The downtown streets were quiet. In the dimness all around, large glass covered office buildings echoed softly with different sounds, their shapes towering up towards the slender blue expanse far above, where a faint early morning light was glowing down onto the city streets. The air was new and crisp, calm. At that hour, there were only a few pedestrians walking the sidewalks of those twilit valleys, scattered apart, here and there. Nothing much was happening. It seemed a scene of serenity and quiet had settled upon everything in sight. Between the towers of steel and glass, everything was at peace. Then, from somewhere far away, a strange sound wailed.
              The soft, elongated sound seemed to fluctuate, hovering in the air, echoing off the skyscrapers and growing louder. Slowly it became recognizable. It was still very dim and faint, but growing noticeable. Somewhere in the unseen distance, the sound was approaching. It bounced off the buildings, louder in the crisp air and becoming more prominent. A man in a suit and tie paused on the corner of the sidewalk. He looked around, curious at the sound, but there was nothing he could see. Stepping off at the corner, he started to cross the street.
              In one of the long, intersecting metal valleys nearby, the echoes suddenly became louder, clearly now the sound of approaching sirens. Dimly seen, red and blue colors began to flash faintly across the walls of glass, growing brighter.
              Then appearing suddenly without warning, a large worn down blue convertible came screeching around the corner, its tires screaming and smoking as its engine roared in protest, the loud sound shattering the silence. The car's driver was trying desperately to force the careening vehicle around the turn, leaving smoke and skid marks behind. The car slid sideways, tilting slightly up on one side, skidding right towards the man in the suit. He dived back towards the sidewalk behind him  where he had just stepped off. A sharp rush of air whipped past him in mid dive, the car's back end missing him by inches, as the man rolled hard onto the sidewalk, dazed.
              With an erratic, squealing weave, the convertible stabilized after it roared past him, zooming away on the downtown street. Suddenly several police cruiser were tearing around the corner as well. The intersection became a chaotic maelstrom of sound, motion, and wildly flashing, bright siren lights. The police cruisers stabilized quickly, their drivers more experienced, as their engines roared louder  too and they sped off in pursuit.
              Inside the blue convertible, the whole world seemed to be shaking wildly. Parked cars rushed closer, passing to either side in a blur. Trevor gripped the steering wheel tighter, his vision bouncing this way and that with every change of direction. He couldn't believe how fast they were going. It wasn't fast enough. Running on pure adrenaline, his hand steered, frantic, swerving dangerously around slower traffic on the street. Claire was in the seat beside him, holding on for dear life. There was a frightened expression on her face, her dark hair flying in the chaotic wind caused by them racing down that metal valley of skyscrapers.
              A sign and median in the middle of the street suddenly raced towards their front bumper. With one blink, Trevor knew he couldn't avoid it. They crashed into it even as he threw the steering wheel to one side, trying to turn. The world shook again as the front of the car clipped and bounce over the median, sending the small street sign that had been bolted there sliding across the hood to fly up past the windshield and over their heads. Smoke rose from the street behind them as the sign clattered to the asphalt. Two police cars in pursuit dodged around the bouncing sign, racing clear.
              The car's engine roared in Trevor's ears. His breathing was fast, panicked. The police pursuit was still behind, red and blue swaths of light serving as reminders as the colors reflected frantically off his windshield glass. In the open air above his head, the city's skyscrapers still towered, sliding by, echoing back the wails of sirens in that enclosed space. In the seat next to him, Claire looked back at the pursuit. Behind her head, the parked cars and buildings were a blurred weave of color from the speed they were traveling. Her hair still danced wildly in the fast  wind, and she looked more scared than he had ever seen her.
              Trevor's mind raced, trying to keep track of the constantly shifting obstacles ahead of him. But he was also thinking back on the past week, and all that had happened. He risked a quick glance into his rearview mirror. The reflection of two police cars seemed to fill the small glass square, dodging and weaving in his wake, headlights flashing as the dark asphalt streaked past under their tires. The engines of all the cars in the chase still roared loudly in the chaos, parked cars passing to either side.
              The world whipped frantically to one side again as Trevor decided to charge into another high speed turn. His eyes widened when he saw that this time, he wasn't going to make it. There was a car parked before him, just ahead, Trevor shoved the steering wheel to the left. Claire screamed. the side of the convertible scraped harshly past the parked car, sending a sheet of white sparks pluming up right next to her in a shower of light as everything shook. With a hideous metal screech the convertible they were riding slipped past, all in a quarter of a second, now still somehow racing down the road.
              Trevor did his best not to panic at the close call.
              "Gods, how I prefer flying..."
              His eyes studied what was ahead intently, adrenaline still pumping through him at a million miles an hour it seemed. Swallowing, he could feel his entire body painfully clenched in exertion, racing onward. And again, he wondered... how it had all come to this.

              ONE WEEK EARLIER...

              Frechette couldn't believe what he was seeing.
              Faith was standing calmly there in front of his desk, smiling at him as if nothing were wrong. But everything was wrong. As he looked at her, she appeared completely untarnished, not stained, not dirtied. Instead of her hair being sickly twisted into a pool of her own dark, dried blood, her blond strands were now lying freely across her shoulders, glowing golden and straight. She still wore the hospital scrubs he had last seen her in. But now they were clean, smooth and immaculate. There was no bullet hole puncturing the middle of her scrubs top, no mud staining the lower trim of her pant fabric above her feet.
              Frechette's eyes moved to her arm, towards the exposed skin where she had been carving a heart surrounding Trevor's name repeatedly for months, carving it deeply in with any pointed objected she could find... forks, pens. But the red, scabbed lines that had been there before... were gone. There wasn't even a scar. Her pale skin was smooth, unblemished. He looked back up into her eyes, the back of his head still throbbing. Instead of looking into dead, empty orbs of glass, as he had the previous morning when he had stood over her body, now he was looking into astonishingly blue eyes that were vibrant, sparkling, and very much alive. But above all, above everything else, what struck him the most was that Faith seemed happy. She looked... whole. Complete. No longer damaged. As her blue eyes glittered at him, her smile made him feel that somehow she was happy to see him again. He couldn't stop staring at her, standing there, full of serenity.
              This was insane. Frechette didn't move from his chair, petrified. Somehow he forced himself to say something into the silence. The words spilled softly from the hard line of his mouth, saying the only words he could accept.
              "This cannot be..."
              She didn't seem concerned, watching him. "It's okay, Ian."
              Slowly, he pulled back in his chair. "You... you're not real. You can't be real."
              Faith smiled, the sight of it genuine. "There are far less cant's in the world than you think..."
              "Trevor killed you."
              "Only a little..."
              Looking away from her, Frechette paused to think. He couldn't accept this. "This means... I'm going crazy."
              There was a playful glint in her eyes as she looked at him. But when she spoke, there was no concern in what she said. "Maybe. Give it time... You'll see. Everything happens the way it has to."
              "Happen? What does that mean. What will happen?"
              For no reason, he was suddenly struck even more strongly by how beautiful she was. He had forgotten how blue her eyes were. They looked at him with a certainty, unwavering and kind as she answered. "You'll try to help him, Ian. Help him to capture Trevor. But don't worry. He won't."
              Frechette's voice grew harder, angry for the first time. "What? Who? That makes no sense. No one want's Mr. Hale in custody more than I do. I want him caught."
              Again she only responded with a kind smile. "Maybe. Give it time... You'll see..."
              Suddenly he felt like he was dancing with a shadow, grabbing for something solid, but instead being frustrated by her cryptic responses, yelling out. "And just what the hell am I supposed to see!?"
              Not liking his tone, a deep male voice called out. "Doctor?"
              Blinking suddenly, Frechette pulled back in surprise at the new sound. Faith was no longer there. Instead, the thick, imposing figure of the police detective who was investigating Faith's murder was standing in front of his desk. The man's hard features were giving him an angry look, obviously displeased that Frechette had raised his voice to him.
              Frechette tried to get his bearings. "What's... what's happening."
              The police detective's gaze was definitely not kind. "Well, Doctor. I arrived to talk to you. I came in, found you working at your desk. I called out, but you ignored me. You mumbled something, and ignored me again. And just when I was about to get really, really angry at all of the being ignored... you decided to yell at me."
              Squirming slightly under the angry police man's stare, Frechette couldn't help but feel that he had been caught in a delicate situation. "My... apologies, Detective. I was just... obviously lost in my own imagination. Talking to myself. I must have been caught up in my work. I was up all night, studying Faith's records. How can I help you?"
              Still obviously trying to contain his anger, the detective stepped closer, looming over him as he stayed seated at his desk. Frechette could tell something had already upset him before the hard faced policeman had ever even come into his office. "That's interesting, Doctor. I was up late last night too. Going through Dr. Allen's records on Mr. Hale. Accessing her laptop computer. Can you imagine...  what I found?"
              "Found?" Frechette looked away, nervous. "Found what?"
              "Well... Let's see. It was a fascinating read. Claire's laptop had the remains of some... book that she had apparently been writing. One she also apparently abandoned. After reading that rather enlightening document and comparing it to Dr. Allen's own session notes with Mr. Hale, well..." Turning, the detective slowly put his palms slowly down on the desk top, leaning dangerously over  him, a dim anger in his eyes. "...I couldn't help but come to the conclusion that you haven't been telling me the whole truth, Doctor."
              "Truth?" Frechette swallowed, feeling very much interrogated. "Wha-what truth?"
              "It seems that Dr. Allen and Mr. Hale were more than likely romantically involved. A little detail her records indicate you had definite suspicions of. A little detail you also conveniently failed to mention when you informed me of this suspected 'kidnapping'..."
              "I... nothing of what I told you was in error."
              "Really? We both know that's not true, don't we? You want to know what I really think is true?"
              Frechette looked away. "I don't know what you are talking about...."
              "I'm thinking that you're lying to me, Doctor..." The detective said the last word with disdain, not trying to hide it. "That clear this up a little? I think you know more about what's really going on than you've told me. I believe you're holding information back from this investigation."
              Without warning, he could feel his entire body go tense, his hands still resting on the exposed sheets of his hand written session notes with Faith. For a moment he was grateful that his handwriting was so bad. The detective probably couldn't read it from where he was standing. But if he could, he would realize he was hitting closer to home than he realized. Frechette pulled the sheets slowly back, trying not to be noticed. "That's.... that's ridiculous..."
              The detective noticed his hands, looking more carefully. "What are those papers you're looking at..."
              Frechette's body went cold. "Nothing. A... a session from yesterday I have to catch up on."
              The look the detective gave him made it obvious that he didn't really believe that. "Then I'll ask you directly, Doctor. DO you have information you haven't given me? About Faith? About Trevor and Claire's relationship? Perhaps a contact list of people who may be in the process at this very moment of aiding and abetting their escape?"
              Frechette couldn't believe it. It was surreal. Those were the exact notes he had been last reading the night before. They were right there under his fingers. Names of people Faith somehow knew Trevor had helped. People Frechette had already planned to question on his own. And now, the detective was asking for that exact thing. Frechette swallowed, not willing to implicate himself any further, not wanting to give the detective any more ammo to distrust him.
              "No..." He said simply, looking at the hard faced man. "I have nothing like that."
              There was a knowing glint in the detective's eye. "Okay... I think I understand."
              Frechette was nervous. The detective seemed to have a course of action in mind, but he wasn't saying. But Frechette could see the man's mind working, the detective pausing.
              "I'll be going now, Doctor. If you do somehow... 'discover'... any new information related to this case, such as where the two of them are, or who may be currently helping them, you'll need to pass that information to me as soon as you have it. I..." The man's smile was small, but immediately menacing, looking down at him behind the desk. "...I trust that we're clear on this?"
              Looking down, Frechette was putting up his session notes with Faith, slipping them into his desk drawer as if nothing were wrong, but feeling inside that his stomach was tied up in knots. Trying to put the most convincing calm expression he could muster onto his face once his desk drawer was fully closed, he looked back up at the detective and smiled. "You already have all that I have..."
              Shaking his head silently, the aged police man decided to say nothing further. He turned and quickly left Frechette's office, his footsteps fading away. After a few moments in the quiet, Frechette finally exhaled, his chest relaxing again. His body went limp, feeling he had been in a dueling match. He looked at his now empty desktop.

              Walking away from the doctor's office, the detective was in a foul mood. His brow was hard and angry as he walked past his seated assistant, who was waiting for him in a cushioned chair outside the office. The younger man stood quickly, rushing to catch up to the detective's determined steps. As the two of them walked down the hallway, he looked expectantly at his older superior. "So? The doctor give up any leads on this?"
              "No..." The detective seemed lost in his own thoughts. "But he's holding something back. I know it. Get me a judge. We're gonna have to subpoena all of Dr. Frechette's files."
              The younger man looked confused. "So was it like you thought? Do you no longer think this was an armed kidnapping?"
              He shook his head. "No, I think she went with him willingly. Something Dr. Frechette definitely kept from us."
              "Then should we have the alert level we sent out for Mr. Hale lowered?"
              The detective stopped in the hallway, thinking about this as his subordinate waited. "No... No. We'll keep it where it is for now. The man's a nut. Thinks he's the god of love so he murdered a mental patient. Not much crazier than that..." The detective scoffed, chucking as he and the younger man began to walk again. "As if he were really Cupid..."
              The two of them disappeared down the hallway.

              Frechette was still silent at his desk.
              Slowly his hand reached out and slid open his desk drawer, pulling Faith's session notes carefully out again. Thoughts tumbled through his head, looking down at his writing. He knew what he would have to do. He would have to question all the people Faith had mentioned on his own. He couldn't offer this to the detective directly, not now. And if he was honest, he didn't want to. It was time to get Trevor caught and back in custody. And he wanted to be the one to accomplish it personally. That was the only resolution that would give him peace. And considering what had happened, the momentary stressed induced vision of Faith, perhaps it was the only thing that would get her out of his mind. Frechette paused, surprised. He could smell something... a scent, a perfume that Faith had once used. That was strange.
              Frechette shook his head disapprovingly. He knew this was all in his mind, just wild imagination. It had to be. Otherwise... he truly was insane. It was a one time vision, nothing more. Did he just hear a bare foot moving across the carpet behind his desk? Frechette froze, smelling her perfume stronger in the air over his shoulder, almost certain there was a shadow on the edge of his vision and  falling across his desk, feeling a comforting warmth of contentment  there. But he forced himself not to look. Staring straight ahead instead, he looked down at the list of people Faith had mentioned. She wasn't there over his shoulder. That was foolish. But she could help him catch Trevor Hale. Looking down at the names, Frechette smiled, already making plans. Jaclyn was useless. The key was with one woman, Trevor's supposed kidnap victim,  and her singles group.  The woman  who had brought these people together to help him.

              Claire Allen was sitting in silence as the cab bounced down the country road, her face calm and thoughtful. Trevor was asleep in the seat beside her as she looked out the window of the cab, the green image of reflected trees passing across the glass over her pensive expression. Then the cab driver made a turn, moving the vehicle onto a smaller path off the main road, Claire looked eagerly up, searching ahead. The foliage still slipped past, but then the hazy image of a distant house hovered over her face, reflected on the glass, and she smiled.
              Turning, Claire gently shook Trevor, asleep on the back seat beside her, waking him.
              "Trevor... we're here."
              Slowly, he yawned, blinking himself to awareness. It was the first real rest he had had in days. He looked around at the small country dirt lane they were bouncing down, the afternoon light falling out of a calm blue, cloudless sky. The lane was lined and surrounded by thick green trees. His eyes focused on the two story house up ahead at the end of the lane.
              "Here? Where's here, Claire?"
              "A home..." Her eyes glinted brightly as she watched the house grow closer. Then she turned to him with a hopeful smile. "...a home you helped create."
              Trevor didn't understand, looking ahead. As they approached a couple came out of the house and onto the front porch, holding hands as they watched the cab approach, waiting. It took a few seconds for Trevor to finally see their faces. It was an older man and woman, their faces happy, watching them drive up. And it was then that he recognized them. Angela and Michael Bennett. The man who loved to dance, and the woman who had been afraid too. Claire looked at Trevor, appreciating the small smile that was blossoming on his face. Whatever Trevor's situation with the gods or with himself, she knew he always felt better when he saw one of his pairings that had actually worked out. And she saw that familiar look on his face right now.
              The couple on the porch looked happy, complete, having gotten through their own hard times, with a little of Trevor's help. Reaching over, Claire held his hand, hoping he understood the good she was trying to show him.
              "See what you've done, Trevor?"
              He couldn't help but smile as the cab came to a stop, the couple coming down the wooden steps to greet them, obviously eager to help, and obviously not fearing the consequences that they were wanted fugitives. And for once, Trevor was at a loss for words.

              The last remnants of the dinner plates were carefully guided into the kitchen sink, clinking softly as Claire helped Michael and Angela clear the kitchen table. It had been a good, full meal, one that they hadn't had in what seemed a long time. Claire paused, placing the last of the plates on top of the others, letting her worries fall off her shoulders, feeling safe here. She turned to Michael, his face content in the afternoon light streaming in through the small window over the sink.
              "Thank you so much Michael. It was delicious."
              Angela walked by her with a small laugh. "Well if there's something Michael can really do well, it's cook," She looked at him tenderly. "...and dance."
              He laughed, touching her hand nearby. "Well you are the music that keeps my feet moving, my love."
              Claire exhaled. "Well I'm glad you can do both. And thank you for taking me and Trevor in. I know it's a risk--"
              Michael waved his hands carefully interrupting her. "Don't worry about that. You both did so much for us." He looked at his wife. "You helped save our marriage."
              He turned back to Claire. "And whatever this business is that's on the news... I know Trevor. I know he couldn't do this. Not without reason."
              Angela nodded her agreement. "And whatever we can do to help, we will."
              "Well thank you very much. We'll be leaving in the morning. Gotta keep moving." Her face grew concerned. "On the news? How bad is it?"
              Michael's face grew somber, looking her straight in the eye. "Bad."
              Claire looked down.
              Michael smiled at her again. "Don't worry. I'm sure all this will be cleared up soon. Anyone who knows him, knows Trevor well enough not to believe the lies on the news. It won't stick."
              "I hope so..." Claire sighed, keeping her thoughts to herself. Then she looked up. "Where's Trevor?"
              Angela replied while she wiped the now clear kitchen table down, doing the last of the cleaning up. "Oh, he went outside after dinner, into the backyard. Don't worry. It's secluded back there, and he said he needed some fresh air."
              Curious, Claire walked over to the window over the kitchen sink, looking out as the late afternoon light gently bathed her face. And then she paused, looking out sadly towards a small swing set some distance back from the house, the sunset falling in beams through the thick trees beyond. Trevor was seated there in the orange sunlight, swinging sadly, facing away from her, alone. Claire's lips closed slowly, watching him. Then she turned, heading for the back door.

              Trevor didn't even know Claire was approaching until he suddenly heard her footsteps, soft on the grass behind him, remaining lost in his own thoughts. But he didn't turn around, staring ahead of him at the rays of the sun as they angled  warmly down through the green of the trees in the late afternoon,. The swing creaked as his body swayed on it. Claire came closer. Carefully, she took the swing beside him, not saying anything, but quiet as she leaned towards his swing, her shoulder on the chain, keeping silent. They both sat there, like two kids, tired after a long day.
              But Trevor knew what they faced was much more than child's play.
              "The news thinks I'm a murderer, Claire..."
              "I know..." Claire looked over at him.
              "After dinner..." Trevor looked sadly ahead. "... I turned on a tv. Couldn't help myself. There are still news reports going. To the world, I'm just a label now. Worse than my previous label. Worse than just insane psychotic. Now I'm a murdering insane psy--..."
              A tear fell quietly down his cheek, stopping him as he wiped it away. "But the truth is, maybe they're right. I murdered someone, Claire. I killed her. I... maybe I should have tried harder. Maybe I gave up on her, when I should have been trying to help her." He sniffed, trying to keep his feelings in. "She's dead, because I didn't help her. Some god I am, huh?"
              Claire sighed, looking ahead. "Trevor, let me tell you a little about Faith..."
              As the two of them sat there on the swing set, he turned to her, hand holding the chain beside him. For a moment, he had the strange sensation of being just a young boy talking to his girl. He was curious about what she was going to say.
              "There are things you didn't know about her, Trevor. I... I had a look at her file once. Richard consulted me on it. Long before Mary Simmons met you, long before she even knew you existed, Mary, Faith,  was already... damaged."
              "But I murdered her, Claire. I--"
              "--did what you had to do, Trevor. She was trying to kill me. It's hard to remember sometimes, but people live entire lives on their own, before we ever meet them. Everyone has decades of story behind them. A history. Events that shaped them. Faith's history was set long before you got there. Her father... abused her. Told her it was okay. It was 'love'. Despite that, the child inside her loved him, and the victim  he turned her into hated him. She wanted to kill him eventually, I think. But he died long before she ever got the chance to. So she started searching. Relationship books, mythological figures, dating services,  looking for what 'love' truly was. Unable to accept the hideous things her father did to her while claiming it. She just wanted that pain to end. Wanted  something to 'free' her. Her relationship with the word, with the emotion of 'love', was skewed. She didn't realize she was hunting 'love', sabotaging it while looking to it for the release, for a revenge she could never have. First she tried to kill you, the god of love. Then she wanted to be killed by you. Wanted  'love' to make the pain it had caused, stop. All that she did... All your matches she purposely ruined.  I know you told me you thought it was the vendetta of the gods. Some Olympic condemnation. But Trevor, it wasn't gods. It was just... a disturbed woman."
              Trevor looked at her. "Disturbed? Like me?"
              "You never intentionally wanted to hurt anyone, Trevor."
              "Well... Dr. Dehnt."
              "Anyone who didn't deserve it." Claire smiled.
              Trevor smiled too, before looking away. "I don't know. We can't just keep running like this forever. We can only hide ourselves for so long, before the real world looking for me out there catches up.  Nothing changes the fact that I killed her."
              "No it doesn't change that. I don't know what happens next, Trevor. I can't give you those answers. But who you remain within that, those are answers only you can only give yourself. You are still the man I love inside. The man who knows deep down that he really is Cupid. Who has faith in THAT. No matter how much the world changes around you. Give yourself credit, Trevor. You help people. Lots of people..." She looked past them towards the house, sunlight in her eyes as she paused, a smile growing on her face at what she saw. "And sometimes those changes... are changes for the better."
              She pointed gently past his shoulder. Curious, Trevor turned in his swing, looking towards the house. In the field beside it, holding each other in the golden light, were two figures, surrounded by tiny motes floating in the tranquil air, the green of the trees behind them. It was Michael and Angela, unaware that they were being watched, their eyes only for each other as they swayed... and danced. There was happiness on their faces, the two of them circling through the gentle specks as the sun's warm glow  held them close to each other, content. They were dancing to some unheard music inside themselves, enjoying the moment, enjoying each other. And as Trevor watched them, he remembered again what had happened to them, what he had done for them. What he had given them.
              "That's your legacy, Trevor. Not Faith. Not news reports. Faith made things happen the way she wanted them to. She had a twisted view of love, of her father. Why do you think she wanted to kill you? Or to be killed by you? Because you represented 'love' to her." Claire looked away, thinking of Mary Simmons. "I just hope that in death, that she's found some peace..."

              "It's all so clear to me now, Ian."
              Smiling, Faith looked up into the morning sky the next day as, dressed in the same immaculate scrubs as before, she walked barefoot down a crowded Chicago sidewalk,  accompanying an obviously tense Dr. Frechette. He did his best not to look at her, did his best not to notice that no one else on the crowded sidewalk seemed able to see or hear her. Did his best not to think of the implications of that.
              "Go away..." He said simply, not turning his head as he strode purposely forward. "You're not real."
              "Thanks for the vote of confidence." she said back at him, keeping pace. "Do you know how sad it would be if I actually believed you?"
              "I'm not listening."
              "Yes you are, Ian. There's no way you can't. But I can help you. Help you see."
              "You're in my head."
              "Well... I do have that affect on people. Don't worry. I'm fond of you too. That's why I'm here. To help you. We're going to spend a lot of time together. So talk to me."
              "You really aren't going to make this easier, are you? Well, the morning's beautiful, the air is new," Faith suddenly spun barefoot on the side walk in her pristine hospital scrubs, her blue eyes glowing with happiness. "It makes me feel alive. Free.  And I'm going to be right here with you. Help you get through this, however long it takes. I've  got nothing but time..."
       Stopping on the sidewalk, Frechette had heard enough of her talking. He  suddenly  turned to face Faith behind him, fixing her with an angry glare. "Enough! Stop it!"
             A pedestrian walked by giving him a strange look, seeing him there alone and talking to thin air. Frechette's jaw clenched, lowering his head, embarrassed and silently furious, growing angrier by the second. He looked back up at Faith,  waiting patiently before him.
             "Look, I know you're not real. You're in my head. But I'm going to do these interviews. I'm going to gather information on Trevor and Claire, and I'm going to hunt him down. Even if I have to question all of his friends, all of their friends, I know that will give me what I need to accomplish that. And no one... not even you, will stop me."
             Faith seemed sad, her voice quiet. "You really don't understand, do you... I already told you, long ago, when and how you would find Trevor. And you believed me. You even made the call. But that moment's not this moment. Everything will happen the way it should. When it really is time for you to find where they are, Ian ... believe me. You won't even need to leave your office to do it."

              The sky above was blue and clear, full of new promise as Michael Bennett led Trevor out of  his home's side door and towards a small building towards the back of the grounds, walking along a wide dirt path in the grass. Morning sunlight was shining crisply down through the cool air, falling through the tree limbs gently dancing  in the soft morning breeze. Trevor followed calmly, feeling better in the new morning light, the heavy gloom f the previous day lifting somewhat, even if he knew that it was still hovering there somewhere, hidden behind the bright light of a new day.
              Michael didn't explain where they were going. Once he reached the wide wooden portal of the old building, he simply turned the handle with a creak, lifting the door upwards with a rattle on rusty rails. A shower of light dust poured down like a waterfall, falling slowly in the air. Trevor watched the dust motes float in the sunlight for a moment, seeing them swerve in the breeze, for some reason remembering the sensation of flying. But then he looked past them into the shadows beyond, into the space that Michael had opened up. As he watched Trevor's reaction, Michael stood there proudly, a small smile on his face as Trevor slowly stepped forward, amazed by what was inside the dark recesses of the small building.
              "Been saving her in here for some time..."
              Trevor was speechless.
              "She's all yours..." Michael said, looking inside, fondness in his words.
              "No, we--"
              Michael would hear none of it, interrupting with a kindly gesture. "Take her. She'll do you more good than she will us..."

              Claire was inside the house, gathering their things and getting ready to leave. She looked down at the paltry supplies she and Trevor had. A suitcase she had borrowed from Jaclyn. Another she had borrowed this morning from Angela. There wasn't  much, not much food, not much clothing. But she still had plenty of money. It would have to do. Claire began to wonder where they could run to next, already thinking about calling a cab when Angela appeared at the bedroom door and gave her a look.
              Wondering what was happening, Claire stepped closer. "Angela? What's wrong?"
              Angela's eyes gave away nothing. "You have... a visitor."
              Swinging the house's front door open, Claire walked outside and onto the porch, Angela following right behind her, as Claire paused at what she saw. A car had pulled up, parked there in front of the house. Standing beside it was Priscilla, a woman from Claire's singles group, smiling eagerly at them in the morning sunlight.
              "Priscilla... My god, what are..." Claire couldn't help but smile back as she hurried down the steps and hugged the woman warmly. "What are you doing here?"
             "Hello, Claire." Priscilla said happily. "I'm not doing anything to exciting here. Just a quick supply run. Angela called us. The FTR gathered some money, supplies. Figured you could use the help."
              Claire blinked. "FTR?"
              "The Free Trevor Resistance Cell." Patricia said proudly. "But I'm kinda on a secret mission here so... don't tell anyone." Playfully, she lifted a finger to her lips and shushed Claire.
              Claire simply looked at her, feeling grateful. 'Wow. That's... thank you."
              "All the supplies are in the trunk, Claire. Come on, take a look."
              Everything was pitch black for a moment. Then the  car's trunk lifted up, revealing a deep blue sky with Angela, Claire and Patricia, looking down into the compartment. Claire seemed impressed. "What is all of this?"
               "The resistance cell's collection. Only the essentials of course..."
              Claire laughed.  She lifted out a large bag filled to the brim, taking it out from the assortment, curious as to what it was. Priscilla reached into the bag and pulled out a small, spongy yellow object wrapped in clear plastic.  "Snack cakes... for Trevor. The other bags have some clothes, various things.... That large box there is from Nick. said it was something you would need the most, and that's the biggest box he could fit in the trunk..."
             With effort Claire lifted the box, smiling when she saw it was an extremely heavy shipping package of condoms.
             She looked down at all the supplies that had been gathered. And standing in the morning sunlight, with the air quickly warming all around her, she couldn't help but feel touched by all that they had done. "Thank you so much, Priscilla. We could really use the help. But please, don't put yourself or the others at risk if you can avoid it."
             "Claire, we all vowed to thwart THE CREATURE at every turn, and we will..." Reaching down to pull out more supplies from the trunk, Priscilla didn't see Claire's confused look behind her as she silently mouthed the words 'the creature' to herself. Priscilla carried on, turning back to face her. "And there's no risk in this, Claire. All very subtle stuff. Don't worry. Completely low key. Except maybe for the fliers..."
             "Yeah. Ooh, and the web site. Maybe T-shirts soon... Jackie's been busy."
             "So it seems..." Claire tried to hide her smile.
             Priscilla handed her a small slip of paper. "Here's the next contact number to call tomorrow. It will switch everyday. They'll set up the next supply drop, maybe another place to hide too. We're all working on it. Don't use cell phones. They can track which tower you're on. Just know that a lot of people love you. Speaking of love... Where's Trevor?"
             "I don't really..." Thinking, Claire paused, looking around. She realized she hadn't seen him all morning. For a brief, cold moment she thought maybe he had gone on without her and left her behind. But then the quiet scene was broken by a loud engine roar, as a shiny black mustang convertible darted out next to them from beside the house. With a boisterous move, the car spun expertly in place, the end flipping around towards them, wheels spinning and kicking up a wake of dust as it finally came to a stop. The powerful muscle car was jet black, shiny and pristine in the morning light. Seated in the driver's seat next to an obviously stunned Michael, was Trevor, laughing at his new toy. Michael finally released his vice grip on the dashboard as Trevor beamed happily, eyes sparkling as he looking over at Claire.
             "Ok, Claire... NOW we can leave..."

             Finally beginning the session, Frechette carefully straightened his notepad sitting on the desk before him. He looked across it to see a man staring at him silently. The hardened psychologist paused, swallowing, not knowing if he could go through with this. Something was itching across the back of his shoulders. Because
without turning around, he knew that Faith was there during all of  this, right behind him. He felt her  standing there in the shadows, heard her feet scrape the floor whenever she moved, smelled her perfume on the air as she listened. The therapist he looked at before him seemed to acknowledge none of this. So he refused to acknowledge it as well.
             "I suppose you know why I'm talking to you..." he told the man.

             Suddenly it was a completely different room, no desk this time. Frechette was in a chair, his notepad on his lap, facing another chair where Lawrence sat, nothing between them as they sat in the younger man's apartment. Lawrence looked uncomfortable as he waited to answer the doctor's question, as if searching for a safe response. For a moment Frechette's brow furrowed, wondering if he would be cooperative.
             "Well... do YOU know why you're talking to me?"

             Sighing, Frechette lowered his head. He was sitting in front of the therapy desk again, notebook lying there before him, everything quiet in the dim room. "Of course I know... I arranged for this session because... I need therapy. Things have been happening in my life, things that cannot be. That's why I came to see you, to help me with my problem..."

             Now Frechette was suddenly in a completely different room, full of loud conversation and bright lighting. He was seated at a small table inside a downtown Chicago Starbucks, two untouched cups of coffee on the table before him, waiting across from Tina from Claire's singles group. She was silent, giving him a disdainful glare, not looking very cooperative.
             "What problem is that?" she asked coldly.
             "My Trevor Hale problem..." Frechette looked down at his cup of coffee across from hers. "I'm conducting these interviews so I can help apprehend a dangerous man. You can tell me his whereabouts, can't you?"
             Confidently, he lifted his cup and took a drink, assured in his mind that there was no way anyone could resist his authority. Slowly, he reached down and placed the coffee mug back on the table. But then--

             --it was a different container in his hands as he let go, a glass filled with ice and soda. Around him was the wide open interior of Taggerty's, slightly less than packed at that time of the day. Frechette was now in a booth, sitting across from Mike from the singles group. The gruff looking man had a Chicago Cubs cap on. There were two glasses of soda on the table between them, both of the men covered in the warm daylight glow from the front window beside them. Frechette waited for a response to his question. And then... he continued to wait. Mike's arms were crossed across his chest, his fiery eyes steady and unblinking as he fixed Frechette with a long, unwavering, hateful glare. Frechette wondered for a moment if the man was going to hit him. Slowly, he looked down--

             --before he looked up again. He was back in the dim, quiet office where he was having his therapy session. Frechette looked up again at the man who was watching him across the desk, but neither of them offered anything more. Knowing how strange it sounded even in his own ears, he started to explain further. "You're right of course. I guess I should be more succinct as to the exact symptoms of my condition. I've been having... hallucinatory visions."

             "Hey doc, Nick's here for you, you know? Whatever you need..."
             Cars were whipping loudly by on the street as Frechette stood on a sunlit sidewalk. He was outside of a downtown strip joint called the Cherry Orchard Club,  a questionable establishment which he had eventually coaxed Nick out of. The building's music could still be heard thumping dimly from within, competing with the noise of the street. Blinking, Frechette looked at Nick, for some reason growing suspicious, not believing his sympathy for a second. To his eyes, Nick didn't seem worried at all, like he had already known Frechette was going to talk to him.
             Nick gestured to the thumping strip club. "Sure you don't want to do this inside? You can see some amazing things in there. I could loan you a few ones..."
             "No thank you." Frechette twitched, feeling uncomfortable in that neighborhood. "However, I am--"
             "--glad you are cooperating in this very serious matter. As you must surely know, I am here with questions."
             Frechette was back in Taggerty's again, sitting across from Mike, who said nothing in response to his simple statement. Instead, Mike merely stared at him, unblinking, a long dangerous glare, his features hard and uncompromising.
             After a few seconds of awkward silence under that harsh gaze, Frechette began to squirm uncomfortably, shifting slightly in the seat of the booth. "Very well, Michael... Since it seems you aren't volunteering information, let start again. Do you know why I'm here?"

             In his very small apartment, Lawrence nodded, putting a pen to his lips as if giving it very deep scholarly thought. Then finally, he looked over at Frechette sitting across from him and answered as if it were obvious.
             "Do you know why you're here?"

             Frechette's eyes were softer, seeming concerned as he looked across the desk into the eyes of his therapist. "I'm here because I'm seeing things I shouldn't be seeing. Because I may be going crazy..."

             Seated in the Starbucks, Tina nodded, calmly taking an unconcerned sip from her coffee mug. "Because of your small penis, right?"
             Frechette sputtered in surprise as he sat in the crowded room. "What? No... That's completely... I'm here because of Trevor."

             In the sunshine outside the strip club,
Nick sniffed. "Trevor? What's a Trevor."
             Squinting at him in the bright glare, the bearded doctor couldn't believe what he was hearing.
             "You can't be this stupid."

             Lawrence shrugged in his apartment.
             "I don't know. Do you think I could be this stupid?"
             Frechette shook his head in frustration. "I think that the authorities... that I... need to find the man. The simple man named Trevor Hale."

             Suddenly Nick was more jovial and animated, stepping closer on the sidewalk. "Hey doc, whatta you need Trevor for? I'm the master of love too, if you know what I mean. Sure, you're old. But I can still hook you up with some sweet thang. And for once you won't even need to pay her. Get you some dirty down low love. Bottle your rocket. Shiver your timber. Yeah, buddy." Nick couldn't help but laugh, lifting his hand in anticipation of a high five that would never come.
             Frechette glared at him, thinking. "Or... there's another way that you can--"

             "--help me."
             The doctor's voice was low, somber as he looked across the desk at his therapist.

             In the Starbucks coffee shop, Tina shook her head, not agreeing with him. "I doubt there's a cure for small penis."

             Outside, Nick sniffed again and shrugged. "So why ask for help?"

             Back in his therapy session, Frechette couldn't contain himself, opening up, his words soft, fast and intense.
              "Because she's in my thoughts, she's in my dreams--"

              He looked past Tina's shoulder in the crowded coffee shop and saw that Faith was standing there smiling at hi. So he yelled over at her. "--she's in my head!"

              Lawrence blinked, seated in his apartment. Confused, he looked over his shoulder at the empty space behind him.      
              "Who are you talking to?"
              Lowering his gaze, Frechette seethed in his embarrassment. "No one. Let's stay on the subject."

              Nick didn't mind, continuing his pointless story, gesturing and talking excitedly as the cars blurred past behind him. "So like I was sayin, when I finally got her back to her place, and I slipped that sweet outfit off of her...  wasn't till then that I saw it." Suddenly Nick seemed embarrassed,  disappointed in what had happened.

              From within the confines of Lawrence's apartment, Frechette leaned forward eagerly, his expensive pen waiting in anticipation over his notepad.
              "What did you see?"
              Lawrence paused yet again, searching for some clever answer. "What... did YOU see?"

              Lifting his eyes, Frechette looked dejectedly across at his therapist.
              "A dead woman..." he said sadly.

              Calmly, Tina put her coffee cup down and looked at him. "You really never have touched a woman, have you?"

              Nick laughed loudly in the sunlight, smiling. "Knew it all along, man."

              Struggling for calm, Frechette continued. "That's... not what this interview is about."
              Still keeping a thoughtful expression, Lawrence tapped his pen against his lips, looking very shrinkish.
              "What IS this interview about?"

              As Taggerty's began to fill, Frechette tiredly ran his fingers over his head with a sigh. "It's about Trevor Hale. Wanted murderer. So let's try this again. Could you give me just one straight answer please?"
              Mike was silent, giving him a long, angry stare. Then after a few seconds, he finally spoke. "Do you know how many breakable bones there are in the human body..? All of them."
              Frechette tilted his head. "Now that's not very helpful, is it. Let's get back to Trevor. I need to find him."

              In the coffee shop, Tina gave him a disdainful look. "Because of the small penis thing? You could always switch."
              Frechette blinked at her. "Switch?"

              Lawrence blinked too. "Switch?"

              Nick simply nodded. "Might be the way to go, boss."

              Mike was still staring at the doctor, loudly cracking his knuckles, slowly, thoughtfully.

              Inside the Starbucks, Frechette didn't understand, asking again. "What do you mean by switch?"
              Tina didn't hesitate. "Switch sides. Do all women a favor. Play for the other team. Though the other team might not like your small penis either."

              Nick gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder, sunshine streaming onto them. "And despite what chicks tell me, it really does matter, man. Yeah buddy. My other girlfriends? Sore for days, know what I'm sayin..? See, that's the reason they never answer my calls after. Know why?" Nick nodded proudly. "Did it right the first time. Well, hope that helps..."
              "Not in the slightest. I believe all of this is the definition of a 'run around'. Well... who do you think could assist me?"
              Pausing, Nick thought about it. "Umm... god?"

              Frustrated, Frechette was walking alone along a Chicago sidewalk.

              Tina frowned. "Lawrence?"

              And as Frechette walked there, he paused... seeing something on the floor.

              Lawrence bobbed his pen along with his words. "Have you talked to Tina? Or maybe Mike?"

              Mike sat wordlessly in Taggerty's, with the same long, silent glare.

              Reaching down where he had stopped on the sidewalk, Frechette gingerly  picked up a piece of paper

              Nodding, Tina tried again. "Or maybe Nick knows..."

              Confused, Nick scratched his head. "What was the question again?"
              The doctor seemed to surrender. "It was... unimportant."

              Frechette sighed, looking over again at Mike still staring at him. "Are we done for today?"

              Out on the sidewalk, Frechette was stunned at what he read on the paper. It was a flier, announcing the next meeting place of something called the FREE TREVOR RESISTANCE movement. He couldn't believe his eyes. Standing there at a complete loss, he could still hear Lawrence talking. "Don't know..."

              Lawrence shrugged, facing him in his apartment. "Do YOU think we're done for today?"

              "Yes... I think we're done. I don't believe we accomplished anything today."
              Frechette finally put down his pen, resigned as he looked at his paltry, unproductive notes. He looked across the desk at his therapist. He was completely alone in the therapy room, facing a large mirror he had placed on the far side of the desk to run his own therapy. He looked into the eyes of his reflection and gave up, rising from the chair in his office, and calling it quits.

              Pausing later that night, Jaclyn looked up from the information she was writing down, and quietly smiled at what she had made.
              The crowded interior of Cuppa Java was bustling with a hectic, almost party like atmosphere. People were moving hurriedly back and forth, music playing in the air above their heads as the bustling hive of activity continued to run at a full tilt. Some people were handing in money from the numerous containers they had spent the day gathering it in. Others were carrying supplies, or placing bundles of new cloth in large boxes. Even more were in small groups all around the busy room, clustered together on dozens of cell phones, laughing but serious as they made calls, trying to find new hiding places, routes Trevor and Claire could take.
              It was a crowded bright place Jaclyn faced, set against the glittering skyline of  Chicago shining through the wide window behind her. And draped above that window was the same FREE TREVOR RESISTANCE banner that had hung in her small apartment. Jaclyn couldn't believe how fast this 'secret' organization had grown, the meetings now far bigger than her tiny apartment could handle. The manager of Cuppa Java had offered them the use of the coffee bar overnight, and the group had moved there. Everyone was still worried for Trevor and Claire, but they seemed happy to help, to actually be doing something proactive. That spirit lifted the room, the same room where Claire's singles group had held meetings, and where  Trevor had always been so very much Trevor. It seemed somehow fitting. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Champ who was there helping too, but she moved on. So many people. Willing to back up Trevor because of what he had done for them. Maybe soon, even Cuppa Java would be to small.
              Going back to her work, she finished writing down the last of the information that had been offered to her. Picking up several sheets of paper, she stepped forward on the stage, raising her voice to be heard over the music as she addressed the busy group..
              "Okay everyone! We've had a good haul for tonight! Kudos all around. Lots of money and supplies. We should get it to Claire and Trevor on our next drop. And we have more phone numbers lined up in new cities, giving them more options for which direction to go. And I've completed the master contact list." She held up multiple sheets of paper, each page jam packed with names and numbers. "This list is important. It's our lifeline to Trevor and Claire. It keeps us together and organized. No one sees this list, understand?  NO ONE. Especially not..."
              Jaclyn paused as she spoke, stunned as she looked towards the back of the room. "...Dr. Frechette."
              Everyone else in the large group turned, following her scared eyes, and gradually the room went silent, the music cutting off as Frechette walked forward slowly, a smirk on his face as he entered. Every eye was on
the bearded doctor. Lawrence looked like a deer frozen in the headlights, as if he had been caught in something. Frechette seemed to ignore the murmuring passing through the crowd, yet some of it was discernible, whispered voices here and there saying 'the creature'.
              Beside Jaclyn, Mike stepped forward dangerously, but Champ stopped him with a simple hand on his shoulder, going over to stand next to Jaclyn. Frechette stopped in front of her, and arrogant sneer on his face as he looked around at the scene. He spoke softly.
              "So... this is your little underground rebellion..." The doctor picked up a party drink that had been left on a table beside him, looking at it. "I thought as much. Not much of a secret, is it?"
              For a moment, Frechette eyed the contact list Jaclyn held greedily,
information Faith hadn't given him. .
              Jaclyn pulled it slowly away when she noticed his gaze, holding it behind her back
              She spoke calmly. "How did you find us?"
              "Well, the fliers that were passed out, for one. I also think I saw a poster at an EL stop."
              Lawrence looked down sheepishly as beside him Tina punched him softly in the arm.
              "And yet... you don't see it, do you?" Frechette's voice was low and dangerous as he continued. "You don't realize you are actively breaking the law. Aiding a wanted fugitive. Thwarting a police manhunt. Obstructing a murder investigation. Should I go on? You. All of you are getting in very... very deep here. You could be in serious trouble, do you know that?"
              Tina finally spoke up behind Frechette. "Yeah, well you're not the police."
              "No. I'm not." Turning to her, Frechette smirked again. "I'm not the police. But if I were to inform the authorities about your activities here, about your 'resistance'... If I were to do that simple, easy, satisfying thing... and they knew about all of this, do you think THEY would care that I'm not the police?"
              The crowd murmured softly in the quiet room, most of them looking nervous. The party atmosphere was gone, everyone growing somber. Frechette turned again, looking at them seriously, continuing.
              "Didn't really think this through, did you. What if I already did exactly that. What if I brought dozens of policemen with me, and they're waiting outside? You could all be experiencing the joys of the communal holding pen in Chicago's finest lock up before sunrise."
              Standing numbly, Lawrence's eyes widened even more, motionless as the drink he had been holding dropped from his hand and splattered to the floor. Frechette smiled, pleased. "I thought about it... Pleasantly. But for some reason that I still can't fathom, I decided against it. So consider yourselves fortunate that I didn't avail you to that particular experience. You should be helping me, not hindering me. I simply can't comprehend why you would risk so much. For a delusional man."
              Jaclyn had heard enough. "Because Trevor's helped all of us. In ways you couldn't possibly understand. If you can't see that, then it's your failing, not ours. So yes. Maybe we've been careless. But we still care. The risks of helping both of them doesn't matter. It doesn't change it. What we care about, is returning the favor."
              There were several nods of agreement from the crowd, a silent understanding. Shaking his head, Frechette looked at them. "The police could bring you all up on charges of collusion. Conspiracy. And yet you think you're 'helping' Trevor. You're not. You're only prolonging his fugitive status. Making his escape longer. His list of crimes, greater. So go ahead. Laugh. Joke. Throw parties in the guise of 'resistance'. Have your little fun and live in the delusional belief that you're improving Trevor's chances. But deep down, I suspect you know better. Deep down you realize this little movement you've concocted here, isn't helping matters. It's only making them worse."
              Jaclyn ignored him, speaking to someone beside her. "Start up the music again."
              As the man moved off, Jaclyn addressed the crowd as the music began to play. "Okay everybody, keep going!! Ignore the creature. He can say what he wants, but we're not stopping!"
              Slowly the mood of the room returned, people laughing, making calls, all smiles again. Silently Frechette walked through them, heading for the door. He passed a man near a large box, where the new folded cloth bundles were. The man reached in and calmly handed him one. Frustration on his face, Frechette held on to the bundle, unfolding it to reveal a black T-shirt with the words FREE TREVOR printed on it. Frechette simply let it slip from his fingers, dropping it to the floor without another word, before the grim faced doctor left CUPPA JAVA as the music and the party continued behind him.

              It was a sparkling Chicago night as Frechette walked out onto the still busy sidewalk underneath an archway of glowing bulbs, pausing. People were were slipping past him happily in the dim glow of the city's lights. But he looked disturbed, looking up at the building behind him. How could they all be so stubborn, so blind? His brow looked troubled by what he had seen, all the obstacles Trevor's friends were throwing in his way. Like the group meeting tonight, the interviews today. And he was also troubled by his continuing visions of Faith. At least the specter of that beautiful dead woman wasn't there, ignored over his shoulder. Turning, he searched, but she was nowhere in sight, and that left him feeling something he didn't expect... disappointment. All he saw were normal people passing by on the sidewalk. Pedestrians and passing cars. That was it.
              Chiding himself with a stern exhalation, Frechette looked back down and pulled the flier from his pocket, still amazed by the audacity of it. Crumpling it up, he dropped it to the floor, walking off at a brisk, angry pace, trying not to think of the 'resistance'. But more importantly, trying not to think about the woman that was constantly in his thoughts.
              Frechette disappeared in the distance, a lone figure in the crowd.

              Surrounded by all the bustling activity inside CUPPA JAVA, Jaclyn looked introspective as she stood quietly on the stage, thinking about what Frechette had said. She watched for several seconds, somber, thinking about what they were doing. Smiling, Champ came up to her, but he paused when he saw her serious expression.
              "Jaclyn? What's wrong?"
              And finally, she came to a conclusion. Her face was still serious but brightened slightly as she looked into his eyes. She touched Champ's arm and gave it a grateful squeeze. Moving past him she went to the front of the stage and addressed the crowd again over the din.
              "Okay everyone, listen up!" The group quieted somewhat as they all turned their attention to her.
              Resolute, she sighed, knowing this was the right thing to do and deciding to go through with it.
             "Okay everybody. Change of tactics..."

              The next morning, without warning, the complete contact list and numerous other papers slammed loudly down onto the finely polished surface of Frechette's desk. His hand cautiously reached out and picked up the list, morning sunlight falling on it like it was a treasure, streaming through the window at his back. Slowly Frechette lifted it up to his completely stunned face, staring at it in amazement. He couldn't believe what he was holding, a list of every person who was helping Trevor. Contacts, phone numbers, the order they were going to be called, possible hiding places. With this information, Trevor could be in custody within the next few days, maybe hours. Incredulously, he looked up into the face of the person who had brought it to him.
              Jaclyn stood there before his desk, unashamed. She looked at him proudly for several seconds.
              "We'll talk to you. We'll give you any information you want."
              "Where's Trevor?"
              "Any information but that. You wanted us to talk to you. Freely. Without obstruction. Wanted to know who's involved. The group agreed last night. It's all there. We're willing to talk. If you are truly willing to listen, truly listen, to what everyone has to say."
              Frechette couldn't understand this. "Why?"
              Jaclyn looked at him. "Something you said last night. You could have turned us in, but you didn't. Made me think, that maybe you're willing to hear our side of it."
              Frechette paused for several moments, still stunned by her bravado, looking up into her resolute eyes. "You play a dangerous game... How do you know I won't just turn this information over to the police?"
              "I don't. But talk to them. The people on that list. You'll see what kind of man Trevor is."
              "Why this gamble? To be honest, even I don't know what I'm going to do with this."
              "I know. That's exactly why. We're gambling that you'd be willing to listen, first."
              Frechette looked at the list again, thinking of how good he would look with the police if he turned the information over. But then he thought about how much more information he could get himself from cooperative interviews instead of obstructive ones, accomplishing things on his own. And some small part of him was curious to see what drove these people, what drove their loyalty to a man which he saw as completely delusional, but who they obviously didn't see the same way. His curiosity finally won out.
              "Fine then. Interviews. With FULL cooperation."
              "Yes." Jaclyn exhaled happily.
              "So then... when?"
              "How about now?"
              Stepping back, Jaclyn opened his office door. A nervous looking Lawrence was waiting there, followed by Tina behind him, followed by a glowering Mike, a yawning, half asleep Nick, and several others waiting in line patiently, stacked well beyond his outer office.
              Frechette blinked. He couldn't believe how much they were all willing to go through to help Trevor, and for a moment in his amazement, his harsh face seemed almost touched by their devotion, as ridiculous as it seemed.
              Still trying to grasp that this was really happening, Frechette pushed the button to talk to his receptionist.
             "Madeline, cancel all my appointments..."