MY HEART IN STONE

PART 17:

(NOTE TO READER: Again, in this chapter because of more back and forth dialog, I've not put dividers between what

Sharon has written and what I have.  Rachel and Gerta are by Sharon here, and Cort, Mikol, and Henri by me.)

Gerta knew she had a habit of wringing her hands when nervous, the only expression of anxiety that gave her away to people who normally assumed from her stone-like face that she was unflappable and un-emotional.  She had stuffed her hands in her pockets as she made her way down the flight of stairs to the laundry room where Rachel had remained to fold towels and other sundry items for use around the castle, but needed them to open doors or hold the rail; this meant she was reflexively going through the nervous motions when she approached the young woman.  The laundry room was located across from the entrance to the kitchen, an oblong room with one window high up from the row of washing machine and dryer and ironing board, with a table at one end for folding.  Rachel turned from her work at the table to catch Gerta grip her hands into fists and stuff them back in hiding and gave her a knowing grimace. 

“Mikol is back and he wishes to see you,” Gerta announced, breathless.  Mikol had spoken to her in clipped tones, brooking no pursuit of explanation, other than he wished to find out from Rachel what had happened to cause her to miss one work day.  She had remained calm in her reply to obey, but knew all too well that Mikol often did not need her to bring him up to date on the comings and goings of his staff.  Gerta had caught Henri’s gaze as he stood at the dining table reviewing some papers, preparing to meet with Mikol himself.  The doctor’s eyebrows quirked a bit and their own communication was such that neither one of them needed words to know that Mikol would take care of first things first.  Henri was rubbing his forehead as she left and now Rachel paled slightly herself, reading the worry in Gerta’s hands.

“Shh!”  Gerta prompted her as Rachel opened her mouth and pointed upwards for Rachel to follow.   So they ascended, in silence.  Henri had left his spot, Gerta could only guess where, and Rachel looked as if she were rising to meet the gallows.

“Gerta, wait outside,” was Mikol’s direction to her when she entered the office with Rachel and Gerta obeyed, closing the door behind her.  She wondered vaguely if she should go look for Henri; wondered if Rachel would need her when Mikol was done questioning her.  Undecided, she chose to sit at the next landing down..  If nothing else, if Mikol knew anything at all about what had happened in the kitchen, the least she could do is slow him down….

Rachel tried not to wince as Gerta pulled the heavy wooden door of Mikol’s office shut, stood at attention as best as possible without seeming rigid.  Calm in all situations served even the most fearful soul, she reminded herself.  Still, it was nerve-wracking to fall under the expressionless scrutiny of Mikol’s ice blue eyes as he sat looking up at her, a figure of unnerving calm himself.  Rachel could not decide if she should meet his gaze or take a more subservient demeanor of looking down at his desk top.

I wont let him intimidate me, she thought, so met his gaze with as much innocence as she could muster.

Cort had sat there on the floor for a long time. How long didn't matter to him. Hours, minutes, the whole day...he didn't know. Finally he'd fallen asleep there where he was and it was morning when he opened his eyes again.  He stretched, his muscles sore and cramped from the night, and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He was lying near the metal, spiral stairs and his eyes held at the large padlock that kept the trapdoor to the high walkway around the tower out of his reach.  The lock was tipped so that he could see its bottom, see the keyhole.  He focused intently on that, feeling very much as though he himself were the door and he was locked tightly shut. What lay on the other side? If he could open the door, what would he find?  He had come of late to a deep awareness that something was...missing. Was it just the ending of his movie or was there a time beyond even that? He frowned. How could there be a time beyond that? Cortland Wells only existed until that moment when he held the badge in his hand.

And...yet.

What had happened yesterday? He turned his head,  looking for the wooden cross, and found it lying on the floor not far away.  His left hand moved out and picked it up and he just held it a moment, closing his eyes. It felt...familiar...in his grip.  He looked at it then, holding it up so that it hovered there between him and the padlock in his line of vision.

"Are you a key?" he asked it. His eyes centered in on the distant keyhole again.  "I need a key."

More and more he was feeling that something important was locked away from him.  It had started with that lump of coal.  His eyes found the dark smear on the wall. If the coal had been a key, he'd broken that one, hadn't he. His thumb slid down the side of the cross. "I won't break you," he promised it. "Do you fit in my lock?"  He pondered it seriously, his eyes going back and forth from the cross to the keyhole. Why had Henri said the cross was Cort's?  The doctor must know something he hadn't told him.  He recalled the gentle, solicitous manner in which the doctor had given him the little bundle.  "Almost as though he knew it would...."  His fingers gripped the cross tightly. What? What had Henri known the cross would do? Obviously something.  And it had.  He lay still, trying to recall all the phrases that had shot through his brain afterward. What did they mean? They were mostly lines of scripture.  Did it have something to do with Father Michael? No, that didn't seem right.  He searched his mind and all his memories of the kindly priest seemed intact. His Grandmother? No, he remembered everything about her, too.  But wait! There had been that flash where he'd been in some darkened place and he'd seen her waiting for him. What was that?  He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to see her again in that place.  Yes. Light. Light was flowing about her and she was looking at him, her eyes tender, full of love.  He remembered wanting to go to her, but not being able.  Why not?

Again the phrase, "If it were not so I would have told you," shot through his mind.  If WHAT were not so?

"I love you, Cortland Wells."

He sat bolt upright. What was THAT?  He heard it as clearly as though someone were in the room with him, saying it now.  His head jerked from side to side, making sure no one was there.  The voice, soft and feminine, had most definitely not been his Grandmother's!  "Oh, God," he murmured, "who was...that?"

He grabbed his memory in his fists, shaking it, trying to force it into the light.  It would not come.  Green flashed by.  That was all.  He sighed heavily, lying back again, folding his arms across his face.

Green. What did green mean?  He rested and as he did a sensation of floating in deep waters came to him, a sensation that was familiar as the feel of the cross in his hands was familiar. The green came and went in the water.  He remembered...pain.  Then the green would come, soothing the pain, and he floated on. Was it a memory or a dream?

The coal and then the cross.  How were they connected?  Were they connected?  Henri had brought the cross to him.  Where had he gotten it?  And the coal?  He found that in his pocket after he'd awakened from the terrible headache.  How?  Oh, yes.  The girl.  The girl in the kitchen.  She said she had put it there.  That made no sense.  He didn't know her.  He was sure of that.  She didn't look the least bit familiar to him.  And yet she seemed to know him, didn't she?  He pictured her again, standing there by the sink, soap suds sliding down her arms, her dark hair clinging to the sweat of her face.  No, he didn't know her.  But the look in her eyes.  She had large eyes, and he recalled the hope in them, recalled watching it turn to something else. Had someone...else...asked her to put the coal in his pocket?  Was she, as a servant of the castle, merely performing the services of a servant on behalf of another?  That might be it.

But, then, why had she looked at him so hopefully?

He realized that in that moment of their encounter in the kitchen, he had been so centered in on what he himself was feeling that he'd not really been able to think about her. Now her face came to him clearly, so clearly that he was surprised by the clarity of it. He saw her as she'd been when he was on his knees, scrabbling to get to the stairs. She looked as though she'd been stabbed through the heart. So different from her face when she'd first become aware he was in the room. Had...he ...done that to her? How was that possible? He had no power to injure her heart. You had to know someone in order to be able to do that to them. You...had...to....  No, that didn't fit. He didn't know her. He didn't! He was sure of it. Yet.  He had hurt her. No one else was there. He had to have been him. What had he done? He had...recoiled. That was it. He had been consumed with an overwhelming need to get out of her presence. Why? If he didn't know her, why would he need to get away from her?

He lay there, his brain going around and around. He couldn't come up with any other person that he'd had such a desperate need to get away from. Ever. Nor could he recall anyone who had ever looked at him with that depth of hurt in their eyes.  It had to mean...something. Had she put the coal in his pocket because she...herself...wanted to do so? He thought of the note she'd put with it. "Stardust contemplating stardust."  It was as though the writer of the message had been trying to trigger something in him, expected the words to have meaning for him.  But what? He felt like he was running through some mental maze in pitch blackness, feeling  his way with his hands around corner after corner that only led to more endless turns. He needed answers. He needed something to plant his feet on that wouldn't slide out from under them.  ‘If it were not so I would have told you.’  He needed to find out what was so.

The girl.  She might be able to help him. She worked in the main keep. Perhaps he could find her again? If she would talk with him, answer his questions?

It had been arranged that Cort would have access to the part of the castle above-ground. He had given his word he would not leave and, indeed, the workings of the gateway were very involved

and had been kept from him. He decided he would go to the keep and seek out this woman. His concern was that he had somehow hurt her so badly she would refuse to speak with him. Perhaps he could apologize? But for what? He wasn't sure what he had done.

He tidied himself and went almost eagerly down the series of curving steps, the elevator's workings not available to him. Pausing in the courtyard, he looked up at a large billow of white cloud in the blueness of the sky. He remembered Arizona skies. Would he ever see them again?

Inside the keep, he immediately headed for the kitchen, thinking that the most likely place to find her. She was not there. He went up the stairs, looking in the large living room and then the

rooms that connected off that. She was not there, either. He sighed. Perhaps she was not at work today? Then he decided to try the higher floors of the keep and began to ascend the main staircase. Halfway up he came upon a small, older woman sitting on a step by the landing. He had never seen her before, but she, too, looked at him as though she were aware of his identity.

"Morning, Ma'am," he said, stopping.

"Good morning, Cort," Gerta replied, aware this was his first conscious encounter with her. "May I help you?"

He licked his lips, feeling strange that people he didn't know knew him. "I...," he began, "I was looking for someone."

One of her eyebrows raised a bit. "Henri?"

"No, not him," he answered, wondering who she might be. "A young woman."

Her eyebrow raised much higher. "Which young woman?"

"I...I don't know her name, Ma'am. But I think she works in the kitchen."

Gerta smiled slightly. "And why would you wish to find this young woman?"

"I...I'd just like to talk with her, if that's all right."

Gerta leaned back, cocking her head. "You realize that could get her in trouble with Mikol? If he sees you?"

He hadn't realized that. "Why? Why would that cause her trouble?"

"You are off-limits to the staff, Cort. Well, except for the good doctor, of course."

"But," he pointed out, "you are talking with me."

She turned her head, looking back up the stairs. "Mikol is not here, is he? Nor are there cameras in the stairwell."

"Cameras?" he repeated. Why would she think there might have been cameras in a stairwell?

Again a slight smile curved her lips and she stood, extending her hand to him. "I am Gerta, Cort.  Mikol's, um, science officer."  It was her own private little joke, how she thought of her position with Grovensky.

He had no idea what she was talking about, but nodded his head.  "Ma'am," he said, acknowledging her introduction.

"She's upstairs, Cort. In Mikol's office. Best you not go in there just now. Perhaps you might wait in the hallway and speak with her when she leaves." She smiled openly at him and continued on down the stairs, humming under her breath.

Cort watched her go. Strange woman. He shook his head and went up the remaining flight of stairs. He remembered where Mikol's office was and walked quickly there. The heavy door was shut but he could make out the muffled sound of voices from within. Good. She must still be there. He looked down the hallway, noticing a bench beneath a window at the far end. He'd wait there and keep an eye on the door.

Mikol had not been pleased to learn his new hireling had failed to complete her day's work so early on in her employment.  He had been distracted of late from Kamen because of two time-consuming events. The first was the collapse near Prague of the arena his cover corporation was constructing. He had actually to build things from time to time in order to maintain the appearance of being a legitimate company. The half-finished roof of the large arena had suddenly caved in, killing 5 workers. It was a nuisance he did not like having to deal with when he only wanted to be getting on with his robotics project and Cort. The other was a large shipment of smuggled uranium that he had to get across the border into the Czech Republic. Both involved his being away from Kamen for some days. He needed to know things were running smoothly in the castle during his absence. That Gerta had let him down by hiring this weakling American was a further distraction he would not tolerate.

"You left?" he said, glaring at her. "In the middle of the morning, you simply left your duties and went home?" That an employee of his would even consider doing such a thing was unthinkable.  He frowned, actually angrier with Gerta for hiring this person than with the housekeeper herself. "What do you have to say for yourself? Veronica, is it? Is that

your name? Veronica?"

"Y...yes...its Veronica...sir.  I realize it was improper for me to have done so, especially when I have just started with this job.  However, the floors in the kitchen were very slippery.  I was scrubbing pots and I must have spilled some soapy water on the floor so when I turned to put...something on the work counter behind me I...I slipped...and fell.  On my shoulder.  Because I was grabbing for something to hold onto and I missed...."  Rachel couldn't help stammering.  She had spent some time the night before formulating a story to cover hers and Henri's actions, but she had not anticipated having to explain so soon.  That, and the look on Mikol's face was utterly without compassion or interest in her safety on the job, which was unnerving. 

"I thought you were supposed to be experienced in this sort of work. Do you not have sense enough to wear the proper shoes to prevent such incidents?" He glowered at her as though she were some worm infesting his apple.

Rachel had to swallow now, to wet her mouth for being so dry and to keep her tone even when Mikol's sharp words sent her scrambling for the defensive.  "I am, sir.  I think I must not be used to castle floors.  And I do wear the correct shoes...see?"  She cocked her foot back and upwards to show Mikol.  He didn't even move his eyes.  "But...accidents do happen, sir. Even in the best of circumstances.  I am much better today.  Hardly any soreness!  I can return immediately.  I was even..." she began to chirrup. What had Cort said to her?  'Not very calm when you're being challenged.'  God, was that ever the truth!

"I do not pay you to go falling all over yourself on my time, Vanessa, Veronica, whatever. I expect you to be here when you are supposed to be here, doing what you are supposed to be doing when you are supposed to be doing it. I expect...competence." He pressed his lips together in distaste.  "Your pay, of course, will be docked for the hours you missed. If it happens again, do not bother to return to Kamen.  You may go."  With a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned his face toward the window, thinking of uranium.

She murmured "yes, sir" one last time, and turned sharply to march to the door and open it, squelching the urge to spit at Mikol's back.  Now back to the dungeon of the castle to wallow in the laundry, she thought, as she pulled the office to back into its lock.  The stairwell leading to her tasks was before her, long and drooping into a dreary prison.  Rachel leaned against the wall and took a deep breath; she needed to before she could muster the strength to go down those steps again, feeling as if each one of those steps would lead to a road she would never escape.  Where was Gerta when she needed her?  The woman had been told to wait, but she was nowhere to be seen.  She should look for her.  Judging by the mood Mikol was in, Gerta may well be in a worse time than she.

Wiping her face with her hand, she straightened and  took a final mental deep breath before she could plunge downwards again.  She would have to think harder from now on, plan more thoroughly.  She would need to beg Terry to come.  She had to admit it.  She couldn't do this by herself....

"Miss?" The voice came, deep and soft, from the far end of the hallway.  Cort was standing in front of the window, looking at her.  He hadn't had to wait all that long and then the door opened and there she was.  He was hesitant, taking only a step or two in her direction, afraid he must have so offended her that she would probably just head for the stairs, ignoring him.  He held one hand slightly out toward her, almost imploringly. He wanted to speak with her, needed to speak with her.  "Please?" he said. "Please, Miss, may I talk with you a moment?"

It was all of a split second to realize she was not alone outside of Mikol's office after all, and turning, she saw none other than Cort rising from a window seat, shyly calling for her attention.  Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle the squeak of surprise and she flattened against the wall, her eyes automatically going to the office door.  She met Cort's eyes again, hand still over her mouth, and shook her head emphatically.  She couldn’t stay here and talk.  A part of her wasn’t even sure she wanted to, not after their confrontation the day before. 

She took the first few steps down ward - where the hell was Gerta?  Didn't she know Cort was here?  Glancing back behind her, she saw Cort follow, looking a bit flustered himself.  What to do?  The office door remained closed.  If Mikol had heard her squeak, he was taking his time getting to the door. 

She saw Cort open his mouth again, and shook her head violently once more, then pointed down with a few sharp jerks and fled.

What was she doing? At first he thought she simply was trying to avoid him as he'd suspected she might, but then she started motioning down the stairs.  He saw her look back at Mikol's door and suddenly understood. She didn't want to be seen talking with him.  All right, then, he'd just follow her.  She might have answers he needed.

She reached the landing, turned, and kept on going. He sped up his pace a bit, not wanting to lose sight of her. She was going fast. After they had descended two flights of stairs, he saw her turn into a doorway just down a short hall. He had no idea where he was now, but strode quickly to the door, following her in.

"Look, Miss," he said, studying her trembling form several feet away from him. "I mean you no harm. I just want to talk with you." He took another step toward her, trying to smile so as not to frighten her further.

Now her hand flew to cover *his* mouth as she tried very carefully to close the door without the whisper of a sound.  As she had made her way down the flights of steps, her first thought was to find a little-used room.  The storage closet!  There was a storage closet at the end of a hallway, where cleaning supplies were kept.  The sound of his boots on the steps behind her told her he had taken her hint and followed, so now she had led him to the only place she could think would insulate them from discovery.  But she had something to say first.

"You mustn't be seen talking to me!"  She whispered, hoping her own fear came through without having to raise her voice.  "He'll kill us both!"

He circled his fingers around her wrist, lowering her hand. Her fear was palpable.

"It's all right, Miss," he said, keeping his own voice low. He didn't think Mikol would kill him. He knew the man was not done with him, not yet. But the girl could well be another matter. "No one will see us talking."  He looked in her large eyes, now so close. What did he see there?  So many emotions were flickering through them one after the other, he couldn't tell.  So lost was he in his study of her eyes, he forgot he was still holding her wrist.

It felt so good to be in contact with him again, she was almost speechless.  But the memory of his confusion and fear in the kitchen made her clench her other hand tight to keep from placing it where it had been so natural and welcome before: on his chest.

"I can't...they'll be looking for me..." she stammered, unable to keep up the eye contact with him. She'd lose herself completely in his eyes, and knowing he couldn’t remember her, did not want to take the chance of scaring him a second time.  She couldn't bear it.  So she stared at the pin tucks of his frockcoat, the unbuttoned shirt beneath.  "Make it quick, please..."

"The coal," he said. "Was it you who gave it to me? Why?" 

Rachel stared up at him, surprised by the question...surprised by her own surprise.  It had to have come from her unbelief in Cort's loss of memory - some part of her, some well of hope, was still thinking he would remember everything merely by seeing her...but here he was, asking why she gave him coal! 

She slipped her fingers into the hand holding hers, gave his fingers a squeeze to convey her distress.

"Yes, I gave you the coal.  I thought..." she looked up again now, tried to see some sign of recall, some light that would tell her it was all a passing thing.  "I thought you would remember why."

He stared back at her, the only emotion in response was the shadow of his confusion before.  She pulled her hand away, to give him room to leave.

"It meant something to us...before..." she added, her voice almost a whisper.

He thought she was trying to leave. She had pulled her hand back. "Green," he said quickly. "Does green mean anything? Like...," he hesitated, searching for a way to describe it, "like...in water. Floating."

Now she was fighting off another bout of tears, tears that had a mind of their own and *would* spring up, now that she was in an audience she had been yearning for all this time.  He was asking such weird questions!  Not 'who are you, what do you want with me?'  But why the coal and if a color meant anything to her.

Well, she had to admit the coal was a pretty bizarre thing, but still...if he remembered, he would have known...

"Green?" she repeated, her mind a perfect blank now."I can't think right  now...green...water"  She looked back up at him, puzzled.  And then it came to her!  "I wore a green dress when we first met.  Or it could be...could be the green pines around our...I mean...a house..." she faltered, torn between trying to tell him everything and keeping aware that others may be looking for her even now.  Would Gerta know she was with Cort?  Somehow, since getting to know the woman, she had a sneaking suspicion that Gerta wouldn't be past setting up things this way.  "Why do you want to know about green?"

"Why? Well, it's that...," his lips felt dry, his voice cracked a bit.  "I've...lost...something." He shrugged his shoulders feebly. "Something I need to find."  He blinked his eyes slowly.  "I think I need to find. I...I'm not sure.  I think I've forgotten something."

Suddenly he felt embarrassed, stupid, to be saying this to her.  "I...I'm sorry, Miss. I just...I just...."  Damn! What was it about the way she looked at him?  "Green," he said again. "I remember green.  And...pain."  He paused. Had she mentioned pines?  "Pines?" he added quickly.  "You know about pines?  Where?  Please!  Where were the pines?"

Something in his voice went straight through her heart when he spoke of loss.  ME, Cort...you've forgotten me!  She wanted to shout.  Impulsively, she put her hand back into his. 

"It's okay, it's okay," she murmured as he apologized, her thoughts still scrambling for some logical ground to give him, some foothold of reason he could use.  If green was what he could remember, she could work with that!  "I can't explain in full, Cort, but you have to believe me when I tell you, where you and I knew each other, there were pines.  It was where you lived...for a time...and...."  Dear Lord, she was taking a huge risk by adding her next words, but it was getting harder and harder to hold back under the strong emotion emanating from him.  "...and it was home."

"You...you know where I lived?"  He felt sweat beginning to trickle down his temples. His mind was not behaving. It couldn't seem to hang on to one thought, see it through.  There had been no pines around the mission. Did she mean the mission?  Or his grandmother's house?  No, there were no pines on the old farm. Suddenly he remembered the scent of the cross. He'd put it in his pocket before leaving the tower and now his fingers reached for it, feeling thick and clumsy as they moved. Pulling it out, he held it up where she could see it.  "Pine," he announced hoarsely, giving his head a strong, affirmative motion downwards.

Her body, with her heart, moved closer...she couldn’t stop herself.  Smiling gently, she covered the cross with her own hand.  He was so confused, she could see it now, struggling so hard with a memory that was swiss-cheesed into mere fragments.  Opening her mouth to tell him that she had been the one to bring the cross for him as well, she paused, wondering if it might not be too much.  Would more information help him?  Or would it scare him?  He seemed so anxious for anything she could tell him.

"It's obvious you don’t remember me, or the home with the pine trees, but you lived there for some time.  I..." oh God!  Was this the right thing to say?  "I brought you there...from Redemption.  I found you in Redemption and brought you to a little home there in the pines.  Please, Cort, don't be frightened by me.  We were so happy!"

"YOU brought me out of the movie?" He staggered slightly.  Mikol had said there was nothing between the end of the movie and Kamen.  Nothing.  He felt ill. He had thought the movie was reality...and it was not.  He had thought what Mikol had told him was the truth....and it was not. What was real...true...any more? He swayed, bracing himself on the wall with his left palm, trying hard not to throw up, unable to speak for a long moment.  Oh, God.  Nothing was as it seemed. Nothing.  Finally he  lifted his head, locking his eyes on hers, knowing somehow that if he didn't, he would be...gone.  Perhaps he was already gone? He didn't know.  She had said they were...happy?  Him and her?  How could he not remember happiness? Was that real? Was what she was saying...true?  Or was she like Mikol? His vision blurred and he blinked several times, trying to bring her back in focus. 

"D...d...do I k...know...you?" he stammered, barely able to keep to his feet.

No, his reaction was not good, not good at all!  Damn!  How stupid could you be, Rachel? 

"Yes, Cort, you and I know each other.  But don't...don't worry about that right now.  Please!  It's okay if you don’t remember right now.  I just want to help."  Her eye fell on the door of the closet, the urgency to keep from being discovered returning full force.  They'd been too long talking, too long!  And she could see it would take more than a few words to bring Cort around.  This time she didn’t hold back the tears.  "I know this is a really bad time to do this Cort, but I’ve stayed in here far too long.  I came here to get you away from Mikol and I can't do that if he kills me...or you...or the both of us.  And he'll do that if he even suspects I'm disobeying him." 

He looked so stricken, but there was no time, no time at all to try and iron it all out for him.  She clutched the front of her dress in an unconscious gesture of dismay, felt a hard cold lump.  Her brooch!  Dear God, if he can't figure things out from this, then...then...there's nothing more I can do...Terry will have to come...

"I have to go," she told him, breathless, and unpinned the brooch from its hiding place inside her dress, locked up the bar once more so it wouldn’t puncture him.  "You told me once you could not be afraid of the night because of the stars.  Stars are like diamonds, and diamonds were once coal."  That was about as clear as she could become, feeling acutely the need to end the meeting.  She put the brooch on top of the cross.  "That was why I gave you the coal.  Remember the stars."

She couldn’t give him any more time to draw the conversation on further.  She gave the brooch one last pat, and then, taken by one more impulse, reached up and kissed him on the cheek.  Then, as quickly and as quietly as she could, she pulled the closet door open and left the room.

He was dizzy with what she had blurted out so quickly. It all made sense and yet it made no sense 

at all. How could it be both at the same time? But it was. "I have loved the stars too fondly to be 

fearful of the night."  Father Michael had taught him that.  She knew about it. How could she...

unless? Then she was gone and he was alone in the closet, the cross and the star brooch in his 

hand. 

Star dust. The coal was...star dust. The note. Oh, God...the note. That was the meaning of the coal. 

He was being urged to remember the stars. His eyes fell to his hand as the brooch slipped slightly 

sideways. There were two stars...the carved one and the one like diamonds.  There was too much 

to think about...all at once...too much.

A shadow blocked the light from the doorway.  She had come back.  He started to turn.  "You 

came...," he began, but it was Henri. 

Gerta had found Henri,  had explained she'd sent Cort up to wait for Rachel to leave Mikol's 

office.  He'd returned to his own office, but kept an eye on the staircase.  Cort should not be 

pushed too far too fast. That had always been his worry.  When he saw Rachel hurry down the 

steps, followed not far after by Cort, he gave them a few moments then decided to find Cort.  In 

the lower hallway, he saw Rachel just going up the back steps.  Cautiously he walked down the 

corridor toward where she had left a closet door open. Yes, Cort was there,  his back to the door 

as he braced against the wall. 

Cort turned, obviously expecting to see Rachel.  Henri noted the cross in the young man's hand, 

some sort of sparkling pin with it.  So, they had talked.  He looked at Cort's face, and frowned.  

"Are you feeling ill, Cort?" he asked, stepping into the small room.

Cort shook his head no...then yes.  "I...," he tried to speak, but couldn't. 

"You need quiet, I imagine.  Time to think?"

Cort nodded tiredly.  

"Come, my friend.  Let me help you back home."

He meant back to the tower room, but the word he chose made Cort's face get a very strange 

expression.  He looked at the objects in his hand then back up at the doctor.  "I had a...home...in 

the pines."  His eyes moved to the hallway.  "She said...I had a home."  Then his face crumpled.  

"How can I not remember home? Can you tell me that, Doctor? How does someone not remember 

...home?"  

Henri circled an arm around Cort's shoulders, leading him into the corridor and toward the 

stairs.  There was no real answer for Cort's question.  

As the tower elevator ascended,  Cort kept his gaze on the stars in his hand, mumbling under his 

breath words Henri couldn't make out.  Reaching Cort's room, he watched as the young man 

walked as though hypnotized toward the spiral steps.  What was he staring at?  The trap door?  

The lock?

Cort gripped the two things in his hand so tightly that the edge of the star brooch opened a small 

cut. 

"Keys," he murmured. 

ON TO PART 18

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