Ned dropped his hood back and tugged his scarf off his nose as he spotted Richie's house from around the bend in the road. He figured his timing was perfect. He had seen Sandra Gardner's car overtake him and race up the street not five minutes before. From the way she was speeding, he doubted they had taken more than another minute to get inside. He wondered who the third person in the car was.

Ned shivered and drew his arms in. He hoped Richie could cajole his mother into letting him step inside to warm up. He had walked the entire way, a trip of just over an hour. As bone-chilling as the air was and as skinny as he was, Ned felt like one long, thin popsicle.

He could almost hear Cassie warning him again not to go inside, but Ned thought the moment the Harbingers ran scared from their own members was the day the Darkness effectively won.

Ned jogged up the path and had raised his hand to thumb the doorbell when Sandra's voice bellowed, "What the fuck were you thinking, Richie?!"

"Get the hell off my case already!" Richie's voice screamed back. "You yelled at me enough in the car!"

"I'll get off your case when you listen to me, you fucking little idiot! You were in a freaking church for--!"

"Get off it, Mom! That place is about as religious as a whorehouse!"

"That's not the point! You don't go screwing with the people in the pew in front of you!"

A derisive laugh. "Shit, are you even listening to yourself? Did you even recognize Melinda? Her mother? You see the shit that other bitch was ... oh, wait, I figure you were expecting me to do that shit to Cathy, huh?"

Ned smirked. "Ah, a fellow dysfunctional white trash family," he said as he rang the doorbell.

"Stop changing the goddamn subject!" Sandra yelled. "I was talking about ... GET THE HELL BACK HERE!"

"I have to get the fucking door!" came Richie's fast-approaching voice. His heavy footsteps stomped towards the door but faltered with a muffled thud. "Ow! What the fuck?!"

"I'll get the door," Sandra's voice boomed.

Ned smiled a full rack of teeth at the peephole. The door was thrown open, and Sandra Gardner glared at him. "Who the fuck are--?"

"Burglar," Ned said, folding his hands behind his back and balancing himself on the balls of his feet.

Sandra's face seemed to freeze for a moment. "What?"

"I burgle people, ma'am. Just want ta ransack the flat, honest."

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

"Ah, ya missed yer cue. See, yer supposed ta say 'I think yer here ta sell me encyclopedias.'"

Before a red-faced Sandra could respond, she was shoved into the door frame when Richie burst past her, carrying his jacket. Ned side-stepped to avoid him, but Richie grabbed his arm and yanked him off the front steps. "Going out, be back later," Richie said as he dragged Ned down the walk.

"Richie, get the fuck back here now, or so help me I'll sic the cops on you!" Sandra screamed.

Richie whirled around halfway down the walk, back-stepping, Ned still stumbling along beside him. "Oh, you do that, Mom. Love to see the look on the cop's face when I tell him what you want me to do with my own cousin."

Sandra clenched her teeth and let out a frustrated grunt. "Fine. Don't you dare be gone more than an hour or I'll come after you myself!" She slammed the door with a sound like thunder, several icicles falling from the rain gutter and shattering on the concrete.

Ned stopped at the end of the walk and looked back towards the house. "Heh, hope I didn't cause ya no -- oof!"

Richie had slapped him in the gut. "Burglar? Encyclopedias? Really?"

Ned flashed a grin. "Hey, Python is timeless, dude."

"You either got more guts than I thought you had, or you're just fucking insane."

Ned smirked. "Leave it ta ya ta praise an' insult someone in the same sentence."

Richie glanced towards the house and grabbed Ned's arm. "C'mon, let's get the fuck away from this armpit," he said as he headed up Green Avenue.

Ned extricated his arm from Richie's grip after matching pace with him. "I take it things ain't sunshine and flowers at the Gardner residence this morning."

Richie snorted. "When are they ever? But yeah, Mom's pretty pissed at me."

"Ya almost sound glad fer that."

"Yeah, I am. Long fucking story."

"I'm all ears." Ned pointed to the sides of his head. "These are just the ones ya can see."

"No, really, you don't wanna hear it and I don't wanna tell it," said Richie. "But you wanna hear this. I stopped some bitch from fucking with Melinda at church. At least until my own bitch of a mother shoved me down the fucking pew."

"Whoa, what? Whaddaya mean in church?"

"Yeah, church. You know, that building with the pointy roof and people pretending to be good little sheep?"

"Ya know I don't mean it that way, wiseass," Ned declared. "How was she doin' that in front of God and country?"

"Look, it's freaking mind control. The bitch was whispering stuff to her, and she was doing the horny two-step in the pew. I tried to drown it out, like with coughing and stuff. But then she tried groping Melinda's ass and I guess my Mom got a little upset at me shooting the rubber band at her."

Ned smirked. "No way, dude, you actually did that?"

Richie grinned. "Yeah. I found it on the floor. Shoulda heard the lame sound she made when it hit her arm. But then I get shoved away and can't stop the bitch when she does it again. But then something happened, and suddenly Melinda's pushing the bitch's arm away and telling her to fuck off."

"Huh. I did feel something over the link on the way over."

"Was that Diane again?"

"I'm bettin' it was. This could be our ace-in-the-hole, dude. If she managed ta stop someone from puttin' the moves on Melinda ... and who was doin' it, anyway?"

Richie shrugged. "Dunno. Knowin' that screwed up family, probably another family member. Maybe her aunt or something."

"She have an Aura?"

Richie paused. "Huh. No, she didn't."

"Then it wasn't the Grand Dark Poobah of Evil we have ta thank fer that. Okay, that ain't so bad. Prolly jus' playin' off that stupid trigger in Melinda 'bout older women."

"How the fuck do you figure that's any better?"

"Cuz at this point, I'll take anything I can get. And at least ya got ta do something. I'm still waitin' fer something I can do ta help."

"That why you're here? So you can help?"

Ned ignored the tone of derision and jerked his head towards Richie's house. "So what's goin' on back there?"

Richie frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Ya said something about yer cousin. Is that the sweet young thing I saw in the car with ya when yer Mom tore down the street earlier?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, 'kay?" Richie started to walk again.

Ned grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around. "No, it ain't okay."

"Look, you can't help with this!"

"Fine, I can't help. But keep the rest of us in the fuckin' loop. We gotta know what everyone's doin' and what they're up against."

"You don't have to know every weird piece of shit that happens!" Richie cried. "You don't tell me about any shit that's going on with you. Or with Cassie."

"Then let me enlighten ya," Ned said, and proceeded to summarize what happened on Thanksgiving Day at the mansion. He tried not to get too technical, so he omitted Debby's analysis and stripped out anything else dealing with actual explanations. He gave Richie only the raw data to be understood and interpreted however he wanted.

Ned tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice and his face whenever Richie looked impatient or bored. He had intended to tell Richie everything anyway, but he hated using it to bargain for information; the Harbingers should not have to work this way.

At the conclusion, Richie stared at Ned as if still parsing what he had heard. Finally, he said, "Dude, that's fucked up."

"Ya got a gift fer understatement, I'll give ya that," Ned said in a slightly strained voice. "Now fess up. What the hell's going on at yer house?"

"Look, it's just the same shit, different day. That Dark bitch thinks it can get to me by pawning off my cousin on me."

Ned nodded. "I hear ya. Didn't work with yer mother so it's tryin' this. Not much fer originality, is it?"

Richie thrust his hands into his pockets. "Whatever. So it's nothing you can help me with. I can deal. Not like I can get a whole shitload of help anyway with the fucking line moved."

"That's why I'm worried about ya. Ya handled it fine when ya could contact the rest of us, but now--"

"I've got help."

Ned paused. Richie narrowed his eyes as if daring Ned to ask for an explanation rather than just accepting it. "From who?" Ned demanded.

One of Richie's hands shifted in its pocket, and paper rustled. "My father," he said in a low voice.

Ned nodded. "Yeah, okay. Cassie told me she thought ya had some sorta link ta him."

"So don't sweat it anymore."

Ned nodded again more slowly. So why is he getting all antsy now if everything is fine? Ned thought. He heard the paper rustle again, and his eyes where drawn to the pocket.

"What?" Richie demanded.

"What's what?" asked Ned, raising his eyes.

"What the fuck were you staring at?"

"Nothing. Dude, chill, we're on the same side, remember?"

Richie looked about to retort when he glanced past Ned and down Green Avenue. Ned noticed his gaze and heard the car engine at the same time. He turned to see Cassie's limo pull to the curb a discrete distance away. He shielded his eyes from the sun and saw Cassie leaning forward, talking with (and apparently being frustrated by) her driver. Finally she collapsed into her seat and folded her arms in indignation.

"Listen, I got something I gotta do," Richie said, backing away.

Ned whipped around towards him. "What is it?"

"You can't help with this."

"But just tell me. No freakin' secrets anymore."

Richie broke into a backwards jog. "It has nothing the fuck to do with any of this! I'll talk to you later." He turned and fled.

"Give Cassie a call when yer Mom's not around!" Ned shouted. "So we can let ya know when we'll all meet again!"

Richie kept going until he disappeared around the bend of the road, giving no indication he had heard.

"Nuts," Ned muttered as he jogged over to the idling limo.

The back window slid open as Ned approached. "Ned, I'm sorry, Harry won't take me within fifty feet of Richie or his house," Cassie said. She glared at the back of Harry's head and added in a louder voice, "Despite how perfectly safe I would be if I stayed in the car and just talked to him through the open window!"

"I am merely following your mother's orders, Miss Kendall," Harry said in a tired voice.

"Hey, babe, can ya come out fer a bit so we can talk?"

"It is quite cold out, young man," said Harry. "And as Miss Kendall has already stated, you can speak with her through--"

The door on the other side of the limo thunked closed, and Cassie's crisp, heeled footsteps came around the back of the car. Harry sighed and shook his head.

"Heh, women, huh?" Ned said with a smirk, but received not so much as an acknowledgement from Harry before Cassie grasped his arm and swept him away from the limo. He glanced at her when her fingers dug into his arm. "Hey, everything okay?"

"This has been a very frustrating day," Cassie muttered, glancing behind her. "Mother may have rescinded her order of having Harry escort me everywhere, but he has been very prying in his conversation and has questioned everything I do. Every time I ask him to take me someplace he insists on an explanation as to why."

"Well, join the club. Jus' got through with Haven's ray-o-sunshine himself."

Cassie looked up the street. "What's wrong this time?"

"He says it's jus' the big bad bitch of Haven pawning off his cousin on him fer more rolls in the hay, but he's got something else goin' on."

"Oh, goodness, not another relative pulled into it. Why does it insist on ... on perverting families like this?

Ned's eyes widened. "Wow, ya really are upset. Thought ya woulda been happy that Diane pulled off another save."

"Yes, I am. I think Diane helped both Melinda and Heather. I hadn't felt such a strong presence from Heather in so long. But I don't think Diane can control it yet. I sensed a lot of confusion and desperation. I still sense it. Even when she does something positive, she drops into the doldrums right after, like she doubts her own accomplishments." Cassie's eyes shimmered. "Sometimes I worry we ... that we scarred her for life when we ..."

Ned wanted to say something comforting, but anything he could say would make him sound like a hypocrite, as he was the one who got the ball rolling with using Diane as their communal slave. "Look, babe, if anyone can help Diane, it's Mrs. R. I know ya worry that we're askin' too much of her, but she wants ta help. At least she can do something, unlike some."

Ned had not meant to let that slip, but Cassie gave him a comforting hug anyway. "Come on, let's see if we can talk to Jason. You always worked better with him anyway."

Ned bit back a retort and nodded. He let Cassie lead him back to the limo. Only if he's gonna actually have us do something, Ned thought. Or I swear I'm gonna start takin' ninja lessons and bust Heather outta that bitch Bendon's house myself.

Jo glanced over her shoulder. "And where do you think you're going? Don't you want to see?"

Melinda stood with her aunt's fingers still poised under her bosom, having undone half the buttons of her blouse. She trembled as her breasts swelled with her breath and brought them within tantalizing distance of her aunt's hands. She tried to block the image of those hands cupping her breasts and squeezing them until she whimpered in need. She still retained some of the energy she had absorbed while at church, and she doled it out to frustrate her aunt just a little longer.

It left her coherent enough to look past Aunt Jo and focus on her mother, who was walking towards the hall leading to her husband's home office. Penny turned and sighed. "I want to check on David. I don't want him working too hard on the weekend."

Melinda watched Jo's smirk and wished she could slap it off the woman's face. She shuddered when her aunt's fingers crept downward, undoing the next button and releasing a little more of her plump bosom.

"Not until you explain to me what happened at church," Jo said. She smiled at her niece and hooked the next button with her finger, popping it with a quick flex. Melinda uttered a small gasp which dissolved into a husky sigh as her aunt's free hand slid up her side.

"I've told you this before, Jo," Penny said in an annoyed voice. "She and her friends share some sort of link or bond. They can help each other resist influence."

Jo undid the last buttons and slowly peeled the blouse away from Melinda's lacy bra. "Is that what you're doing now, Melinda?" She slid her hand up and brushed the side of one of Melinda's quivering breasts. "Resisting me?"

"She can't do it here," said Penny.

"Really, now."

Melinda swallowed and clenched her hands into fists as Jo played her fingers about Melinda's swollen bosom. She let out a quavering sigh when her aunt pressed the pads of her thumbs into the raised bumps upon Melinda's bra cups. She squirmed as the thumbs remained still, simply pressing into the hardening flesh. Her resolve began to break down into little moans and whimpers.

"It's very complicated to explain," Penny said.

Melinda thought she noted a plea in her mother's voice. Jo nudged the blouse from Melinda's shoulders, and Melinda let it drop to the floor. She flushed hot and shivered as her aunt's fingertips trailed down the bare skin of her sides and played with the waist of her skirt.

"Fine, keep your petty little secrets," Jo said in a bored voice as she tugged one side of the skirt down to reveal a bit of hip. She leaned forward and breathed against the exposed skin. Melinda trembled and panted softly, squirming as wet heat steamed in her pussy. Aunt Jo pulled the skirt back up. "Surely there's a way to stop her from doing it outside the house."

"Not that I am aware of. You'll have to ... to have her here."

Aunt Jo chuckled and slid her hands down Melinda's hips and legs. Melinda whimpered, her thighs quaking. "So I guess you do want to watch after all."

"Actually, I would prefer you take Melinda upstairs. I am not going to leave David holed up in the office all day."

Jo smirked. "And you still claim you get absolutely no thrill from using the same power that--"

"It only goes so far!" Penny suddenly cried. She paused and uttered a tiny sigh. "I'm not that strong, and David can only mask out so much. He--"

Jo waved a hand over her shoulder. "Fine, whatever. Please don't bore me with details I care nothing about. Go."

"Stop ordering me about in my own house," Penny said. "You're not my Mistress."

Melinda lost sight of her mother behind her aunt and heard heavy footfalls retreat down the hallway. The moment her father's door was open, she wanted to cry out to get his attention. Instead, she let out another ragged gasp as Jo slid her hands under Melinda's skirt.

"Your mother is such a very silly woman sometimes," Jo said as her hands slid around Melinda's hips. "First she invites me to play with her slutty little daughter, then she keeps inventing ridiculous rules until--"

"I-I'm not a slut!" Melinda cried in a shaky but indignant voice.

Jo paused, tilting her head. "Oh?" She grasped the waistband of Melinda's panties and yanked them down her thighs. "No, keep your legs apart. Keep your panties right there about your knees."

Jo lifted the skirt until she glimpsed Melinda's slick folds. She let it drop, the breeze swirling against the center of Melinda's heat. The scent of her own arousal rose to Melinda's nose, sending another shiver of anticipation through her, yet she held on to enough energy to cast a brief, blazing glare at her aunt.

"On the contrary, Melinda, you're the very picture of a slut. So wet you can't wait to get your modest Sunday panties off. So wet you'll leave the rest of your clothes on, just so long as your pussy is free to be filled and fucked."

Melinda shuddered with the effort to block her aunt's words. She fought against the trigger with what was left of her energy, succeeding only in curling her hands into defiant fists at her sides.

Jo stood and flicked one of the straps of Melinda's bra. Melinda moaned as her breasts bounced once, the nipples two hard points tenting the tight cups. Each breath squeezed her nipples against the unyielding fabric until they throbbed. "You'll even leave your big boobies squeezed into that bra, even if it's driving those titties nuts."

Jo flicked her fingertips at the nipples. Melinda whimpered and swayed, the panties dropping down her stocking-clad legs and pooling around her shoes. Her hands slowly loosened, a drop of moisture falling from under her dress.

"First thing's first. We need to get your slutty little twat filled. I have a nice strap-on that will be just perfect."

Melinda moaned as the last of her energy was usurped by raw desire. Her thighs quivered, eager to part, even as some distant part of her mind still screamed she wasn't a slut. She was willing to play the part if it meant having a nice, thick dildo inside her.

Deep in her psyche where the link still flickered with faint sparks of lingering energy, her mother's words swirled and struggled to find coherence. If she picked just the right ones and put them together just so, it almost meant that her mother had prevented Melinda from being spirited away by the remnants of Victor's cult.

"Now, step out of those panties, but take nothing else off," Jo said. "Keep being my little church girl slut." She slid her hand down Melinda's back and groped her ass. "Think you can do that for me?"

"Uhng ... y-yes, Aunt Jo," Melinda breathed, swaying her hips into her aunt's touch.

"What are you now?"

Melinda whimpered. Her pussy ached. "Your ... y-your little church girl s-slut."

Jo smiled and slapped Melinda's ass, eliciting both a yelp and a moan. "Now get upstairs and into your bedroom."

Melinda hesitated and stared at her aunt through the growing haze of sexual need. "M-my bedroom? But ..."

"Oh, is your bedroom still the picture of innocence? Is it still someplace you feel protected from the big bad world?"

Melinda would have laughed at such questions were she coherent. Nothing about the house even suggested protection. In the current context, however, the words sounded perverted. She shuddered with both revulsion and lust.

"Then it's the perfect place for a little slut like you to be fucked nice and hard."

Melinda had no more strength left to maintain her defiance. It melted into the hot flow of lust coursing through her body. She craved her aunt's touch and hoped she would be allowed to lick her aunt's pussy. It brought back the memory of her mother's pussy, and any foolish notions about her mother making things better vanished with her resistance.

Jo slapped her ass again. She whimpered in need and trotted up the stairs.

January 16, 1977 -- I am almost there. I have overcome the last hurdle, and a young woman is free from the Darkness because of it.

Some of my fears over the creation of this necessary evil have borne out, but it has been a good thing. I have been taken to task for tampering with psychic forces which I barely understand and have become stronger because of it. I now understand what needs to be done to confront and -- Goddess willing -- defeat the Darkness.

I had referred to my use of this creation as "cheating." That is not quite right. It is not a cheat, for I have discovered that it does not allow me to escape my faults. It simply acts as a barrier, preventing the Darkness from manipulating them directly. In order to use this power for anything other than pure self defense, I must still confront my faults, my fears, my dark desires.

I discovered this during my trial by fire.

About a year ago, I had befriended a young woman whom I'll call "Sarah." She had arrived in Haven penniless and was about to enter a life of prostitution to pay off her debts. In Haven, this is tantamount to sacrificing herself to permanent sexual slavery. I was her emotional support, and she started to turn her life around.

I felt Sarah was still so vulnerable that I performed a special ritual which formed a bond between us, a link over which we could sense each other's well-being. She paid me many visits while I experienced the worst of my nightmares, having sensed my distress in her dreams.

Sarah was taken by my nemesis a week after I spurned his mind-controlling advance.

I had not mentioned it here because I could not bear to think about it, or I would see it as my fault. I feel horrible leaving her this long in sexual servitude, but I had no choice! I had to wait until I was sure I could help her.

I confronted the man again. I again let him think he had taken control of me. I accepted his initial sexual advances so I could get close to Sarah. I had to engage him as a distraction. While he was having sex with me, I reached over the link and confronted the Dark power he had instilled in her head.

I'm not sure how to describe what happened next. It was like I left my body and entered a strange void. I could see Sarah, surrounded by living darkness. I sensed I could fight my way to her, but suddenly Mara appeared before me, hurtling terrible accusations. I had abandoned her; I had made a mockery of everything she tried to do; I had failed her.

I almost wavered. I almost retreated. I cannot describe how hard it is to look into my own heart and confront my own inner darkness. It's not a simple matter of acknowledging it. I had to ACCEPT it.

Somehow I managed it. And I freed her. By the Goddess, I freed her.

My triumph is tempered by the fact that I have attracted the attention of the Darkness. It knows someone is working against it. I do not have much time. I must complete my final preparations. I doubt I have little more than one or two weeks before it finds me.

But now, for the first time, I feel a sense of hope.

Jason had heard the intrusion alarm in the next to last paragraph of the journal entry, but he did not want stop reading. As soon as he reached the end, he gathered the journal pages and was poised to shove them under the bed when he heard footsteps reach the top of the stairs.

He evened out the pages to make the pile as compact as possible and grabbed an open textbook, one of several accouterments of school work arranged on his bed in a rough semicircle. He had just placed the textbook over the journal when the doorknob turned.

He pretended to be studying as the door swung open. He did not look up through the pause that followed. "Jason?"

Jason feigned surprise as he jerked his head up. "Jeez, Mom, you startled me. Could you please knock first?"

"We've had that discussion before, honey," Audrey said in a soft voice, her lips curled into a tiny smile. "You shouldn't be doing anything you wouldn't want me to see."

Jason's eyes flitted over her Aura. The patterns wove themselves into looping curves which quivered like the plucked strings of a guitar. The Darkness was happy, and he guessed as to what and braced himself. "All I'm doing is school work at the moment. Is, um, something wrong?"

Audrey smiled, and her voice betrayed amusement when she spoke. "You have a friend who wants to see you."

Jason sat up. "Huh? Who?"

"The cute curly-haired well-to-do girl. Her name is Cassie, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's her name. Where is she?"

"She's waiting outside. I had invited her to come in, but she doesn't want to for some reason."

Jason let out a sigh of relief and scrambled off the bed. "Okay, I'm coming." He advanced towards the door, but his mother did not move. "Um ... I mean ... I'm allowed to see her, right?"

"Jason, please tell me the truth. Are you having sex with her?"

Jason struggled against the urge to back away. He had heard more prurient interest than admonishment in her voice. He would have much preferred the latter; then his answer would have been clear. Now, no matter how he answered, it would work against him. "All right, Mom, yes, I am. I mean, not often, just--"

"Not often? A pretty girl like that?"

Jason felt queasy. This was too surreal to fathom. "Can I go see her now?"

"Does Melinda know you're having sex with Cassie?"

Jason swallowed. His mother's voice grew more husky with each question. "Yes, she does. She's fine with it," he said quickly, wondering how much of this his mother would remember once he finally got her away from the Darkness.

His mother took a deep breath and let it go as a low, excited sigh. Her lips curled into a sultry smile. "My son seems to have the girls wrapped around his finger. Funny that I used to worry about you not dating just a few months ago."

In any other context, Jason would have marveled as well. His life bore no resemblance to what it had been before summer. He sometimes felt like he was a different person who happened to be wrapped in the skin of one sex-less nerd Jason Conner. "I guess I'm just a prodigy at everything," Jason said, forcing a small smile.

Audrey chuckled and stepped into the hallway. "I'm sorry she wouldn't come inside. I might have been persuaded to allow you two some time together in your room."

Jason ignored the heat rising to his cheeks as he grabbed his jacket and surged past his mother. He bounded down the stairs just as his father appeared, rounding the corner from the stairs to the basement, his quickened pace halting when he looked up.

"Everything all right?" Henry asked.

"Just peachy," Jason muttered as he jumped the last two steps and rushed towards the front door.

"Not exactly confidence-inspiring."

"Deal with it, Dad," Jason declared as he crossed the dining room.

"Did your mother just--"

"Did I just what, Henry?" came Audrey's unnaturally calm voice at the top of the stairs.

Jason clenched his teeth and rushed out the door. It had barely closed behind him when Cassie ran up from the end of the walk. She met him halfway and gave him a quick hug. "Thank goodness you're still okay, Jason," she whispered in his ear.

Jason closed his eyes as he hugged her in return, his next breath coming out as a quavering sigh. "I'm fine, Cassie, but thanks."

Cassie glanced at the house and shepherded Jason towards the sidewalk, where Ned stood leaning against the fence. "I'm sorry I didn't come inside when your mother invited me, but your house doesn't feel right. I hate to say it that way, but--"

"Cassie, nothing around here is right. I'm happy you didn't come inside. In fact, I'd like to get as far away from here as possible." He looked past Cassie and nodded. "Hey, Ned."

"Heya, old hoss," Ned drawled as he pushed off the fence and drifted towards them. "Keepin' all yer ducks inna row?"

"Trying to."

"Good, 'cuz I hate messy mallards."

Cassie's lips twitched into a tiny smile, and even Jason managed a ghost of one himself. He took a deep breath and let it go, and his smile solidified.

Ned pointed at his lips and grinned. "Do I sense some Harbinger buttock-proddin' goodness behind that smacker?"

"You just might at that."

Ned slapped a fist against his open hand. "Say the word and the Nose is ready ta hand out some lumps, mental or otherwise."

"Jason, you found something in the journal?" Cassie asked in an excited voice. "You said before you were close to a breakthrough."

Jason nodded halfway through her statement. "I'm really close. She created something to help her -- I'm almost sure it's some sort of potion."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Uh ... a potion?"

"Yes, I know, it sounds hokey, but no more so than anything else we've seen so far."

"Ned, it makes sense!" Cassie cried. "Remember when Jason told us about the House? That vision of Mara had said Elizabeth was a very good Witch who really knew her herbs."

Ned nodded slowly. "Okay, I'm with ya there. So was she kind enough ta leave a nice convenient recipe fer this butt-kicker beverage?"

"I haven't found one yet," Jason said. "She wanted to be sure it would work before she shared it in her journal. She's a bit upset she had to resort to such magic. If the formula was just a little different, it could be made into a weapon rather than a defense, something which could totally enslave someone."

Cassie gasped. "No wonder she's being so careful."

"Even then, she may leave it in some sort of code." He glanced back at his house. "I may need some help decoding it if that's the case."

"Of course, but you seem to be the best at that sort of thing."

Jason gave her a subdued look. "I mean ... in case I can't or something like that."

"Wait, what do you mean by that?"

"I think I get it," Ned said. "I take it yer goin' inta hotel management."

Cassie's eyes widened. "Oh no, not--"

"It was posted only this morning," Jason said in a hollow voice. "But it's at the Inn."

Cassie's eyes shimmered. "A-are you sure? Maybe it's just an honest--"

"Cassie, it was so obvious that it would have been funny in any other context. My mother hasn't said anything yet, though."

"Maybe she won't. Maybe she'll just assume you'll see it and ... well ... you c-can't take it in any case."

Jason said nothing until he saw the silent plea in Cassie's now glistening eyes. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet. With luck I'll get to the part of the journal by tonight that describes he formula, and it will be only a matter of creating it. I thought Mrs. Radson would be the best one to attempt it."

"That could take awhile, though, old hoss," Ned said.

Jason sighed. "I know."

"We'll figure something out," Cassie said in a strained voice. "We always do."

Jason forced a small smile. The euphoria of his initial discovery was wearing off. With as roundabout as Elizabeth's writing was, it could be many more pages before he found the formula, or deciphered one if it indeed existed in code. Casting the ultimate shadow over the entire enterprise was the identity of the special ingredient. If it was what he thought it was, they had no way to procure it.

Jason had no desire to point to the elephant in the room. He saw it on their faces even if they would not come out and say it. They were all running up against the unsurmountable barrier of time. Even if he discovered a clear and concise formula listed on the very next page, nothing would stop the inevitable. In a day's time, Jason would be in the lair of their enemy.

He had to end this conversation. Thinking about it too much would exacerbate his fear. Already Cassie was looking at him with growing concern through the lens of her empathic sense. "Um, look, I better get inside and get back to work on that journal," Jason said, edging away from them.

"Hey, one more question before ya go," Ned called out. "Any idea who put the bee in Richie's bonnet?"

"I gave him his father's cell phone number."

Cassie looked thunderstruck. Ned smirked and tipped an imaginary hat at him. "Man, glad yer on our side. Yer leet hackin' skills could be dangerous in the wrong hands."

"Yes, I know," Jason said in a small voice.

"Jason, that's incredible," Cassie breathed. "But why would that make him upset?"

"He thinks his father will yell at him or something. He even tried to give the number back and make me call his father. Look, I have to get back. I'll try talking to him next time I see him."

"Call me if you can, Jason!" Cassie called out.

Jason ran back to the house. He did not look back. He was sure he would lose his resolve if he did.

Another day, another state, at least once Mike brought his rig over the border.

He had been gunning for it most of the night. He hated having nothing to do on a Sunday morning. Being idle on Sunday reminded him too much of when Sandra would drag him and Richie to church, only to flirt with every man she could find. He tried to tell himself she had likely started to become "infected" with whatever evil malady had overcome Haven, but that only led to frustration and guilt when it did little to assuage the anger he still felt at her.

He had cut it close. Highway construction had diverted him off the interstate and through some traffic-congested state highways. He was skirting close to the number of consecutive hours he was allowed to be behind the wheel. He just needed to get across the state line so he could reach a nice, out-of-the-way rest stop he had visited once before.

He barely glanced at the "Prepass" sign as he zoomed past. He had done this countless times. His company was scrupulous about weight limits, and he personally had never been written up. He almost didn't look at the light on the transponder attached to the inside of the windshield until he was forced to shift his gaze to check his side-view mirror for merging traffic.

That was when he saw the red light.

"Aw, you're shitting me!" Mike called out. "You're fucking shitting me."

He glanced between the road ahead and the transponder, as if expecting it to be some sort of mistake. The light remained red and seemed to get brighter each time, as if in accusation.

"This is a fucking joke. It's a goddamn Sunday. Who the fuck is open on a--"

He stopped himself when he saw the "Weigh Station" sign ahead. The electronic display next to it glowed in LED-patterned letters: OPEN.

Mike uttered a curse. His rig shuddered and hissed as he applied the air brakes hard. He eased up as he approached the entrance ramp, not wanting them to hear and find some excuse to write him up. He hoped this was just a random check.

"Probably too fucking bored sitting in the goddamned chicken coop all day," Mike muttered as he came upon a state trooper directing him to a specific lane. Mike forced a smile and snapped of a salute with two fingers as he passed. As angry as he ever got, he never made the mistake of directing it towards the law.

Never could get that into Richie's thick skull either, he thought, then shook his head. He did not need to be reminded of that particular odd dream, where his son messed with an officer while out late at night doing only God knows what. Was that the one where Richie had stolen a bike?

Mike pulled slowly into the weighing bay, sighing as he cast his tired gaze at an overpaid DOT minion directing him forward inch by inch. "I already know where the goddamn wheel markings are and could get there a lot faster myself," Mike muttered. "Not that you'd care, you -- oh, for fuck's sake!"

He fumbled for his ringing cell phone just as the DOT person signaled for him to stop before Mike thought he had gone far enough. He rolled forward another few feet before finally bringing the rig to a shuddering stop, causing the man to jump backwards.

Mike glanced at the side view mirror and saw the state trooper approaching. He flipped open the phone without looking at the caller ID. "Whoever the fuck this is, I don't care if it's the goddamn President, this is a bad time. You're gonna have to call back later."

He flipped the phone closed and shoved it in his pocket as the trooper looked up at him, hands on hips. "Hope you pay more attention on the road than you did here," he drawled in a mildly accusing tone.

Mike took a quick deep breath. "Sorry, officer, just a little bad timing."

"Sir, please step out of the vehicle," the trooper said. "And bring your paperwork."

Mike was already gathering it. He scrambled down from the cab and slapped first his license and registration into the trooper's hand, and then what he believed was the true object of the man's ire, his logbook.

"Thank you, sir," the trooper said in a crisp voice. As Mike had suspected, he barely glanced at the first two documents and scrutinized the third. Mike glanced down at his wheels. He was still a few feet short of the mark if they had really wanted to manually weigh his rig.

As the officer went over each page in meticulous detail, Mike snatched the phone from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. He frowned when something about it looked familiar. He thumbed through the call history and discovered that the mysterious phone call with no one at the other end had come from the same area code and exchange.

Now he thought something else was familiar about those numbers.

"Hrm," the trooper muttered.

"Everything should be in order, officer," Mike said and wanted to kick himself afterward. His nightmares had rattled him so much that he forgot the basic rule of dealing with law enforcement: offer nothing without being specifically asked.

"You're cutting it a bit close on hours, Mr. Hendon."

Mike wanted to say "I wouldn't have if you hadn't corralled me in the fucking chicken coop," but he could at least still exercise that sort of restraint. "I'm planning on calling it quits for a spell soon as I get over the state line."

The trooper looked up and tapped his finger against the logbook. "I don't mean just today, sir. You're skirting the line practically all the time."

"But I ain't crossing it. You can't cite me for almost doing something." On the heels of that came the thought, dammit, I fucking know better than that.

"Please don't tell me what I can and can't do, sir."

Yeah, I deserved that. "Of course, officer, my apologies."

The trooper stared at him for another moment before looking back down at the log book. "Your record is clean so far. No infractions whatsoever."

Mike kept his dark thoughts to himself when he thought the trooper sounded disappointed. He remembered his snide remark to his friend Carl about becoming a shrink. Now Mike wondered if he really did need one himself.

No, that's not it. He was not going crazy. Leaving Haven had helped him keep his sanity. He had to remember that. It was the only thing which kept the guilt away. That was all that was behind his stupid dreams. Keeping his mind off his former life had required constant effort at first, and he thought he had been away long enough to allow him to become more complacent.

Instead, he had a lot further to go. He had let the door open to his past without realizing it. Now he had to find a way to close it again.

The trooper slapped the logbook back into Mike's hand. He took a closer look at the license and registration then handed them back as well. "You're clean, Mr. Hendon, but just barely. I'd keep an eye on that if I were you. Don't screw up something good."

Mike was about to give a stock, polite reply when he narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, officer, but what exactly did you mean by that?"

The trooper paused. "Let's just say I'm aware of some of your past indiscretions and leave it at that."

Mike did not want to "leave it at that" by a long shot. This was the second time in as many days that something or someone dredged up the past and threw it in his face.

He did not want to go down this path. While it would feel good to vent his frustrations, it would only fuel his anger and hurt, and he knew himself all too well; it would also fuel a desire to reopen that chapter and do something extremely foolish. He had remained on an even keel for the past five years by focusing on the here and now.

The trooper tilted his head, as if expecting -- or even hoping -- that Mike would raise a stink. Mike took that as the final sign he needed to back off, and not just from this confrontation. "Thank you, officer, I will keep that in mind," Mike said in a strained and curt voice. "May I go now?"

"Head up into your cab, Mr. Hendon, and wait for the signal to leave once the DOT boys finish weighing you."

You know they won't find anything, you pretentious sack of shit, Mike thought, which was all the venting he would allow himself. "Of course, officer. Thank you." He climbed back up into his rig and slammed the door. Less than a minute later, the DOT minion waved him on through, flashing an "OK" sign with his fingers.

Mike started his engine and flashed an entirely different sign back at him with a single finger. Mike roared on past before the man could rat on him to the state trooper. He glanced at the time and cursed a blue streak for a minute. He had wasted so much time at the chicken coop that now he had take the first rest stop he found. The one he wanted to go to was another half hour past his limit.

"Shit!" Mike yelled as he brought the rig to speed on the entrance ramp to the highway. Just as he started the merge, his cell phone rang. He yanked it out and frowned at the caller ID. It was not the same number as before, but the area code and extension were the same again.

He flipped it open and jammed it to his ear. "Who the hell is this?"

He thought he heard a small gasp at the other end. He could not tell what emotion was behind it.

"Hello? Is someone there?" Mike demanded. He glanced at his side-view mirror and bit back a curse when a guy in a tiny Honda refused to get over despite the left lane being clear for a mile back.

For the next few seconds he had to concentrate fully on the merge, so he could not pay attention to any background noises coming over the phone. He knew only that there was no voice, and the line was still open. "Look, who the fuck is this? Say something! Don't be a dick, this is a very bad time for it."

Another sound, like an intake of breath, almost like a sob.

"I can't hear you!" Mike yelled.

"I-I'm s ..." a choked voice said and trailed off in mid-syllable

"You're what? I still can't hear you. You okay? You sound -- shit."

The line had gone dead.

Mike glanced at the number again and shook his head. He snapped the phone closed. He only thought it looked familiar. Just like he only thought he cared about the voice he had heard at the other end.

Yet those one-and-a-half syllables would haunt his mind for the remaining miles to the rest stop and then into his dreams.

Richie's hand still clung to the receiver, his fingers locked around it as if afraid to let go. His eyes darted about. A sparse crowd milled about in the cold at the Vaughn Avenue Mini-Mall. He had no idea how long he had been standing at the phone kiosk just outside the drug store after he had hung up. His hand was almost numb.

He finally forced himself to let go, his trembling fingers knocking the receiver from its cradle. He slammed it back into place, chipping off a piece of plastic which flew to the pavement. He scraped it into the landscaping with his sneaker, as if in need to remove any evidence that he had ever been here.

He thrust his hands into his pockets, then thought better of it when he felt the baseball and let his arms hang loose at his sides instead. He glanced at the kiosk at the other end of the strip from where he had placed his first call.

(Don't be a dick)

Richie took a deep breath and let it go, managing to choke back the sob this time. He collapsed into a bench which overlooked the street. He knew his father would be angry. He had tried to tell Jason, but he wouldn't listen. His father had every right to be mad as hell.

(Don't be a dick)

Richie wiped his eyes. The context didn't matter. The words were still true. His father had spoken them with the same complete air of authority he had used when he was still around. They were the same words from the voice in his head. Now he had heard them directly, and he had his marching orders.

Don't be a dick.

"I'm s-sorry."

Richie choked out the words he could not utter over the phone, yet they still rang hollow to his own ears. Words didn't matter anymore. He was a dick, he had always been a dick from day one, and acting like a dick had caused all his problems. He likely caused his own mother to fall to the Darkness.

He curled his hands into fists and beat them against his thighs, resisting the urge to punch himself in the face. He felt so stupid for looking for everyone else to save his mother. He made he mess, he had to clean it up.

His father had so ordered him.

Richie stood up. "Don't be a dick," he said in a low, quavering voice before he started down the avenue back to his neighborhood.

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