*ATTENTION: This story is copyright cat_slave 2001. Any of my stories may be downloaded for personal & private use at home -- 

-- *BUT* -- 

Reposting without express permission of the copyright owner (namely, *me*) is illegal. My stories are *only* intended for display at www.mcstories.com, and my personal web page. Thank you.

- cat_slave


This story follows 'Moon Shine' & 'Moon Shadow'.*

------------------------------------------------

MOON LIGHT


The moan from Sandra's lips reverberated against the pristine white walls. Her back arched in an almost automatic response to the warm tongue that probed her inner velvet walls. Intense sensations assaulted her as the woman between her legs paused, withdrew, and began planting soft kisses upon her folds and clit. 

Painted toenails dug into the silken sheets beneath her as her lover's tongue batted her clit back and forth in cunt-watering pleasure. She pinched her own nipples between her fingertips and arched her back again, this time a surprised gasp passed her lips as the blonde between her legs slipped a few fingers into her sopping wet heat. Closed eyes fluttered open in a rush of overwhelming sensation and caught the image of a bright rainbow shining in the mist outside her bedroom window.

Roughly, she twisted her nipple, pulling on it in synch with the exquisite abuse her labia took. She moaned heatedly, pressing herself into her lover's ministrations all the more. 

A warm licking against her shaven cunt intensified her sensations as her lover laughed, mouth still glued to Sandra's sopping snatch. 

The smell of arousal was potent, hanging heavy in the room. Sandra could smell her own scent and that of her beautiful love as well.  Dimly, Sandra was aware that her lover was not only busy trying to see exactly how far she could ram her tongue into Sandra's cunt, but also thrusting several fingers into her own pussy; bucking on them like an exotic bronco buster. 

She moaned through the tempest of pleasure; her lips could not form coherent words, and so she urged on her lover with heated moans. Her eyes caught the rainbow again as she felt the blonde's divine lips wrap around her clit.

*Purple.* She moaned, as the wild thoughts flittered in her head. *Just like my tits are going to be. And red. Oh, God. Red. Like my naughty little ass.* 

She felt herself being lifted from the thighs as her lover repositioned the two of them to get better access to her quivering cunt.

Sandra's legs stiffened, she felt another wake of orgasm surging forth. Rainbow colors in front of her eyes. *Yellow. Like Veronica's beautiful wispy pussy-hair.*

Another plunge of fingers surprised Sandra, and just before the tidal wave hit her, she felt it tweak in her mind.

The Summons.

Veronica licked her lips, and raised her head to give Sandra a soft, almost humored smile. "Sorry, lover. Duty calls, it seems." 

Sighing ruefully, Sandra nodded. Grinning, she pinched her nipples again and stretched her back as if trying to persuade her lover that a few more minutes of play wouldn't hurt.

She never got a chance to find out if her ploy worked. The blonde looked towards the archway, then ducked quickly under the covers. She hadn't been given a chance to leave, and Advisors really weren't supposed to be around when assignments were given. 

Sandra pulled the sheets up to her neck, trying to dispel the flushed heat from her face.

The silken curtains parted at the archway, and a man with shining golden hair entered, a serious expression on his face. His suit, a bright white, matched the color of the walls and he almost seemed to blend in against them. Brilliant blue eyes focused solely on Sandra.

He nodded to her briefly, "Good evening, Sandra."

She gave him a straight face in return, half-hoping that he really would leave before he noticed anything embarrassing. However, the touch of a warm velvet tongue along her creaming folds was enough to elicit an unwarranted, "Oh!" She bit her lips, and then made a quick recovery. Her thighs pressed together a little more tightly, passing on a message to her playful, unseen friend.

"Oh," she repeated, "I'm glad you Summoned me. I was getting bored, up here. There's nothing to do." She shrugged, trying very hard to not think about what she *was* doing. 

"Perhaps," he said quietly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "However, Alpha Source has determined that it would be in our interest to find out what exactly has everyone stirred up. There seems to be a certain individual causing an excessive amount of trouble and grief to both sides."

Sandra blinked, uncertainly, sensing the urgency and worry in his voice. "You're sending me on a *mission*?" 

The man nodded slowly, "Yes. Your contract calls for service, Sandra.  Alpha Source has decided this would be a deserving test of your desire to fulfill that contract, or if you merely signed it to save your own tail." 

Withdrawing a manila envelope from within his jacket, he tossed it onto the bed. "There you will find all the information that we feel you need ... along with a knife."

She looked back at him and then looked at the sealed envelope. Her lips pursed fractionally. She asked, nervously, "And?" Clearly, she was expecting something else.

"You'll have your Advisor, of course. But, you will be working alone." He gave her a brief nod, and a warm smile. "Good luck, Sandra. We are counting on you." 

She sighed again, nodding in submission to the decision that was put on her shoulders. His blue eyes turned to the lower half of the bed.  He chuckled to himself, "Hello, Veronica."

The sheets rustled, and slowly, a light cream-colored hand found its' way out from under the sheets and gave a slight wave towards the sound of the voice. A muffled giggle came from beneath the silken covers.

The man allowed the amusement to get the better of him, a small grin appearing on his lips before he became solemn faced. "Good luck, Sandra." Then, as quickly as he had entered, he left the two women alone.

Veronica shimmied her way up to the head of the bed and gave Sandra a light kiss. "You'd better get going. I'll help you; when and where I can, my love." 

Sandra couldn't help but feel the sinking sensation in her gut, despite the reassurance of her lover's words. "Alright." Slowly, she slid onto the cool white marbled floor and headed towards the dresser.

The time she had dreaded had finally come. It was time to prove herself.

She found a nurses outfit in the otherwise empty dresser drawer, and gave Veronica a curious look with eyebrows raised.

Veronica merely shrugged with a compassionate look, and a kind smile. "It'll be alright. You're *Sandra*," she said, the smile turning into a kidding grin.

Sandra began to slip on the uniform, grinning on the outside. But, on the inside, her heart was pounding in her ears. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

I looked up as the sliding doors gave a slight *ping* of attention. My eyes fell on her, and instantly I was up, off my feet, racing towards her. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale and lips blue. It wasn't hard to figure out that she was going into shock. She managed to stagger in; the trench coat about her got caught in the sliding door. 

Except for a very crude rubber penis strap-on, and knee high socks, she was utterly naked beneath.

The tug on the door was all it took. The coat fell off of her too easily, as if she didn't *want* it on and having exhausted the last bit of energy she had, she collapsed onto the floor.

I used two fingers to hold the hem of my skirt below my knees as I bent down to check the girl's vital signs. Quickly, I confirmed that although her heartbeat was weak, it was indeed steady. Looking up, I yelled for one of the gawkers to get me a gurney. 

One of the patients had walked over, and gave me a concerned look as he draped the trench coat over the girl's naked body. "Is she going to be alright?"

I nodded, quietly, "Yes." My voice was soft. I spoke to her in a firm, caring voice. "You're going to be just fine. You've got my promise on that." 

	*You love her. You must fulfill your Oath.*

I found myself quickly realizing that I wasn't just saying the words to comfort, or because I thought they were true. For some inexplicable reason my heart was drawn to her. I felt *compelled* to protect her. To heal her. I treated all my patients with care and compassion. I was damn good at what I did, too. But this, this was different.

The squeaking rollers of the gurney touched my ears before it actually came into sight. I helped lift the limp body up to the padded cart, and kissed her forehead lightly. I felt *odd*. It was like I was suddenly caring for the daughter I never had.

Even though my shift was over, I decided to stay with her. There was an air of utter despair about her, and for my part, I was determined to do whatever I could to help begin healing her.

The silence in the room was morose, a hanging reminder of sickness and disease, of uncertainty. I chased it away by giving the young Jane Doe a quiet smile before regaling her with stories about my family and I.

It was really quite peculiar. Despite the half-dead teenage girl in front of me lying on the bed, I felt strangely comfortable and relaxed, moreso than I had in a long, long while. 

I brought her hand up to my lips and kissed it lightly, reassuring her again. "It will be okay."

Weakly, her fingers flexed in my hand. I felt my heart soar up into my throat. My head buzzed as I leaned over, and kissed her forehead. "Relax. You're among friends, now."

Hearing footsteps behind me, I turned around to see one of the girls from the local Renaissance Festival standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a long black velvet cloak that swept against the ground as she walked. The hood of it was pulled over her head, so all you could see was the vague outline of her face in the light.

"Are you her friend?" I asked the figure. She merely smiled. I turned back to face the young teenager in the bed. "A friend's come to see you," I murmured, quietly. "See? I told you. Everything is going to be okay."

The girl shook her head, and let out a pitiful sob. "No. Kill me. Please." Her voice was weak, almost inaudible.

"What's your name?" I asked, turning around to ask the Ren girl behind me. I frowned in doubt when she wasn't anywhere to be seen. I shrugged to myself as I reasoned she had probably just had the wrong room, initially.

"You're going to be alright," I told her, softly. 

	*You love her. You must fulfill your Oath.*

The thoughts seemed foreign. They echoed, seemingly eternally in my head. I sighed, as I agreed with them. My conscience was always right.

"Let me *die*," she whined. She was too weak to fight her way out of the bed. She shivered, violently. "*Please*."

I shook my head again, "But there's so much to live for. Listen, my name is Fawn. What's yours?"

She sniffled. "Trinn." She looked at me for the first time, haunted, disturbed eyes pierced my own. I the uncomfortable crawl of the goose bumps up my arms, the small hairs rising on the back of my neck. 

Her hand gripped mine tighter, and her voice found an unpleasant strength. "Do you know who you are, Fawn?" Her pupils were slit, her pale eyes narrowed at me in a frightening challenge. This was no ordinary question. 

"Yes," I said quietly, "I am Fawn. A nurse, here at the Sisters of Mercy General Hospital."

She shook her head slowly against the cheap pillow. "No," she answered.  Again, she gave me that *look*. "How do you know where your thoughts come from? Do they come from your head? Or somewhere else? Do you know what you do at night? Do you really? Are you sleeping, or is it real? How do you know?" She shivered, "My dreams are my reality. My reality is my dreams."

The chill crept from my skin, down into my bones. This poor, innocent little girl was *terrified* of something.

	*Fulfill your Oath to her, Fawn. You know how. You must do it. You promised.*

I swallowed at the insistence of my conscience. It was overwhelming. It echoed, distantly, through every other thought that flickered in my head.

I closed my eyes. I had also sworn to protect the project with my life. But, right now, the research Lydia was completing seemed the only viable and quick solution to allow my conscience to rest. I had to take her to see Lydia.

I rose up, slowly. Gently, I placed the hand I'd been holding onto over her heart, and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "I have a way to fix everything. To make your mind yours again, Trinn. I ... know someone, who can fix people like you. But you have to trust me."

I'd seen that look so many times before. The hopeless that want so desperately to hope that they'll cling to any bare thread of it that they can grasp. She gave me an uncertain look now, but she had no energy left. Dully, she nodded, giving me a half-hearted, "Okay." Then she nodded, heaved a sigh, and fell into a haunted sleep.

I needed sleep, too. I rose up, and kissed her on the forehead lightly. "Sweet dreams," I murmured, heading towards the door. But, the nearer I got to the door, the more my thoughts haunted me.

	*You swore an Oath. You cannot abandon her. Stay with her. Heal her. If you don't, she will be lost.*

*No. I cannot abandon her. Christ, Fawn. What were you thinking?* I smiled to myself as I watched her sleep. She was unmoving, and serene. The feelings of guilt slipped away, shadows shrinking in light of the new dawn.

I climbed into bed, with Trinn. I would fulfill my Oath. I'd take her, ... and that nice young Officer in the recovery ward, ... take them both to see Lydia. 

--------------------------------------------------------

Lydia's heart skipped. It jumped into her throat. She didn't dare breathe. She couldn't swallow. She bit her lip, hard, and tasted the blood that pooled in her mouth. She exhaled, afraid to make the slightest sound that would end up destroying the moment.

Trembling hands checked the connections to the monitoring devices. Her heart jumped again. All the connections were secure. All the devices were working properly.

Giddy laughter, made up of half-madness and half-disbelief broke her awed silence, and echoed against the cement walls of the basement. The lights of the monitor flashed in her eyes as she called up a display screen and ran another check of her equipment.

"Heartbeat normal," she found herself saying. Her voice was shaky and she spoke with caution, as if the sound of her own voice would convince her she had finally succeeded. Her fingertips tapped the keyboard excitedly, to access another readout. "Respiratory functions normal."

She pressed a button on the touch-screen of the computer monitor. A bright light suddenly shone on the face of a woman strapped to a wooden table. Her face was blank, her body unmoving. She watched on the video as the pupils dilated in response to the light.

She closed her eyes and pressed her hands into the console, hard, to keep them from trembling. Counting slowly to ten, she pressed the small green button in the left-hand corner of the screen - the small, insignificant looking button labeled 'Download'. She'd never been able to press it before. She'd never gotten this far.

A droning hum filled the room for several seconds. After a moment's pause the prone woman on the table opened her eyes, and looked up. She appeared confused for a fraction of a moment, before smiling at Lydia. 

Lydia's shaking voice asked her, "Who are you?" Desperation, hope, and fear struggled for dominance across her features.

The woman didn't seem to notice. She answered smoothly, "I am a drone for your will, Mistress. As it always has been." 

Lydia let the insane laughter fill the room again. She fell off her chair, caught up in the moment of triumph. The woman watched her patiently, content to wait until she was given something else to think or do.

"I *did* it!" Lydia cried gleefully. She looked at the woman on the table, the woman who used to be her sister, and the woman she had now turned into an obedient slave to serve her every whim. 

She laughed again, in the glory of her mad dreams now within her grip. Her sister merely looked on, delighted that her Mistress was in such high spirits. The empty mind of the slave waited for instructions.

Lydia moved to the woman on the bench, and stroked the soft black hair atop her head. "There's *nothing* I can't do now," she told her once sister. "Is there, my drone?"

The drone opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Her eyes blinked rapidly, then closed as she fell back onto the table with a soft *thump*, resting peacefully.

Whirling, Lydia saw a woman in a black cloak standing next to the computer station. Her gloved fingertip was still poised near the touch-screen of the monitor.

"You *bitch*!" Lydia pounded her fist on the table, "What the *hell* do you think you're doing here?! I told you never to disturb me while I was working." Her eyes narrowed in anger, twisting into a hideous mask of boiling red fury.

The strange woman didn't bother to acknowledge her. She walked around to the other side of the table, opposite Lydia, and contemplated the limp figure lying across the metal table.

"Get out," Lydia hissed. "Get out *now*. You're interrupting *my* research. And that's what you want, isn't it? Then get the fuck out, bitch. Now."

The cloaked woman completely ignored Lydia. She pulled off a glove to reveal a slender, pale hand; her fingernails elegantly long and perfectly manicured and colored in the deep black-red color of blood before oxygen would touch it. Ever so lightly, a single fingertip came to rest at the forehead of the prone woman.

Underneath the hood of the cloak, thin lips began to smile.

Lydia managed to harness her fury as she spoke. "I have to finish the experiment, bitch." She slapped the other woman's hand off her prize project. "That's *mine*. Leave it alone. Leave *all* of this alone. We had a deal. You're breaking it, right now."

The woman finally gave an indifferent nod to Lydia before returning her attention to the girl on the table.

	*I'm rubber, and you're glue. Whatever you say bounces off of me, and sticks to you.*

Lydia paused; the anger on her face drained, replaced by confusion. She shook her head, wondering why a child's playground chant would be fluttering about in her head. As she watched the cloaked woman put on her glove again, her anger flooded back.

Storming around to the other side of the table, Lydia stood toe-to-toe with the intruder. "Are you going to leave?" She asked. "If you don't leave, right now, you'll lose everything. I don't need you anymore."

The thought suddenly made her grin. She took two long steps back, snatching the tranquilizer gun off of the table. "On the other hand," she mused, pointing the gun at the unmoving woman in black, "I do need more test subjects. I could use you. Over, and over, and over again."

The woman merely watched from beneath the shadowed hood of the cloak.

	*I'm rubber, and you're glue. Whatever you say bounces off of me, and sticks to you.*

Lydia's legs weakened under her. The head rush was unexpected, but she kept her aim steady and succeeded. The words echoed in her head but she fought the temptation to repeat them aloud.

She tightened her finger on the air gun's trigger. "Say Goodnight, and Goodbye. Damned fucking cunt."

	*I'm rubber, and you're glue. Whatever you say bounces off of me, and sticks to you.*

Lydia shivered, suddenly. The words rattled in her brain. The word 'Cunt' was like a tennis ball being shot out of her mouth, returned by the other woman, and then ricochet off every aspect of her brain, over and over, and over again.

She was a cunt. 

*Yes.*

A fucking cunt.

*Ooooh.*

A damned, fucking cunt.

*Oooooh. Yeeeeesss...*

The clothes she wore were suddenly like ribbons teasing the folds of her labia. Almost immediately she collapsed, moaning loudly. The *thud* she made onto the floor was like a hard slap to her wet pussy, and she shivered again. Each reaction to a previous action produced in her heightening sensations that threatened to overwhelm her small mind, and shatter it to pieces. But she didn't care, the whole world of tactile sensation was passing through her cunt, and she wanted to experience every purifying second of it.

	*Stop.*

The thought suddenly seemed to stop the bouncing tennis balls in her head, and she could think clearly again.

Trembling, Lydia realized she was in *way* over her head. She crawled towards the wall, skittering away from the still figure in the heavy black cloak. "W-what did you do to me?" Lydia asked, trembling.

The figure merely smiled, and took a single step towards Lydia. Her index finger moved side to side, in a 'tsk-tsk' motion.

Lydia swallowed, hard, hands feeling for something, *anything* that she could throw. Her mind kept screaming commands to raise herself up and run out of the basement, but her treacherous legs wouldn't, or couldn't, obey. "You can do anything you want to. Just leave me alone. *Please*!"

A dark-red tongue slithered out of the cloaked woman's lips. She undid the restraints that kept Lydia's sister on the table, and unceremoniously pushed the inert slave off of the table.

She turned, and began to walk towards Lydia. 

Lydia screamed, but the strength was already leaving her body. The woman lifted the trembling woman up with a single arm in a display of inhuman strength. 

Lydia felt herself carried like a plastic bag towards the same table she'd used these last few years for her twisted experiments.

She found herself being strapped down by the same tight leather bands she'd used on her own kin. She had always wondered what went through the minds of her victims, as they realized their fate.

Now she knew.

	*Sleep.*

The room was suddenly silent, until the sudden starting and quiet whirring of machines around the table gave the air a soft hum.

The cloaked woman only smiled, as she began to connect the instruments to Lydia's head.

Her plan, so far, was going perfectly. She pressed the key to begin the process that Lydia had so tirelessly worked out for her.

It would be only a matter of time before the others - the one called Trinn, Jackie, and the nurse she'd just recruited, joined Lydia's fate and fully became instruments of a higher purpose...

-----------------------------------------------

"Trinn?" I asked, softly. 

She gave me a dispassionate smile, but opened her eyes partially. 

"Hi," she offered back. 

I noticed there was a little more strength in her voice, now. But that same despair was in her eyes.

"Has anyone called Cory?" She suddenly rose up out of bed. "Oh, God. Please. Call him? Let him know I'm here. He's probably worried sick."

I nodded, slowly. "Your husband?" I presumed.

She shook her head and laughed sincerely for the first time I'd heard her. "No. Hardly. He's my boyfriend. We're ... close." Her eyes closed, and she fell back onto the bed with a soft *poof*.

"Alright. Listen, a friend of mine, Dr. Lydia Worthington, is coming down this afternoon to talk to you. Just talk. No diagnosis, or anything. I told her about you last night, and she wants to meet you. She said there were others, who were going through the same thing you were. And that you could benefit from a group counseling sort of thing."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement of a dark shadow. I turned, to see the same woman, or at least I *thought* it was, from before. It was hard to tell, since she was still covered in that Ren fair getup.

Trinn gasped, loudly. "Oh, shit!" Her tiny hand gripped mine, and I felt the sudden pain of nails *digging* into my skin. Horrified, I let out a yelp, and looked between Trinn and the woman standing in the doorway.

I reached over to press the security button near the bedside, instinctively. Something was very, very wrong here.

Trinn's hand suddenly seemed to have all of her strength back. She pulled my hand away from touching the button, and slowly shook her head.

"No," she whispered, softly.

I gave her a confused look, "Who is that, then?" I asked. I looked at my own hand, marked with the bloody half-moons where her nails had stabbed into my palm. Hearing the rustle of sheets on the bed I looked back to Trinn who was sitting up next to me on the bed, just in time to feel her tongue slip into my half-open mouth.

	*You have to make her better. You promised.*

I pushed her away, trying to ignore the fire being lit in my loins. My voice was weak. "Trinn?" I asked.

She only smiled, nodding. "I need to get better." She sniffled. "Please."

I swallowed. I'd never even considered making out with another girl. And yet I felt the compulsion in my head as clear as the sunlight that glittered in through the windows. 

	*You gave her your Oath to fuck her.*

I shivered as her tiny fingertips slid up my thighs, teasing the silken fabric between my legs, and pressing firmly to sense my own inexplicable arousal. I couldn't believe how wet I was down there.

	*You have to fuck her, to keep your Oath.*

The thoughts in my head suddenly made sense. My mouth was dry. As if Trinn sensed that, she leaned forward and kissed me again. 

This time, I welcomed it. 

The pressure was welcome, and I parted my thighs to allow her to do whatever it was. In the back of my mind, I recognized a sudden change in Trinn's eyes.

A tear leaked out from the corner of her eyes. Her lips trembled. "I'm sorry...," she managed before her hands wrapped around my head, and pushed it between her thighs.

Tentatively, I licked at her heat. Her scent filled my nostrils, and the tangy taste on the tip of my tongue interacted with each other in my addled brain; suddenly, I felt very high.

Pliable.

	*You need to be her fucktoy. To heal her. To keep your Oath. It's the only way.*

The echoing in my head made sense. I'd always felt better after sex, after all. Yes. I remembered, and accepted... I could feel the words become a part of me. I burrowed my tongue into her, and held pale thighs firmly as she squirmed beneath me, her voice a pitiful cry of despair mixed with irrepressible moans of pleasure.

I slid my hand across her warming stomach, and could feel her breathing increase rapidly as I kissed, suckled, and licked at her budding clit.  I pressed my own heat into her foot, needing some form of relief.

"Stop," she pleaded half-heartedly. But, she made no move to push me away yet. It was as if her mind didn't want what her body did. For a moment, I almost asked her what was wrong.

	*Fucktoy.*

I shook my head, smiling at her in that I-know-what's-good-for-you manner, and told her softly. "I have to. To make you better. You'll feel better."

She whined as three of my fingers sank into her warmth to the knuckles.  I curled them around to the top of her passage, where I knew my own G-spot to be. She pressed herself into me, moaning her thanks.

"B-but, ... you're going to be just like me." I heard the horror, the regret, the suffering that was in her tone, but I ignored it. My own mind knew better than she did.

I was the older one, after all.

I flexed my fingers inside her, even as I nibbled on her clit. Her lips formed a passionate 'O', even as I felt the trembling of her inner walls.

I, too, felt the same in my own hips, as I ground myself up and down over the beautiful girls foot, like a proper fucktoy ought to do.

	*Cum for me. Now!*

My mind told my body what to do, and happily it obeyed as the waves of the thoughts in my mind crashed against my cunt in overwhelming repetition. Finally I collapsed into a breathless heap, entwined with my sleeping patient. I rested my sticky chin onto her shoulder, and wearily closed my eyes, happy in the serenity that surrounded the room and the knowledge that I, little Fawn, had brought someone so much peace and healing.

	*Your friend can do the finishing touches. She's not wholly cured, yet.*

I nodded, in sleepy agreement with the echoing pre-dream-thoughts. The last thought in my head found myself knowing how much Dr. Worthington would help out Trinn, too. I promised myself in the last moments of consciousness that I'd take her to see Lydia tomorrow morning, first thing.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Cory rushed into the nurse's station. "Trinity Douglas' room, please?" He asked the attendant on the phone. She gave him a small nod, and pointed to the chairs in the waiting room. 

"She's receiving some therapy right now. She'll be able to see you in a little while." She gave Cory a polite smile and then went back to her conversation.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. Flopping into one of the cold, hard plastic chairs, he stuffed his hands into the worn pockets of his leather jacket. His foot bounced nervously off the floor, and he kept looking around, nervously.

*Maybe, just maybe, this is what Trinn needs.* He shook his head, eyes falling towards the double-doors to the ward. A pretty brunette, her half-curled hair bouncing in spring-like fashion with each step, moved quickly to the nurse's station. 

"Has Trinity Douglas been moved?" She asked, almost worriedly.

Cory was instantly up on his feet. "What's happened!?"

Both of them ignored the man. The nurse at the station shook her head, "No, Ms. Dean. The charts show she's in room 435. Why?"

The woman shook her head, "No. Call security. She's *gone*."

"What's happened to Trinn?" Cory was panic-stricken. His hand grabbed the nurse and spun her around to face him. He'd get an answer, all right.

Ms. Dean looked squarely at Cory. She remembered his picture from the manila envelope instantly. "We need to talk," she said, quietly. "Come with me."

Cory's face wasn't sure what expression it wanted to show, confusion, worry, or anger. "What's happened to Trinn?" One thing was sure about the firmness in his voice. He wasn't going anywhere, without an answer. 

Ms. Dean allowed herself a relaxing breath, despite the fluttering of her heart that was telling her something *very* bad was happening. "Not here. Come outside with me, and I'll tell you what I know."

Quickly she moved towards the parking lot. He had no choice, but to follow her, determined to find *something* out.

Neither of them noticed a slender feminine figure detach itself from the shadows, and follow after them.
--------------------------------------------------------------
*This story concludes the 'Moon' cycle. 

This cycle is dedicated to trilby else, whose remarks on Moon Shine helped guide it in my head where the rest of the stories (and the world) needed to go, and who was the inspiration for the lovely darkness that's been created as a result.

Comments, praise, bashing, and whatevers, please send to cat_slave@hotmail.com. Thanks for reading!*







