. They're here. Got a young man with them, in ropes, another prisoner? What kind of people are they? They think I'm the Messiah, because I dropped out of the sky. They're insane. Oh God, he's got a knife why is he carrying that knife? Monsters! Oh don't let this be happening! This can't be happening!"

"Neal, rest for a few minutes now," Claire said, and motioned to Alec to join her as she moved out of range of the video camera.

"We've got to find the sons-of-bitches, " Alec said, clenching his teeth and balling his hand into a fist.

"They caused him through torture and alcohol to have a nervous breakdown and a complete break from reality, Alec, but at some point he escaped, and he may have seen something then that will tell us where he was held. God only knows how many people they killed in front of him. Making him relive the events that led to his escape is our only chance of finding them, and then we have to bring him back, make him see that what happened was beyond his ability to adjust to, that it wasn't his fault."

"He'll watch the videotape we're making of this and listen to himself, and he'll see what they did to him. I know in Shado they teach you to resist torture, but what they did to him played to all his weaknesses and his phobias. They confined him in a small room, they isolated him, they tortured him, they broke his spirit, they made him helpless, they killed people in front of him and convinced him it was all God's will. They took away a year of his life, Alec. Now he's expected to just go back to Shado like nothing happened simply because he's needed there. He has to heal first, Alec. He may always be different because of what happened to him. It isn't like him to strike at his friends. He has to come to terms with his anger at these monsters and then he can begin to heal, Rose Mela explained it all to me. Some of the anger is coming out but so is the helplessness he was made to feel."

"Just be his friend and mentor, Alec, that counts for a lot for than just revenge." Claire kissed Alec gently on the cheek, and he hugged her.

"I'll live. I'll get through this. Don't think for a moment that I don't feel the way you do. I'm a doctor, I know how to cure pain and I know where on the human body and how to inflict it. If I hadn't sworn an oath to heal and not harm- oh God, Alec, he went through all this alone, went through things I can't even imagine."

"He's stronger than we know, and we're right here, and we'll make sure he gets through this. Come on Claire, go on with it," Alec said quietly, squeezing her hand.

"I sometimes look around me at this house and look at him, and wonder what I did to be so lucky."

"It isn't always easy I imagine. Having to share him with Shado. Or me, I suppose."

"Alec, when he's with you, he's most at ease, he's happy. Even when he's yelling at you, or when the two of you are pretending you can't stand one another. You're so different, the both of you, but you're so alike. You both act like silly little boys, and it's a joy to watch you laugh and be playful. You both have brought so much happiness to me since I lost my Dad and my brother, and Ryan. I don't resent the part you play in his life, but yeah, sometimes I wish I never heard the word Shado. I've gotten through it from just knowing it's a part of him and probably will always be. As long as I have him in my life, I can accept it, but Alec, I don't think-" she began to break down and sob.

"I know. I don't think I could stand to lose him again either. Don't worry, I'm going to nag him into taking a long medical leave even if I have to lock him up in Silk Wood Manor. You okay?"

"Yes. I love him, Alec. That's my strength. I find strength in loving him, no matter what." Claire accepted a handkerchief from Alec and dabbed at her eyes, then sat by the bed again. "Neal can you hear me?"

"I want you to go back to the day you escaped from those people. I want you to tell me what happened."

"He goes away sometimes, and she comes up, and she -- please, don't -- she comes up. She lied, she lied, SHE LIED. She isn't holy! I hate her!"

"Tell me what happened." Claire forced her voice to be matter-of-fact, as Rose Mela had instructed her, but she was torn up inside, Alec could see it in her expression. The two of them forced themselves to listen to what Ed was narrating.

"She's gone, she's gone. I hate her I hate them! They don't know-I almost have it off, I'll kill them. I'll kill them!"

"I'm so thirsty. My leg hurts, he'll bring me whiskey soon. I pretend to be more drunk than I am. Then I'll use it. "

"I pretend. So he unties me, lets me sit. Gives me the whiskey. I have been unscrewing the finial on the bedpost. It has a thick, long screw embedded in it. I'm going to kill him, drive it through his skull. Then I'm going to kill her. KILL. Kill her. Quiet, don't let him hear us. He's coming. Alec is here, but I don't listen anymore. I don't listen when he comes. They twisted my leg so badly, flattened it against the wood, piece of fence post, I screamed and screamed and I begged him to help me and he tells me everything will be all right, Ed. He lies. He isn't any better than these monsters. He's one of them. He's-the man is coming. Hiram."

Claire watched Alec move away and turn his back and pound on the wall in frustration, saw his shoulders shake with silent sobs, but she hardened her heart to the sight and whispered to her drugged husband again.

"He's come up. He's drunk, I can smell it on him, he's got a tumour on his leg, it's festering. It makes me retch, I've stuffed cotton up my