"Morning Sunshine," Spike said. He was sitting cross-legged atop the fridge at the foot of the bed pecking away at the laptop's keyboard.
"Huh…oh…morning," Buffy yawned and stretched.
"Ready for breakfast?" He nodded toward the shelf an arm’s length from the pillow without looking up from the keyboard. There sat a breakfast tray with milk, juice, toast and cereal, and a small vase with three sunny little flowers. "Got eggs and sausages in the microwave."
"Yum," she yawned again. "What time is it?"
"Ten-thirty," he was still typing intently.
"Good sleep," she stretched, "…you said there were eggs?"
He shut the microwave door with an elbow and it started to hum.
Buffy looked at the tray. She picked up a flower and sniffed it. "You're going to make me fat," she said, putting the flower back in the vase. "Smells good," she added quietly.
The microwave dinged.
"You could stand a few, Love, and besides…" he said, finally looking up from the laptop. He opened the microwave and handed the plate across the bed to her. "…there weren't many leftovers from last night."
"Yeah, I was hungry. What cha working on?"
"Oh, uh…dissertation…final….it's late."
"Dissertation?"
"Bachelors'."
"Wow…in what?"
"Uh…ha…behavioral sciences…need it for here. Uh, got you some stuff," he said as he went back to pecking at the keyboard. "…shower stuff, and some clothes."
"Sorry, ripe," she asked, pouring milk over the cereal, the eggs and sausages already gone.
"No…not too…just thought you might like…."
"Yeah, pretty grungy."
"Done," Spike said, pushing the send button. He closed the laptop and slid off the fridge.
"I gotta go back to work," he said, plugging the charger into the laptop and depositing it on the shelf. "There's clean towels in the wardrobe and, uh…you'll need the badge to get back in if you leave staff quarters. We'll go get your car and stuff tonight."
"It's a rental…not mine…have to turn it in soon."
"We can do that too. Come out when you want. I'll be in the offices…uh…they're back the hall behind the main desk."
"Kay," she said and he was out the door.
Maybe I should make an appointment, she thought.
----------
The shower felt extremely good. It had been four days since her last one and that had been in a seedy motel in East Los Angeles. She had actually been rather wary about being naked long enough to get the soap rinsed off.
The room had been cheap enough, it had to be, she couldn’t afford much; that’s why she was only getting a room every three or four days. The guy in the office had been scarier than any of the demons she had seen in the neighborhood and he was human. The room smelled funny and the air conditioner dripped and rumbled loudly, and while the room had looked clean, it just didn’t feel that way.
She had not even turned down the bed that night, but slept on top of the covers. The tub there had been old, yellowed and worn with scratches and rust stains on the bottom and sides, the water hadn’t been hot and did not come out of the showerhead evenly and she could hear the pipes rattle even worse than the AC when the toilet flushed in the room next door.
This might be a community bathroom shared by everybody, but it was clean and bright and shiny, with burnished stainless steel fixtures and creamy ivory and blue tile. It smelled good, clean, piney fresh. The water was hot and came out fast, and the showerhead adjusted to just the right pressure. It made her feel like singing. She restrained herself to a loud, cadenced humming of a song she had heard on the car radio a few days ago as she robustly scrubbed, dancing in the streaming water in time.
She hadn’t found any soap or body wash in the stuff Spike had gotten her, only antiperspirant, shampoo, conditioner and some lotion, so she had raided what was obviously his stash of manly personal care items in a plastic bin on the floor of the wardrobe. Ya just gotta love a man with more toiletries than me, she thought.
In a mesh bag that was still a bit damp she had found a bar of very hard brown soap in a case. She did not recognize the writing stamped into it, as obviously he had used it and it was not as deeply embossed in the bar as it would have been fresh out of the wrapper; it looked foreign, Asian or Arabic-like maybe, but it had smelled simply wonderful when she sniffed it: sorta lemony, spicy vanilla-y with a hint of fresh cut lawn.
She shut off the delightfully hot water and reached for the towels; wrapping her hair in one and herself in the other. A gust of steam billowed out of the enclosure doors when she opened them. She was vigorously rubbing her hair with the towel and absently heading in the direction of the bench where she had left her clean clothes and toiletries, still bouncing with the rhythm of her hum when she unexpectedly tripped over something cold and hard at mid-thigh level. She stumbled but managed to keep her footing, at least until momentum made her take another step. Her foot came down a tad too hard knocking over something that sounded very metallic and slosh-y. The bucket went over, its soapy disinfectant contents spilling across the tile floor. The hair towel was down leaving wet, shampoo tangled hair falling over her eyes, the other one was coming loose as well, and her next step sent her sliding across the slick tiles. Luckily, slender, but strong, female arms caught her before she landed on her ass.
“Whoa there. Are you okay?” The young woman helping her up was unusually tall and very slim, gangly, with dark lank hair, but she had the most astonishing bright green eyes and a pleasant smile.
“I’m fine. Thank you. You caught me before I hit,” Buffy said pushing the hair towel up and securing both it and the other one better when she saw what she had tripped over: A middle-aged woman in a wheelchair holding a mop.
“You got to keep on the no-skids when it’s wet,” The woman in the wheelchair said reaching down to set up the mop bucket and wringer, “…slimier than a Chaos’ antlers when it’s all soaped up, don’t ya know,” she finished. The bucket now righted, she wheeled over to check out the rescued Slayer.
“Can’t have Spike’s Slayer all bruised up in a showering accident. That won’t do, “ she said giving Buffy a once over, satisfied that she was uninjured only startled by the near fall.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Clumsy. I didn’t hurt you when I tripped over you did I? “ Buffy apologized. Her feet began to slide on the wet tiles again and the lanky woman steered her to the bench by her clothes.
“You’re Buffy, right,” The wheelchair woman did not wait for her to answer, she knew she was, “…I’m Sister Katherine, call me Kate, assistant administrator here.”
“And I’m D’shelle,” the tall woman said handing Buffy an extra towel to dry off with, “I just work here. You are as pretty as he said you were.”
“We probably should have waited until you were done before we started. Our fault. Just wanted to get a jump-start on the chores. We rotate cleaning duties in staff quarters.”
“I didn’t mean to disrupt the schedule,” Buffy began still drying her hair.
“Oh, no, Child, you didn’t, floor probably needed another go over anyway, as long as you’re alright. Like I said, just wouldn’t do for you to get hurt here, from the way he talks about you, Spike would be all bent out of shape if you got so much as a scratch here, outside of the line of duty. Boy’s in love with you, don‘t ya know.”
“So Spike talks about me a lot?” Buffy said drying off her legs.
“Well, not obsessively, no, but he’s been with us for over seven years, get him started on his Slayer and…”
“So you know I’m The Slayer?” She was relieved when she did not have to hide her calling; it always made things so much easier.
That got a chuckle from both women and Buffy blushed, wondering just what he had told them.
“And that he’s a….”
“Seven years,” Kate cut her off, “…boy talks a lot, don’t ya know. All the staff knows, most of the regular volunteers too, but not the residents.”
“Unless you’ve been here as long as I have,” D’shelle added, “…you find out after a while.”
“God, you are as pretty as he said you were,” Kate blurted out when Buffy had finally finished drying her hair and shook it out, “…but I thought you were a blond?”
“Sometimes,” that actually made her blush more than the fact she was wet and naked beneath the towel, “but not lately.” She had decided not to bother coloring her hair quite a few years ago, about the same time Dawn decided to start bleaching hers and only highlighted occasionally. Suddenly she was acutely aware that it probably needed some brightening up and that she should have done that before she got here …before he saw me.
I must look a sight, she thought… like something the vamps drug in. Definitely not his ‘goldilocks’ anymore… Summer’s hair was naturally on the brunette side leaning towards auburn.
“Anyway Child,” Sister Kate said turning her attentions back to the mop, “…we should let you get dressed. D’shelle’s almost got the floor cleaned up and we have work to do elsewhere. Always busy don’t ya know.”
Buffy could see the lanky woman sigh as she wrung out the mop and suddenly felt that she should make up for them having to do the floor twice. “Is there something I could do to help? I mean, I don’t really have anything to do while I‘m here, Spike‘s working and…”
“Sure we could find you something to keep from getting bored. We can always use help in the kitchen, especially this time of year, “ Kate said.
“I really can’t cook very well, “Buffy said. “I usually burn the Jell-O.”
“Nothing so complicated as that Child,” Kate replied.
D’shelle blanched when she understood where Kate was heading, that’s not where they usually start out, she thought, cleaning and making beds were easy, that is a test of fortitude usually reserved for seasoned volunteers.
“Just helping out the little ones in the lunchroom. “ Kate continued helping D’shelle put the mops and bucket in the utility locker. The lanky woman cringed slightly, but Buffy did not see her.
“Oh, I could do that!” Buffy exclaimed, excited at the prospect of being useful.
She might be a demon slayer, D’shelle thought, but she doesn’t know what she is in for.
“Righty then,” Kate added as she wheeled to the door, “…lunch is at twelve and kitchen’s in the basement, just wonder on down, they’ll put you to work.”
The Lanky woman stuck her head around the door on her way out and said, “It’s not too bad, really, just watch the peas.” She let the door close behind her and tried to catch up to Kate’s wheelchair. “They’re evil, “ she continued quietly so Sister Kate would not hear.
“Peas?” Buffy said aloud with a wrinkly nose as she gathered her clothes to get dressed.
----------
"Miss Summers..."
She turned to find a monk in brown robes addressing her. He had a pleasant and friendly voice, but she could not help staring at the scar on his cheek.
"I'm sorry," she said when she realized that she was staring at him. "You must be Duncan, uh, Brother Duncan?" She took the hand he extended to her and shook it.
"Yes, I am. You can call me Duncan or even Dunk, if you like, and you are Buffy." It was not a question though it did ask her permission to be on a first name basis.
"Yes," she said.
"Spike has told us a lot about you over the years. I feel that I know you."
"I thought you were a priest," she asked hoping that was not too intrusive a question.
"When Spike and I first met, I was, technically I still am. I'm just not currently...serving in that capacity." He said leaving the subject open.
"I'd like to welcome you to our Mission, please feel at home. Father Sebastian, head of our Order, has asked me to extend his welcome as well. He regrets that his schedule today will not allow him to speak with you personally: he has asked me to schedule some time, tomorrow perhaps, to meet with you. He has some business he would like to discuss with you...Slayer business...nothing of an immediate or pressing nature, of course. Is it safe to assume you will be staying with us that long?"
"I, uh, don't really have a schedule to keep," she said, "...so yeah, I'm free and I guess I'll be staying here, if that's alright?"
"Yes, certainly." Duncan went on "...Father Sebastian has also asked me to see to your accommodations."
"Accommodations?"
"Uh...you are staying with Spike...if another room would be more suitable we can certainly make one available."
"No, that's okay,' she said then realized she was talking to a priest...monk? "Oh!" She added quickly, "...Is that okay?"
"Actually, according to staff rules," he paused to mentally review them, "...it should be fine, but officially," he added lightly touching the girdle of his robes "...no."
Buffy thought her face must have dropped when he spoke because the monk's tone became noticeably lighter with his next words.
"No, it's just...the staff rooms are small and Spike can be..." he trailed off. "Don't get me wrong, I am his friend, but..."
"Yeah, I know how Spike can be," she said, "...No, I'm okay with the accommodations.”
"Good, well...from the friend, not the priest," Brother Duncan said confusingly.
Buffy understood him.
"Father Sebastian doesn't really need to know," he said with an air of conspiracy, "...but, Buffy, if the accommodations do become a bit, um...you will let us know, myself or Father Francisco," he gestured to the priest now manning the main desk by way of introduction.
"I will, thank you," she said. "I was hoping to find Spike, to talk to him, but I can see he's busy." She could see him talking with someone in one of the cubicles that flanked the area behind the desk.
"Yes, it's back-to-school time, very busy for us. We offer a variety of programs within the community, at the moment we are matching children and their families with the specific social service agencies that can help them: subsidized lunches, English as a second language, tutoring, family counseling, backpacks with school supplies, special educational needs, it is a busy time. If it's urgent I can..."
"No, no, not urgent," Buffy said. "I met Sister Kate in the shower earlier; she said you could use a hand in the kitchen?"
"Ah, yes...corn...yes, hands are welcome in all capacities here. I'll take you to her; perhaps give you a small tour of the Mission along the way."
"Thank you." She was going to ask about the 'corn' but figured it had something to do with the 'peas'...succotash?"
"I'd like that," she said.
"Did Spike tell you about the basement," he asked, as they started toward the kitchens.
----------
Diced carrots, they were evil, and banana cream pudding, and many, many children, small children, pre-schoolers. By 1:30 in the afternoon the Slayer sat, defeated, in the middle of the pre-school lunchroom wiping pudding off her arms with a napkin. She needed another shower and they had pulled her hair completely out of the hair tie in directions she didn't know were possible and she was sure there was pudding in it and carrots down her top. Defeated, utterly.
Father Francisco rescued her from the cleanup.
"Spike said once that you have some counseling experience," he asked not seeming to notice her total lack of composure after two hours in the 'war room' as the other kitchen helpers called it.
"Just high school guidance type stuff. I'm not really qualified..." she answered still wiping the pudding and other foodstuffs off.
"You're good with kids."
She shrugged and looked at the mess in the room around her.
His look conceded that it probably was not as bad as she thought it was. "School aged," he added," and you can use a computer, yes?"
Again, she shrugged and nodded. "A little, I guess."
"And you survived...this, so I think you can handle it. We are short handed up there. Do you think you could pitch in? It's just matching kids with the appropriate social services on the computer, and there is a good desk guide. It's mostly in the interviewing process. We could really use your help." His smile, let alone the sparkle in his eyes, could convince her.
She had to admit he was very persuasive and sort of cute, for a priest. Buffy could not tell how old he was, he had that ageless look, and there was a look of mystery about him. She wondered, briefly, if he was a vampire or some other type of demon; but no, he was just charismatic. She thought maybe she could help out. It had to be better than this.
"I'll try," she said as she took the arm he offered to help her up off the floor.
"That's all we ask. Thank you. Uh, you might want to..." he pointed to her hair, "...carrot. The next appointment wave doesn't start until two, see Brother Duncan, he'll show you everything."
As he left her to straighten her ponytail and shake the carrots out of her hair and top, Cisco mentally flipped the switch that allowed him the sanity to function in the real world off briefly to allow the facts of his read of the Slayer in to his consciousness.
Spike isn’t far off in his perceptions of her, is he? Cisco thought as he headed up the stairs to the offices, …even if they are colored by his love, they are accurate. She’ll do, he thought, she ,will do.
It was exactly as they were hoping, yet that only made him feel more uneasy.
----------
She was so nervous. Brother Duncan had given her a very quick run-down of the process; he had set up the computer on the appropriate windows and stuck post-it’s on all the pertinent pages of the desk guide. He had told her she would do just fine and ushered the first family in with a smile.
Then he left. How could he leave? She wondered, I can’t do this, I don’t know how to do this. I haven’t done anything like this since I worked for Principal Wood at Sunnydale High, that was years ago. This is important stuff, how could he just leave me all alone to do it. I’m gonna mess it up. She realized that the family was staring at her while she was having her lack-of–confidence-in-herself attack.
"Please, sit down,” She said anxiously, looking at the application card the man handed her, “…Mr. and Mrs… hope I don’t mangle this too much…Ravishankar…God, I really hope that was the last name, not the Ramaling- ling-gashar part. She smiled hesitantly as she gestured for them to sit even though there were six of them, counting the children, and only four chairs. “My name is Buffy Summers, how can I help you today?”
“My parents don’t speak English well, but I do.” The girl, who was the oldest of the children spoke, she looked to be about ten or eleven years old with the composure of someone much older, and had stayed standing while the other three children scrambled up on the two remaining chairs left by their parents. “My name is Parvatii, and I usually translate for them.”
“Well, okay, great, Parvatii,” Buffy tried not to wince, it didn’t roll off her tongue quite the same way it did off the girl’s, and she hated messing up people’s names. From the way the little girl smiled back at her, she could tell that she did maul it, but not too badly.
“I’d be very happy if you could translate for me, to them, as well. Would you?”
“Surely,” the girl said back.
Buffy sat down in the chair behind the desk. Well, that’s a start, I guess, she thought.
The scenario repeated itself a total of fourteen times before the line of families waiting in the corridor dwindled to nothing.
“Tired?” Father Francisco asked as he looked over the stack of finished forms and report print outs she handed him.
“Is it like this every day? That was so many.” Buffy commented a little drained by the day’s activities. It had been a few months since she had a ‘day’ job, she had forgotten what it was like. She had also forgotten to take a break, which was sort of on purpose, she didn’t want to keep anybody waiting in the corridor for longer than a quick bathroom trip. So, yeah, I am tired, but a little bit satisfied. She felt like she had done some small bit of good, and without killing any demons – it felt really good.
“School starts in five days, so next week will be just as bad. After that things slowly get back to normal,” Cisco said, scribbling on a post-it pad and sticking them on a few of the reports.
Buffy thought that ‘normal’ was probably pretty hectic too.
“Did I do okay? I hope I didn’t mess them up too badly,” she said craning her neck to see what he was sticking on the reports.
“No, you did well. Missed a few programs here and there on some of them, just supplemental stuff, nothing major. Spike can fix them next week. Overall, you did good.” He tucked the stack into a folder and smiled. “Now, see, it wasn’t that bad was it? You got the hang of it really quick too; we were only expecting you to process about four or five. We can close up shop early and that’s always good on a Friday night. Spike’s got some plans, I think.”
“Really?” She found that idea very pleasing.
----------
Dawn knew the contents of the trunks well, Buffy didn’t know that she knew, but she did, she knew them extremely well. She had watched Spike pick locks many times back in Sunnydale and being the curious child that she had been, she secretly cultivated the art on her own: neither the trunk locks or the additional padlocks on them proved to be much of a challenge.
Many days after getting home from school or from one of her sessions with the Monsignor, when she was alone in the apartment while Buffy was out slaying or reconnoitering for potentials or was unconsciously trolling for the next in the string of doomed-before-they-even-began relationships, she would lock herself in the utility room and go through the contents of the trunks, always careful to bring the acid-free gloves snatched from the restoration rooms of the Vatican galleries, so as not to add any further deterioration to their contents, some dated to antiquity, though most of the contents were relatively modern.
It was only the small foot locker that she was intent on today and its contents, while not the newest of the collection, were the most interesting to her.
Dawn was stressed out, first day of classes was on Monday, and she had only gotten her registration confirmation today in the mail, …snail-mail, with a 3:40 pm delivery …what…Stanford’s never heard of e-mail?... That meant not much time for planning. She would even have to stop at the book store between classes, assuming that she could find it, and her classes and assuming the Bart and bus schedules were half-way right and she even made it there for class.
She needed some relaxation, some light reading…besides, need to make sure nothing got broken in shipment, right…
She remembered when Buffy had found them, it was shortly after Andrew had let slip that Spike was alive and well and living in L.A. or at least had been - after his un-ghosting and before the firestorm, the fall of the L.A. branch of Wolfram and Hart. It had been the only time Buffy had ever laid hands on Andrew in anger, not even anger really, more like pure rage.
I don’t believe I jumped in between them that day, dumb me… she mused, giving the hairpin a final twist and popping the latch open. It was scary to see her like that. It was even scarier to see Buffy the way she was for weeks, even months, afterward.
Dawn understood it though. Buffy really did love him and though she still couldn’t admit it to anyone, at the time, especially to herself. She had seen him burn, disintegrate into a pile of sparkly ashes in the bowels of the Hellmouth, cleansing it with the white light of his… soul. Dawn let out a louder chuckle than she had intended and had to look around to make sure there was no one to hear.
Buffy had refused to talk about it, but Dawn knew. When the pillowcase was still drenched from tears when she made her sister’s bed for her in the morning, she knew. She knew who the tears were for, especially when that stupid Zippo would fall out and she’d have to crawl under Buffy’s bed to get it and put it back. God! Don’t ever touch the Zippo!
Dawn had ached for her sister then; she had watched him die for Good, only to be told, accidentally and years later, that he didn’t, but then that he did, again, most likely. They hadn’t heard anything from Angel for over a year after Giles told had gone to L.A. to identify Wesley’s body and then that was only him calling Giles and Willow for information about some ancient Hawaiian lava demon who had resurfaced and was frightening the tourists with bad ‘Tiny Bubbles’ karaoke; he never said anything about Spike.
Buffy had been pretty upset with everybody when she found the trunks.
It had been during one of the seismic upheavals that periodically rocked the Apennine peninsula from time to time, this one had collapsed one of the subterranean TrenItalia tunnels into some hitherto undiscovered catacombs and there had been sightings of unusual beasts, so Buffy went to check it out.
She looked like hell when she’d gotten back to the apartment that day, dirty, bruised, her shirt ripped, cursing at Step-Bitc…Teresa… It was obvious that she and Hank’s latest wife had had it out over Buffy’s wanting to borrow the car again. Plus she had fallen through a catacomb floor into another concealed chamber. She had told Dawn that she had found some stuff down there, not icky stuff, just some trunks and that they needed to get them before anyone else found them.
Dawn had borrowed their neighbor Giovanni’s old delivery truck, he had a crush on her so it wasn’t difficult to get the keys and she could drive a standard. Buffy had been surprised her little sister could flirt so well in Italian, when she could barely get by even with a phrase book.
The trunks had been with them ever since. Like part of the family… Buffy never allowed her to get in them… as if … allow me… Dawn scoffed to herself. She always said the contents were just research-y stuff for Giles and Willow, but never sent them to them. After Dawn figured out how to work the old tape machine …BetaMax…who knew… Buffy had bought at Giovanni’s pawn shop and stashed in one on the mid-sized steamers, she knew why.
No videos today…she thought as she lifted the lid and began to feel her way through the packing peanuts. Pictures, maybe later…and…she pulled out a bubble wrapped parcel then reached in deeper...there it is! It was old and tattered but still kept its contents safe and secure.
The portfolio still held the receipt from the little shop in Coventry where Lydia had purchased it over a decade ago. Dawn unzipped it but only pulled its contents out far enough to carefully leaf through the pages each one separated by its own protective acid-free cover.
Ahh… the camel, one on my favorites…she pulled it all the way out and began to read.
13 March, 1857
My Dearest Anne,
My deepest apologies if this post reaches you later than expected, horrid weather has forced a diversion of our journey. Our plans to travel by ship from Istanbul have been replaced with an overland sojourn through Turkistan. I admit some disappointment on my part as I had hoped to see the Black Sea again as lovely as when we last saw it together. The delay will still allow us the reach Chowringhee by 1st May barring further delays.
Young William did have opportunity for his promised camel ride earlier than expected. I believe he is presently recounting the event to you in his letter, needless, it will not soon become his favorite transport, his camel spat and was unruly and I believe he was queasy the entire ride, though he soldiered on right honorably. We will be traveling by coach through to Lucknow and I am told that the rail is now part done from there.
William’s lessons are proceeding quite well and I must confess that I am not minding the endless hours of recitation of Childe Harold though be assured that I am taking care with my replies to his many requests for clarification of the meanings of the stanzas. Since his father was never one to pay much heed to poetry it is best that we finish all the cantos before we arrive.
His penmanship is much improved, as you have noted, the techniques from the New Orleans charter are indeed far better than trying to force the use of his right hand. We are presently working on reducing it to a more normal size, but I fear he will never have a neat hand.
His French, however, is horrid and I strongly recommend to you to consider King’s on Strand again as the languages are better learned there than at Harrow upon his return. As you have the next two years to decide, please pay company one day to one Maximillian Le Fountaine at King’s, he is head of lingua franca studies there and one conversation will attest that this is so.
In response to the concerns of your last letter, my contacts among my former regiment fellows have wired me that there is some slight trouble among the Sepoys, merely some confusion as to the new munitions. It is nothing to concern yourself with, be assured that I will keep your son safe until he is delivered to his father, indeed until I have delivered him back to you in good stead as well.
With my Love always,
Reginald W. Hartleigh
Capt. 19th Bengal Ret.
This one never failed to make her smile. She was tempted to unwrap the pictures that, more or less, went with the contents of the portfolio…same era anyway. Buffy had wrapped them herself over two months ago for shipment and Dawn didn’t think she could get the tape off the bubble wrap without it ripping it…mangled bubble wrap always a dead give-away. But that dress is to die for...Hell! I have bubble wrap and tape in my room!
She tore into it.
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To be continued…
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: I want to say thanks to all my readers out there and to those of you who have left reviews - please keep those comming. Here is part three of Chapter One.
Chapter End Notes:
A/N: Thank you all for sticking with me so far, there’s a lot more to come. Some of you may have noticed that my ‘chapters’ are a bit different than most other authors, I write in novel length chapters with many sections, so each posting consists of several sections, but is actually only part of a chapter. This posting puts us at just about mid-way through chapter one in an at least four chapter story. Things will start to make sense; I like to read things that stay interesting through-out, with bits and pieces picked up all through the story that fit in at just the right places. Please let me know if I am succeeding in this in your reviews. Thank you all so very much for those, by-the-way, feedback is such a wonderful thing, It helps us write even better.