MY HEART IN STONE

PART 28:

Cort had been using his right hand on his cane as he'd been holding Rachel's hand

with his left.  When Glen extended his hand for a shake, without thinking, Cort

responded with his own right hand and the cane clattered noisily to the floor.  Cort

lost his balance briefly and stumbled, his hand gripping Glen's forearm to keep

himself from falling.  Bright red flamed up his neck and across his cheeks, turning

his tan into rather a deep chestnut.  "I...," he began, his eyes darting from Glen's

startled face, locking in a mute plea on Rachel's. "I...."

"Oh!  Oh dear!" Rachel exclaimed as she grabbed for Cort's elbow to help steady

him.  "He's still nursing his injury and I'm afraid I've been dreadfully hard on him

today...I've had him walking everywhere and the poor man is worn out.    "

Glen was a bit startled by the young man's lurch towards him, but planted his feet

firm to give Cort the chance to recover.  He could see his neck and face flush from embarrassment and immediately felt sympathy for the man. 

"Rachel, please get his cane," he said, and he met Cort's distressed gaze with a slight

frown.  "Well, young man, I've always wanted to bowl over a prospective client with

my charm and good looks, but I may have to change my tactics if this is what happens."

"I...I'm so sorry, Mr. Keirs," Cort mumbled, taking his cane from Rachel and leaning

on it with his left hand.  He took a second, composed his face, and extended his right

hand.  "Wells," he said, "Cortland Wells.  Glad to meet you, Sir." 

"It's quite all right...it's actually Cort, right?"  Glen glanced at Rachel to see her give

a brief nod, then returned Cort’s handshake with a firm grip.  "Why don't we go ahead

and sit down and..."

"AUNT RACHEL!"

A little voice rang out across the lobby and they all three turned to see a little boy rush

across the space, holding onto a balloon.  Rachel crouched down and held open her arms

and the little boy launched himself at her, sending her backwards onto her rear.  The

little boy was breathless with excitement. 

"Look what I got you, Aunt Rachel!"  He declared and handed her the string of the

balloon.

"Finn!"  Rachel laughed, hugging the boy tightly, who obliged momentarily and then

wriggled away.  "Why thank you! I...."

"We thought you might like a ring-bearer," came a second female voice and Rachel

looked up to see her older sister, Lisa, walking up.  "He's been holding onto that ever

since the man at the airport back home gave it to him."

Rachel got to her feet and hugged Lisa as well.  She took a deep breath and turned

back to Cort.  "This is my sister, Lisa.  Lisa, this is my fiancé, Cortland Wells."

Eve'nin', Ma'am," Cort said, falling into his19th century comfort zone.  If he'd had a

hat on, he'd have tipped it. 

"Why do you have a cane?"  Finn asked, as he walked up to Cort, staring up at the

man with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Buffalo bashing," Cort said conspiratorially, leaning forward.  "Keeps 'em away." 

He looked both ways down the large room. "Don't see any 'round here, do you?"  He

answered his own question with a broad, negative nod then held up the cane, giving it

a slight shake.  "Works every time."

Rachel laughed along with the others, catching Cort's eye and winking at him.  "I'm

glad you came," she told her sister.  Lisa was about five years older than Rachel and

had an air of worldliness that was missing in Rachel, as if she herself had seen rougher

days.  Where Rachel was dark haired and blue eyed, Lisa was dark blonde and brown-

eyed. 

"I hope its not an unpleasant surprise," Lisa asked, one eye keeping tabs on Finn, who

had repossessed the balloon he gave to Rachel and was bouncing it up and down. 

"Everyone else is in a kind of state of shock...."

"Lisa..." Glen began, as if in warning.

"I know," Rachel said, with a bit of alarm.  "We're not getting married to be shocking,

though," she added, trying to keep from falling into her usual pattern of talk with her

sister, someone with whom she had always felt some amount of competition with.  "I've

found the right man and I'm not letting him go."

Lisa glanced at Cort and smiled.

"I can see that.  Well, I'm here to help," she said.

"But y'all are missing some people..." Rachel found herself grasping for neutral ground.

"Who, Terry and Deidre?  They should be right behind us..."  Glen said and just as he

turned, the automatic doors opened again and another couple walked through.

Rachel exchanged looks with Cort and stepped forward.  Deidre was arm in arm with

Terry, but it became abundantly clear why Terry was not moving with as much alacrity

as normal, for his right arm was in a sling and a small patch of bandage was plastered

to his temple.

"Dee?"  Rachel asked as they stepped up their gait.  "Oh my God!  What happened?"

Deidre just shook her head and hugged Rachel.

"It's so good to see you again!"  She murmured and moved to include Terry in the

greeting, but the K&R man had found Cort and the two of them were regarding each

other.

Cort was leaning on his cane again, breathing through his mouth as he stared at Terry. 

His first response had been one of real joy at the sight of his friend, then startlement

at the condition he was in.  He didn't speak for a moment, only stared, leaning on his

cane.  Then he became aware he WAS leaning on his cane and the irony of the moment

hit him full force.  He hobbled the few remaining feet between them and gripped Terry's

left arm with his own free hand.

“Mate, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Terry rumbled.  The expression on his face told

of his own surprise in seeing Cort lean on a cane.  “Looks like we both copped it,

though,” he added, indicating Cort’s prop.  He took a deep breath and blinked as if

fighting back a stronger emotion.  He had been comfortable at the beginning the plane

ride, but the cramped quarters had begun to wear on him as they flew in over Germany,

and he still wilted with fatigue because of the stress of his injuries.  There was also the

fact that he was eager to see Cort in person for himself, if only to verify that the success

of Rachel’s efforts was, indeed, fact, and not something he imagined.  Now that he could

see and see that Cort was in as bad as shape as he was, Terry felt more than a little

touched.  “It’s a wonder we’ve made it this far,” he joked, his left hand gripping Cort’s

forearm in return to communicate his own relief.

"Fight our way from Germania to Spain, deal with slave traders and crazed gladiators

in Zucchabar, manage to survive ancient Rome," Cort grinned, "then get done in back

in modern times, eh?"  Though his words were light, his eyes sought Terry's, needing to

take the measure of the man, needing to see for himself that he was sound.  "You...you're

really all right?" he asked a bit anxiously, almost surprised by his level of concern.  He

hadn't realized how much the sight of him would mean somehow.

“I’m apples,” Terry responded, laughing at the irony himself.  Hearing the timbre of

Cort’s voice, he gave a brief nod.  “It’s good to see you,” he repeated.

Cort’s throat tightened with the awareness that he'd come to look on Terry as an elder

brother.  "Missed you," he said, giving the arm he held a light squeeze. Then he blinked

slowly and turned to look at Rachel.  "Rachel, I'm sorry, but I think I need to sit down."

Lisa and Glen watched the exchange with some amount of bemusement, taken aback by

Cort’s odd comments about slave traders and surviving ancient Rome; but as Cort sat

down on the couch and Terry stood near, Lisa’s confused expression morphed into

amazement.

“Do you two realize,” she asked, sitting on the arm of the nearby over-stuffed chair,

“that you look so much…alike…?”  She trailed off, as if the beginning of her thought

were a bad joke made painfully obvious.  “Are you…brothers?”

“We’re related, yeah,” Terry replied, smoothly offhand, pleasant.  Deidre and Rachel

exchanged looks.  Glen stood in the background, hands on Finn’s shoulder’s, staring at

Cort with a strange look of his own.  “Cousins.”

“Why don’t we get you all to your hotel rooms?” suggested Rachel, a bit more loudly

than she intended.  This was not the conversation she was ready to have in the middle

of a public place.  “Finn, would you like to ride with Cort and me?”  She stepped away

to go look for a cab, as Henri had opted to return to the city, but Terry called out for

her to not worry.

“I’ve made arrangements of my own,” he said to the group in general.  “Rache, have

you forgotten I know people here?”

As if he had timed it, Terry pointed to the tall uniformed chauffer just walking down

the causeway, looking about for his expected clients, and they all followed him back to

the waiting limousine, bags and baggage already loaded and on its way in a separate

transport.  Rachel chatted as well as she could with everyone to keep the subject matter

light: Lisa’s job, Finn’s school, the way the ocean looked flying over, how balloons

weren’t as fast as planes.  Deidre and Terry filled them in on general details of Terry’s

injuries and Glen was worrisomely quiet, as was Cort; but Rachel figured…hoped…

that was because of the amount of walking he had done and how his muscles were now protesting…and not because of his first few minutes meeting her father.

Cort had rubbed his leg all the way from the airport, blowing out a long breath from

time to time.  As the limo carefully negotiated the narrow streets of Hromada, he leaned

close to Rachel, whispering in her ear.  “Darlin', would it be ok if I had myself dropped

off at our hotel?  I'm bushed and my leg just wants to be propped up on a stool and not

stood on any more today?  Think any of your folks would be offended if I didn't go to

their hotel right at the moment?"

Rachel forgot all the others in the car with them and cupped his face as she nodded. 

"You go right ahead.  I’ve made you do too much today anyway."  Terry was already

toggling the chauffeur to drive by the Mini first, so she kissed him on the cheek.  "I

wont be long."

"You've the right idea," Terry put in, his arm around Deidre, who blinked and blinked

in a vain attempt to appear wide awake.  "I slept most of the way, but I think the others

here are ready to call it a night."

"Don't worry," Glen added himself.  "We'll all be in a clearer frame of mind

tomorrow."  Rachel didn’t hold her father's gaze too long, too nervous about what

was going on in his mind.  "Frame of mind" was not an encouraging phrase to her 

Lisa just nodded mutely and tried to get Finn to sit up from his sprawl across her lap.

They pulled up to the Mini and Rachel walked Cort to the door, parting ways with him

with a kiss.  "Don’t try to stay awake for me, sweetheart.  I won’t be long, I promise."

When Cort entered the lobby, he found Henri sitting there in an over-stuffed chair, a

long garment bag draped across his lap. Though very tired, he smiled at the sight of the

older man, who stood, laying the bag across the back of the chair.

"You look a bit worn, my friend," Henri said, putting his hand on Cort's shoulder and

studying his face.

"I am," Cort sighed.  "Don't seem to be pacing myself all that well.  I'm just not used to

my body not being able to do what I want it to."

Henri smiled fondly, picking up the bag.  "Well, I won't keep you long.  Just want to run

an idea I had past you, then I'll let you get to bed."

Together the two men went up the elevator, Cort's hand fumbling a bit with the door key.

Henri watched him carefully, with the assessing eyes of a doctor as well as a friend. Once

in the room, Cort sat heavily on the edge of the bed, closed his eyes briefly, then opened

them, looking at Henri.  "So, what's in the bag?"

"As you know, I've seen Rachel's gown for the wedding.  Have you given any thought to

what you, yourself, might wear?"

"Ahhhh...," Cort sighed.  "I guess I do need some sort of fancier duds than these, eh?"

Henri chuckled.  "I thought as much."  He unzipped the bag, holding up for Cort's

inspection a dove grey suit.

Cort blinked several times.  "Where on earth did you get THAT?"

"I have my ways, Cort," the doctor laughed. "All I can tell you about Rachel's dress is

that it suits the location of the ceremony as well as where you are from. You needed

something that matches, goes with it, and with who you are."  He turned the hanger

so Cort could see the back.  "This is a 'rifle frock coat', so they say.  Does it look

authentic enough to you?"

Cort was fingering a sleeve. "Mighty fine, Doc, mighty fine. Never worn anything like

this in my life."

The long coat had notched lapels, with buttons covered in matching fabric.  It was fully

lined and the detailing on the back of the coat was amazing.  It came with matching

slacks, a white shirt with a stand-up collar, a silvery brocade vest, and a cravat.  It was

late 19th century elegance incorporated. 

Cort shook his head in wonder.  "I can't believe you...."

"It was my pleasure, Cort," Henri grinned, holding out a small box. 

Inside Cort found a small pearl stick pin for the cravat. His eyes widened.  "How did

you know?"

"Know what?"

"The ring.  The antique ring I found for Rachel."

"It's a pearl?"

Cort nodded, touching the top of the pearl lightly with his forefinger. "This is...perfect!" 

Henri zipped the bag, hanging it in the closet. "Well, I'll go now, let you get some rest."

"Henri," Cort said, "can you stay a bit longer? There's something...medical...I've been

wanting to ask you about for a while.

Henri's eyebrow cocked, curious, concerned.

Cort saw the expression.  "Nothing major, Doc," he smiled, "it's just that my hand has

been itching something terrible for weeks." 

Henri took Cort's hand, moving it more directly under the light from the bedside lamp. 

"Is this the hand that was crushed?"

Cort nodded, pointing to a small area on his palm at the base of his middle finger. 

"Right there.  Feels...strange."

Henri probed the area with his fingers.  "Hmmm?  Seems to be something there."

"Something there?"

"Did you ever have that feeling before you were retrieved?"

"No, not at all."

"I see," Henri said mysteriously.  "Let me just go and get my bag from my car.  Be

right back."

He returned quickly and had Cort rest the back of his hand on the small table.  "I

think I just may know what this...is."  He probed some more with his sensitive fingertips.

Ah, there it was...very tiny, but definitely there.  "You had surgery on this hand at

Emerald City, right?"

Cort nodded again. 

"Well, I think Sid had a little something extra added during the procedure."

"Extra?"

"Umm humm.  A tracking device."

"Good Lord!"

"You want it out?"

"Now!  Can you get it out now?"  He found the thought of something implanted inside

him revolting.

Henri opened his large medical bag, withdrawing a syringe.  "It's not big and it's not

deep, but I do have to make a small incision.  This will just numb the area so it won't

hurt.  Ok?"

He placed a clean, folded towel on the table and put Cort's hand atop it, wiping the

palm with antiseptic.  "This will just take a moment."  He was right.  The whole thing

was over in less than five minutes and Henri had dropped a tiny, square object into an

ashtray.  "That's it.  All done."

Cort looked at it, frowning.  "I've had that inside me ever since then?"

"So it would seem."

He blew out a long breath of relief.  "Thank you, Henri.  More than I can say."

"Well, at least Sid has no way of knowing where you are any more, eh?"

A sudden thought hit Cort.  "Mikol? Would he have done something...similar?"

"Taken care of already, my friend. Mikol's technology there was more advanced than

Sid's.  An entirely external device he'd programmed to receive your neuron patterns.

I know that doesn't make real sense to you, but he could tell where you were just by

tracing the nerve signals of your body that are unique to you.  I smashed it the morning

after he...died." He set about gathering up his medical supplies.  "So you are a truly

free man now, Cortland Wells.  Nobody will know where you are unless you want

them to know."

Cort rubbed his hand across his forehead.  "I can't begin to tell you what that means

to me."

Henri rested his palm briefly atop Cort's bent head.  "I think I have some idea, son."

Cort lifted his eyes to Henri's. "Do you know, Henri, that you are the only man who

has ever called me that?"

"I...I'm sorry if I've...."

"No...no.  I meant I like it.  It...it's part of why I asked you to stand up for me.  Means

a lot."

"Thank you," Henri whispered, never in his life having anyone he'd been able to call

'son' before. Then he found he had to blink back tears as the thought that two evenings

hence, this young man would be gone out of his life.  "I'm going to miss you..."

"Maybe not," Cort smiled. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"What...?"

"Is an idea I have.  Give me tomorrow.  There's someone I want you to meet."  He'd

explain no more, so Henri left, puzzling over what in the world Cort might mean.

Cort lay back atop the bedspread, not turning off the lamp, not even taking off his boots. 

His head settled into the soft pillow and almost as soon as his eyes closed, he was asleep.

There wasn’t enough time once they got to the hotel Terry had booked to really let the

unease Rachel felt inside the car get to her, as the limousine took a quick turn at the end

of the long row of buildings and pulled into the market square with its Plague Monument

and broad expanse of flagstone to come to a rest in front of a series of pink, green and

white buildings where the Golden Angel Hotel was incorporated.  The plaza was filled

with tables and people milling about.  As they crawled out of the car, they could hear

the strains of a polka band in the far corner of the plaza thumping away and people’s

laughter giving the air a pleasant ring. 

“Rachel, if you want to go on back to Cort, you can,” Lisa said, as they stood in the

lobby waiting for check-in.  “I’m gonna need to get this fellow down on a mat or

something if I want him to be half-way decent tomorrow.  And I know you must be

exhausted.  Dad is overly tired, too, and….”

“No,” Rachel said, listening to rather than looking at her sister, watching her father

walk to a small corner of the lobby and sit down.  He looked as if her were anything

but sleepy; more disturbed than anything else.  “I think I need to talk with him a bit

before I go.  He doesn’t look like he’s taking my engagement with much pleasure.”

“I think he’s realized you’ve grown up,” Lisa said.  “Like I said, we were in a kind of

shock when he told us you were engaged, but none more so than himself.  Hey, I’m

happy for you!”  Lisa exclaimed when Rachel turned a look of concern her way.  “I

figure it's about time you join the mainstream instead of going off on your adventures.”

Rachel could not help but smile.  Oh, but if you only knew, she thought.  Like their

first meeting, she could have said that it looked as though life with Cort was going to

be anything but mainstream.  But she didn’t. 

“Go give Dad a love pat and tell him to get to bed.  Stacia warned me he might do this,

but I’m too damn frazzled from travel to talk some sense into him.  Besides, I think he’s

been looking forward to talking to you since you left in such a hurry last time.”

Rachel stared at her sister, wondering if fatigue was making her hear things she never

heard before.  Was Lisa actually supporting her?  They had had such a long history of competition with each other for their father’s attention, it was unusual for Lisa to cede

the stage to her younger sister.  

“Go on.  I’ll be the sister you’ve always had tomorrow…that is, if you still want me here,”

Lisa joked, her own insecurities showing in her eyes this time.  “The poor man is pathetic

sitting there.”

With a quick kiss to Lisa and Finn’s cheek, who was now completely limp in his mother’s

arms, Rachel turned to find Terry and Deidre. 

“Well, Jedi, I guess we’ll see you in the morning,” Dee said, leaning her head down so

their foreheads touched.  “First thing I want to do is see your dress…you do have one

picked out, don’t you?  And maybe you know of some secret method of getting Mr.

K&R here into a monkey suit for me?”  She flashed a grin at Terry, who just rolled his

eyes.

“I’m not even sure where Henri has stashed it,” Rachel said, “but I want to show it to you,

so I’ll talk to him.  You and Lisa can help me pick out flowers, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Rache, luv, give the key to your father.  We’re going on up…shall we meet tomorrow at

about 8 o’clock at the Mini for breakfast?”

 

Rachel nodded in agreement.  “Terry…I have a feeling I’m going to need to explain some things,” she added, searching her supervisor’s face.  “I mean, I’ll try to keep it simple

and logical, but…I don’t think he’s buying the cousins bit at all.”

“I’ll back you up, if need be,” he replied and kissed her on the forehead.  Rachel felt her eyebrows rise.  He’d never done that before.  “Good night!”

If Glen had seemed pathetic to Lisa’s eyes, he seemed more patiently curious to Rachel

as she approached the couch.  He had chosen a corner of the lobby that seemed the least

likely to be invaded by wandering guests, but since most of the visitors were outside

enjoying the festivities or already up in their rooms, there was little chance of more

than the receptionist noticing their whispering.

“Dad, you all right?”  She asked, sitting down next to him.

He gave her a tired smile and shifted somewhat to begin their talk.

“I was just thinking about the day you snuck away from us and ended up in the hotel

pool,” he said.  “They don’t have a pool here, do they?”

“If they do, I promise not to go near it,” Rachel laughed.  “I was three at the time.  I’ve

been much more careful since then.”

Several emotions flitted across his face, even more several dozen words trying to form

themselves before he asked “have you been, angel?  When I saw your young man with

a cane and…”

“He was hurt very badly, Dad.  I told you.  He saved my life,” Rachel interrupted, trying

not to sound defensive.  She was wishing her father would come right out and say what

he was thinking. 

“Let me finish!  I saw your young man and was going to make a joke about what you’ve

been doing to him, but then I saw the way he looked at you and I had my answer right

there.  I’m afraid I just don’t…”

Rachel waited, wondering if she should just blurt it all out or let him ask the questions.  Wondering how she was going to begin at all.  She glanced at the hallway leading to

the elevators.  Terry and Dee had already ascended.  No, no backup.

“Start from the beginning,” Glen said.

The beginning?  Rachel took her father’s hand and patted it.

“Okay.  Here it is, in a nutshell, because to go to the real beginning would mean making

you sit here all night.  Where I work, where Terry is my boss, and Deidre is my co-worker,

and where I ultimately met Cort, we…involve ourselves in a technology that to outsiders

will seem pretty fantastical, but it’s real, Dad, oh so very real!  This company, NanoCorp

has developed a special nanotechnology to enter into a computerized medium and become

 part of that medium.  We call it warping.  When we warp into this medium….” Rachel

paused, realizing that what she was going to say next would sound ludicrous, but it was

the only way she could get to the final point of events.  “When we warp, and in most

cases, the medium is a movie, we can interact…”

“Wait a minute…did you just say ‘movie’?”  Glen interrupted, his eyes narrowed.

“I did.  A movie.  Its nanotechnology.  You’re an engineer.  You’ve read up on that,

haven’t you?”

“Yes, but I’ve never heard of nanobots and the like being used to…to…do something out

of Star Trek!”  Glen said, and then paused again.  “Have they…?”  he asked, in growing bewilderment.

“Well, if they could come up with things like hypo-sprays and floppy discs and flip-phones,

why wouldn’t scientists try to find a way to morph one medium into another?  You know

as well as I do how some would love to find a way to transport…”

“Yes, but…Rachel.  That’s just not possible,” Glen argued.  He was rubbing one finger

along his temple, a sign that he was starting to think she was pulling a fast one on him.

“Dad, Cort is from one of these movies,” Rachel said, taking a deep breath.  The last

thing she wanted to get into right now was a philosophical discussion about technology.

How had Terry put it one time?  ‘Jumped off a cliff.’

“So he’s an actor?”

“No.  Not an actor.  From the movie itself.  That’s part of what I do…I mean, did for NanoCorp…” she took a deep breath at that thought.  She had been mulling things

over in the back of her mind, anticipating the time to answer that as an event much

later in the future, but now that she was discussing it, she realized, after all that Sid

had done to her and to Cort, she was never going back.  There was just a niggling

problem she just couldn’t quite work out, even though she wasn’t even sure what

that problem was.  Shoving that issue aside, she went on.  “I did what was called a

‘retrieval’.  That nanotechnology made it possible for us to extract…erm…” she

faltered.

“Data?  Nanobots?  Geological extrusions?”  Glen asked, his voice cracking a bit. 

“No!”  Rachel shook her head emphatically.  “Cort is not just data made incarnate. 

He is the actual person from that movie.  See, the premise is this…”

“What movie?”

“The Quick and the Dead.  It came out in the mid-90s.  Sharon Stone, Gene Hackman,

Leonardo DiCaprio and…Russell Crowe.”

“Ah ha,” Glen made the words sound like an “I see”, but Rachel knew better.  His next

question confirmed her suspicion.  “So you…extracted Russell Crowe…?  Is that who

plays Cort?”

Rachel covered her face with her hands.  Deidre had said Terry made it sound so logical. 

What did Terry say that circumvented all of this?

“No!  Not Russell Crowe.  Just the character he played.”

Glen stared at her for a few minutes.

“Does the inimitable Mr. Crowe know about this?”  He finally asked, incredulous.

“Oh, God, I hope not!”

“He doesn’t know he has clones of himself running around?”

“Not clones.  Not copies.  You’ve got to understand that.  He has nothing at all to do

with NanoCorp, has hopefully never heard of NanoCorp… and, God bless him, I hope

it stays that way.  It would be very bad, indeed.”

“You…extract…a character played by an actor, but not the actor himself.”

“Right.”

“Not someone pretending to be….”

“Oh, Dad, maybe I should have waited until the morning, like you said…when we were

all in a better frame of mind,” Rachel groaned, moving to get up.  She was beginning to

confuse herself in her own weariness, and the sudden desire to curl up in Cort’s arms, if

for no other reason than to reassure herself that he was real, welled up in her like a

wave.

“No wait, angel.  I’m trying, I really am.  I guess I'm just trying to connect it with the

man who was using a cane and how he got that way and how it was that he did as you

said and saved your life.  Maybe if you just skip ahead and tell me what happened that

was so awful that he was willing to risk his life for yours?”

“When I came here…remember I said that Cort had been abducted?  NanoCorp had a competitor, another person who was trying to use the same kind of technology for his

own purposes.  To make a long story short, he wanted to retrieve Cort and did so,

bringing him here to his laboratory, in Hromada.  And because of that, I came here to

see if I could…could get him back.  When Mikol…that’s the competitor…figured out

who I was, he used me to bait Cort and trick him.  He tied me up in a high place…his

lab is in a castle just on the other side of the hills…he tied me up and was going to let

me fall into this…this chasm when Cort reached for me and held onto me….”  Rachel

found she was taking short breaths now, reliving those moments, trying to remember

them in sequence, trying to put them in words that would make sense.  All she had seen

in those horrible moments was Mikol’s bitter triumph in setting her up, in luring Cort

forward, Cort’s face as he kept her from falling, Mikol’s powerful arms rising and

falling to….

 

“Mikol would have killed me no matter what Cort would promise, but Cort managed

to get a hold of me…my hands were bound to my legs and I couldn’t defend myself. 

There I was, hanging many floors above all these rocks, and Cort grabbed me,” she

was using her hands to demonstrate, getting frustrated because what she was seeing

was not showing as clearly as she wanted.  “I was hanging so far out over the drop that

Cort was leaning out over the ledge…and Mikol was behind him and Mikol raised his

arms and…beat Cort on the back to try and get him to let go…and Cort wouldn’t.  He

held on…he held…” her voice drifted as that final memory replayed.  Coming to

herself, she found that her voice was a bit rusty with emotion.  “It wasn’t until Mikol

fell over the ledge himself that we were able to get to safety and that’s when Henri…

that’s the doctor who took care of him…explained that he had fallen on some broken

stairs in the castle keep and had probably ripped some tendons.  Cort had been

limping, favoring his leg when he was arguing with Mikol…” her eyes fell upon her

father, expecting him to have closed his eyes because of a loss of interest or ability to

follow.  Glen, however, was keen-eyed and serious.  Despite the weirdness of her

description of her job, the reality of what Cort did sank in after all.

Rachel took another deep breath. 

“He wouldn’t let Mikol win,” she concluded.  “He came for me even when his leg was

all but ruined and he held onto me to keep me from falling to the stones below and

endured very powerful blows.  You may not believe how he came to be, but you can

believe that he loved me enough to risk his own life so I could survive.  That’s why

he has the cane.”

There was a long silence between the both of them as Glen absorbed her words and

Rachel sank back into the couch, feeling that with that confession, she was ready to

lay her head down and sleep.  She opened them when she felt her father shift again,

this time to perch at the edge of the couch, as if he were ready to get up and go to

his room.

“How long have you known him?”  He asked.

“A couple of months…but we’ve both been through so much together.  We just ‘know’

things about each other.  Isn’t…isn’t that what you always said of Mom, when you met

her?  That you just ‘knew’ she was the one and it was simply a matter of planning and

time before you two married?”

Glen nodded, lost in some memories of his own.  “That never changed until the day she

died,” he murmured.

“That’s how we feel about each other.  Its not some passing thing,” Rachel went on. 

“I’ve dated enough, Dad.  Cort’s nothing like the men I’ve dated.  They could only

dream of being like him.  I trust him with my life.”

“Well.”  Glen sighed, studying his daughter with a new expression on his face.  “I

guess that answers another question I had, although I do believe I had that answer

when I first saw you there with him.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so….Well,

I guess I was just hoping…well, that there was some other reason for your…” this

time he was the one who trailed off, stopping short of what he wanted to say.

“Illogical and unpredictable behavior?  I know.  For some reason, you’ve always

been able to make better sense of me than you have of Lisa and then here I go, with

bizarre stories and settings…” Rachel gently laughed.  “The bottom line, though,

Dad, is that a real man, a real person wants to spend the rest of his life with me and

is hoping desperately that you won’t have any objections.”

To Rachel’s surprise, Glen gave her a wide smile.

“As if I could stop you anyway.  Lord knows I couldn’t with Lisa and her crazy days,”

he replied and stood up to pull Rachel to her feet.  He then encased her with a hug. 

“How about I spend a little time with him tomorrow?  I think I at least need to find

out if he knows how to barbecue.  No man is worth his salt if he can’t grill a good

pork-chop.”

Rachel hugged her father back, tears stinging her eyes.  The ultimate moment was to

come in her father doing as he suggested, but somehow she felt relief.

“Cort’s a fine man, Dad,” she said as they parted and began to walk to the elevator. 

“All you will need to do is talk to him…and then maybe later, when things aren’t so

rushed, we can explain things a bit better.”

Glen stopped short again, turning to look at her as if something else dawned on him.

“Is…Terry…one of these…what did you call them…?”

“Retrievals.”

“Is that why he looks so much like…?”

“Yes.  Terry was retrieved as well.”  Keep it simple, keep it short, Rachel!

“Are there…are there any others?”  Glen asked.  The doors of the elevator opened.

“Yes, four more.”

“What happened to them?”

Rachel sucked in some air, wincing at the thought of another long explanation, especially

for the most recent retrieval…and the good Lord only knew how she was going to explain

Sid!

“That would take four more nights, Dad, and you are so tired!  I can see it…you’re face

looks like its fixin’ to slide off from exhaustion.”

Glen nodded, propping an arm up to hold open the elevator door.

“Here, give me the keys…thank you.  Good night, angel.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

The room was lit only by the bedside lamp when she made her way back to the Mini. 

Actually, fumbled was more like it, as her body finally decided that the day was

through and it could relax again, especially since she had managed to try and explain

things to her father.  Despite her semi-noisy entrance, Cort in his state of repose did

not move a muscle, his breath coming and going with easy dreamlike regularity.  She

leaned to switch off the lamp and noticed his right hand resting on his belly, a ring of

gauze fixed firmly around the base of his middle finger. 

Gently, she slipped her hand under his to pick it up and look closely at it.  Henri’s

handiwork?  She looked down at the peaceful face of her fiancée.  Had he jammed

his hand somehow during the day and not said anything about it?  It was his right

hand, too, the one that had been crushed by Ratsy's brutality.  How odd.

The minute shift in his arm seemed to bring him out of deep sleep, because his hand

twitched and he moved his head.  She laid his hand back where it had been and

checked the clock.  It was set early enough for them to rise and get dressed to meet

the others, so she rounded the bed to disrobe.

“Rachel?” came Cort’s groggy voice.

“I’m here,” she whispered back, slipped off her dress, wiggled into a nightgown, and

slid between the sheets.

He propped himself up on one elbow, running a hand through his hair as it had a

tendency to fall into his face when he slept.  "Henri was waiting in the lobby when I

came in," he explained, reaching his hand out now to take hers.  "He had an outfit

for me to wear for the wedding. I think you'll like it."  He yawned widely, then grinned.

"I'll be more dandied up than you've ever seen."

“Did he?”  She asked, smiling with pleasure not only with the thought of seeing him

‘dandied up’ but also at the continuous generosity of the Doctor.  She made another

mental note to try and think of some way to thank Henri, although she was still at a

loss from her first moment of gratitude.  “He amazes me so much, Cort, with the things

he knows how to do and the resources he has.  I don’t think I could ever repay him for

what he’s done for us.”  She was lying flat now and Cort on his side next to her, propping

his head up with his bandage-free hand and using his other hand to pull the covers up. 

“And I can’t wait to see what you’ll wear!  But Cort,” she exclaimed, taking the hand

that bore the gauze and holding it up above her face to examine it.  “What’s happened

here?  Surely you didn’t fall or something when you got back in, did you?”