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A Union of Convenience II	By : Keen Category: M through R > Predator Views: 6268 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Predator movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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�� The grizzled old man rocked in his
chair, his arms folded across his chest, hugging his long barrelled shotgun
against him. There was no way anyone could have told Robert Hammond this was
how he would have spent his Saturday morning. Two nights ago he lost two
friends he had known literally his entire life and then a handful more.
Archers, vigilante neighbours, his officers�anyone who stepped into the woods
beyond his property that night never made it back. They all seemingly
disappeared right off the face of the earth. That included his daughter, too,
but until he saw her body, he would never give up hope she was alive. And if
she was alive, she�d find her way back here and he would be waiting, rocking in
his old chair.
�� His eyes had begun to flutter shut.
They burned and ached from lack of sleep, although sometimes he would drift off
into fifteen minute spells. Even the early morning sunlight that streamed
through the long rectangular windows of the sitting room, making the
hand-stitched white curtains glow, was not enough to keep him awake. Until he heard a sound.
�� Robert held the shotgun against his
chest tighter and brought the chair to a silent stop. He wasn�t alone in the
house anymore. Aged as he was, his ears caught the soft echo of scraping against
the living room floor�deliberately quiet foot falls.
�� He stood up and winced as his
rickety knees were forced to support his weight. He moved along the floral
printed walls, easing his way to the noise with gun drawn. A flicker of
movement made him turn. He caught a glimpse of a shadow, darting quickly from
the dining room at his left to the kitchen at his back. Robert furtively cocked
the hammer of the gun, grimacing at the muffled click it made, hoping it hadn�t
tipped the intruder off. He was right behind it now and he wanted nothing more
than a clear shot at the thing that had destroyed his quiet life. The old man
spun round the corner with the barrel aimed and fell against the wall as his
gun was shoved away; a forceful hand tacked it in place against the wallpaper.
�� Robert exhaled shakily and let the
gun fall. �Blessed Elijah, Jane! We thought you were
gone.� He pulled her into a shaky hug.
�� She gave a pained hiss and he turned
her loose, shocked to see her so badly bruised and damaged. A gash above her
right eye was especially telling. From what he could tell, whatever cut David open, did the same to her.
�� It found you, didn�t it.� He said carefully, tracing the mark.
�� Isis
pulled away from him with a wince. �Why are you here? This place has been
quarantined.�
�� I could ask you the same question,
but it doesn�t matter,� he said, grabbing her wrist. �We�re getting out of
here. Your mother is with Seth in the city and I intend to take you there, as
well. We�ll go to Mondoon. I have friends who will hide us there-�
�� Isis
ripped her hand away. �I can�t,� she said. �I have something to do.�
�� Something like what?� he demanded. �Certainly not flouncing around in the woods again.�
�� I can�t say, but I�ll find you in
Mondoon.�
�� She moved the bag on the kitchen
counter onto her shoulder and a flash of metal caught his eye. �Jane Hammond,�
he boomed. �You stop right there!�
�� She stilled, and Robert crossed the
room, grabbing her hand and pushing back her sleeve, revealing the metal
bracelet she tried to hide. He hadn�t seen it in a while, so he had to make
sure it was what he thought.
His finger traced the hand embossed letters as he read them aloud,
�Jane Doe No. 0001,� he looked up at her, with questioning, �Why the hell would
you keep this?�
�� It was the first thing you gave
me,� Isis replied.
�� Silly girl,� he grit. �The first
thing I gave you was my last name,�
The Archers were spot on in their suspicions. His Janey was their Wild
Man. She had been living off the land, raiding chicken coops and crops for some
time but a storm took its toll on her temperamental lungs. When they found her
she was barely breathing and underweight, not having eaten for several days.
She made her way to the lake to drink fresh water and it was there his wife
came upon her, sprawled out and unconscious.
Robert had already pressed the band of metal, ready to file her case
and have her sent away to missing persons when his wife stopped him. She saw
the woman�s arrival as a sign, Elijah�s way of giving what he always seemed to
take from them. A child. Although older than the image
the word would call to mind, they loved her all the same. Especially
Marca. She never left the woman�s side as she healed.
�� If you leave, you�ll break her
heart,� he said, turning her hand loose.
�� Isis
hated that he reminded her. �I said I will find you,� she maintained, saying it
for herself and him.
�� And if you can�t?� he demanded.
�What then?�
�� Isis
took a deep breath. She didn�t want to consider that possibility, but he forced
her to. �Then this is goodbye,� she said softly.
�� The old man�s snowy white eyebrows
furrowed. �Whatever brought you here is back to claim you, isn�t it?�
�� Isis
bit her lip, �Funny you would word it that way...�
�� Robert pumped the shot gun in one
hand, loading it. �Well, I won�t let it,� he said. �This is your home now. All
that other stuff is behind you.�
�� I really wish it was,� Isis said, looking over his shoulder.
�� Archers, dressed in black cloaks and
dark aviator shades, tromped up the porch steps and knocked on the door. They
tried the handle and then started to kick. Robert pushed her into the hall and
moved to head them off. The lead Archer moved backward when the door opened,
following the direction of the double barrel pressed against his nose.
�� Can I help you?� Robert said.
�� Sir, are you aware you are in a
quarantine zone? No one is supposed to be here-�
�� No one is going to loot my
property,� he said, pushing the man backward again. He didn�t care if they did,
but it was an appropriate and expected response from a country yokel, so Robert
ran with it. �Leave!�
�� The other men and women made a half
circle around the old man, one hand at their sides, the other tucked into the
holster at their backs, gripping their guns. They moved as their leader moved,
taking slow steps backwards but keeping their hands on their weapons.
�� We are Archers from Royal Inquest,�
one said, flashing a badge.
�� I don�t give a damn. You�re not
coming in here without a mandate. I know my rights.�
�� Then you should know in a time when
the Empire is in jeopardy, we have the right to disregard the rights of all
civilians for the sake of the crown.� The Leader said, tilting his head.
�� Robert heard the veiled threat, saw
it in the wintry smile of the man. �Fuck the King and fuck you,� he said,
pulling the trigger.
�� The Archer�s hand crushed over his
halting him. Robert pulled off his shades with his free hand and the man
screamed. The sun light overloaded the sensitive optical lenses implanted in
his eyes. He let go of the gun as he fell to the floor, yowling, and Robert
raised it again, readying to shoot when suddenly it was torn away.
�� The second commander of the unit
took over as his superior wailed on the floor, kicking the weapon out of the
old man�s hand and landing a roundhouse across his face. Robert fell against
the doorjamb and watched lamely as the men and women walked over him.� The Agents surged inside his home in pairs,
spreading like a dark hand throughout the farm house, canvassing every level
and room with guns drawn.
�� Grabbing his shotgun and struggling
to his feet, Robert thought to stop them before they found his daughter, but
she was already gone. He moved inside and saw an odd glint of light in his
kitchen. Putting the weapon to rest at his side, he neared the counter where
the silver identification band glittered on the sunlight. He quickly pocketed
the thing as the Archers made another pass through the room, obviously angered
that they came up empty handed. Rubbing his thumb against the embossed letters
he prayed silently that Elijah wouldn�t take this child from him, too.
��
�� Two days had passed since Isis left her home and she was still on her way to
Cudmore. It was a hop and skip from New Sussex by jet, ferry, or any other form
of modern transportation but, since she was moving under the radar, it
lengthened her travelling time. She sat in the open cab of a train car at the
moment, watching the town of Smithsville
pass by from behind a stack of crates. Smithville, as was Cudmore, was tiny.
Less than a hundred people called it home, but she took every precaution
nonetheless. There was no way she could get stopped short of her goal. Too many
lives were at stake, not including her own.
�� The train slowed as it passed by
Smithsville station and Isis ducked behind the
wall of crates, pressing her body flush against them. On the platform she could
see the Archers, pacing. And as expected, one latched onto the handle of her
cab and hopped inside. She held her breath and forced her heart rate to slow.
They could hear both, once they tuned into a person�s frequency, and,
unfortunately for her, Isis� run in with the
agents in the woods had given them that little advantage over her. What one
saw, they all saw, and what one knew, they all knew.
The chips that enhanced them did more than enhance their eyesight and hearing.
It also pooled their collective thoughts and ideas.
�� The red haired woman moved on soft
feet over the slatted wooden planks. Isis saw
her shadow near and closed her eyes, realising fear
was elevating her heart rate and drawing the female Archer closer. The Agent
couldn�t tell if it was indeed a heart thumping or the rails under her
fashionably heeled feet so she crouched while her enhanced eyes scanned the
dimly lit boxcar. She spent a moment longer looking over the densely packed
crates when she heard the call of her superior. Isis
sighed into her fists seeing the woman�s shadow retreat. Just as neatly as she
leapt in the car, the Archer hopped out, landing on the platform with her
fellow agents without as much as a sound. The train was leaving Smithsville and
it was the last one out of their search zone. The woman they were looking for
had to be in the confines of the perimeter and now they would scour every inch.
�� The train continued to roll on in
the dark until it passed a platform lit by many scrolled pewter lampposts. The
station was grey stone and frosted glass in decorative swirls and gentlemen in
old style conductor uniforms stood with arms behind their backs at attention,
puffing out their chests studded with mirrored brass buttons. This was Cudmore.
The retirement centre for the Empire�s nobility and
excessively rich. There was no way a junk train would stop in a place
like this; the townspeople would be appalled to know something so common even
passed near them, so as the cab slowed to pull past the station, Isis moved the
back of the car. On her bottom, she kicked a loose panel into the grass and
slid through, tumbling down the incline into the bush.
�� She spent the night in a cluster of
trees not too much further from the station where she landed. From her vantage
point and with the early morning light she saw her target cutting into the
cloudless blue sky with its yawning gothic architecture. Isis
spent the better half of the morning on her belly, watching from the grass as
people milled about the building coming in and out. She watched for a weakness,
a way in, and found one when a female nurse and male hopped out the back for
something that looked like a little more than a cigarette break. Inside their
unlocked car, they were too taken by lust to notice Isis
casually approach although they did manage to stop when she pulled the rear
door open. ��
�� Who the hell are you?!�
�� Fumbling with his pants around his
legs, the man, the doctor from the looks of the laminated tags around his neck,
pushed off the woman. He opened his mouth to yell and Isis
swung a heavy fist. She punched him once in the throat to silence him and then
again in the head to knock him out cold. She hated to do it, but he left her no
choice and it seemed as if the Nurse would force her to do the same.
�� The doctor fell limp onto the woman
who shook with wide eyed fright, fidgeting hysterically with the dead weight
resting in the cradle of her legs. Isis took
pity on the woman and rolled the man onto the floor of the backseat before
knocking her out as well. They�d both be bruised and he wouldn�t speak normal
for a week. At least they�ll live,
she reasoned, stripping the woman more than the doctor already had.

�� Isis
stood in the building�s grand foyer, dressed in the crisp white nurse�s
uniform. She made it past the front desk with a sob story about a forgotten
picture ID and a flash of her chest. Not her proudest moment, but it did the
trick. Now that she was inside, her greatest struggle was to look unimpressed.
Black and white chequered floors gleamed like the face of a still pond.
Everywhere her eyes fell there was a hard and dark mahogany wood, cut and
fashioned into whimsical curves and cherubs. Door edges, handles carved from
solid wood, were capped with gleaming brass fixtures. She found herself
transfixed, spinning round in place, in utter awe of the Manor�s opulence, when
a sharp female voice startled her.��
�� Can I help you?�
�� Isis
turned with a gracious smile. It gave her time to put her words together.
English was her mother tongue but it had been so long since she spoke it in
earnest communicating in the language was something she had to get used to
again.
�� I am Mr. Pyre�s new nurse,�
�� Another one,� the woman groaned.
�� Yes�Head Nurse Cavvy,� Isis said, reading her name tag. She read her own stolen
tag to learn her name. �Alini Ross,� she said brightly, offering the woman a
friendly hand.
�� Cavvy ignored it, moving to the desk
that sat near the lift. It was a deliberately rude gesture, but Isis let it go. Selena Cavvy was a sturdy woman, looked
as if she could bench press a ton, easily. Isis
didn�t want to cross her unless it was absolutely necessary, and she was sure
the woman�s patients felt the same way.
�� Ms. Cavvy, I assure you, I can do
the job.�
�� The woman�s light eyes flicked up
from the clipboard in her hand, �Understand it�s nothing personal against you,
dear, but I don�t think it matters if you can,� she said, picking up another
clipboard and signing it. �That asshole son of his, Jared, burns through staff
like he burns through his money. None of you transfers last longer than six
months. Your stay here won�t be a long one.�
�� I expected as much.� Isis nodded.
�� Well in that case, you�re better
prepared than most, Ms. Ross.�
�� The nurse took her by the arm and
led her into the lift. Cavvy handed the Isis a
packet which she only glanced at. From the weight of it, she was sure it was
nothing but Manor employee protocol, stuff she could readily ignore since she
would not be staying long. Isis would have
tossed them right then if it wouldn�t have brought more questions.
�� Here are the keys. This one opens
the lift doors, the other, every door on his floor and the last one, his
medicine cabinet,� Cavvy said, holding each one up as she explained their
purpose. �Be careful where you put the last one. Mr. Pyre knows which key is
which and likes to shop the cabinet. He�ll eat all the Venalcin if you let him,
so keep him away from that.�
�� He�s suicidal?� Isis
asked, unpleasantly surprised.
�� Cavvy gave a snorting laugh. �Venalcin is a muscle relaxant if you�ll
remember your 7-w pharmacology. Old man Pyre just likes to be whacked out.� She
sighed, putting a heavy hand on her generous hip. �With that son of his, who
can blame him?�
�� Isis
moved to the lift and Cavvy followed, wishing her good luck before shutting the
gilded fence behind her. Travelling up the seven floors to Pyre�s room, the
woman expected the doors to open to a hall of many more. She was expecting a
collection of rooms, the same in furnishing, size and layout and one among them
belonging to the old man but as the doors parted Isis
was glad she didn�t make a bet on it.
�� Wilson Manor Retirement Home did not
skimp on any expense for its residents and for Pyre they must have broke the
bank. His floor was exactly that, an entire floor in the lavish Mansion just as
awe inspiring in decoration as the foyer.
�� Stupefied, Isis
walked past the rows of marble busts, looking at the carved wooden stands with
dog eared leather bound first editions as she followed the crimson runner to
the lounge. Bound books with pages, especially leather bound ones, were so rare
she couldn�t help but gawk and touch one before she remembered her mission.
�� Past the slender French doors, draped in heavy
burgundy velvet and walls covered in hand painted silk, opposite to the
bookcase filled with oddities, gnarled stone deity idols and more leather bound
first editions, Pyre himself sat, his legs propped on a leather ottoman, warmly
draped in a cashmere throw.
�� He stirred gently, finally realising
someone was there and slowly craned his head past the curved edge of his lush
velvet seat.
�� Well, do not be shy,� he prompted,
his voice warbling from centuries of use.
�� His withered hand reached out and Isis took it, following his lead as he brought her to
stand in front of him. When he saw her, his hand fell away, his entire body
going slack with shock. A piping hot cup of tea dropped from his other hand
into his lap, but he didn�t flinch. His kind always had a high tolerance for
pain�he more than most.
�� H-how is this possible,� he
stammered, sitting up. �You died.�
�� Twice now,� Isis
said, making a seat for herself on the ottoman. �Hello, Douglass.�
�� She stood absolutely still as he
leaned forward to touch her face. It sent a shiver through her to feel his
palms slide over her cheeks, down the line of her chin.
�� He had not escaped the years without his own
changes. Like all Scorn he enjoyed a long lifetime but the years faded the
black stripes that marked his vibrantly purple skin. Even that overall hue,
that she once thought was so unnatural, faded into a lifeless grey. His lips
were erased by shiny topped scars that twisted the right side of his mouth into
a wicked point. He looked to be forever smirking. Isis
watched as his unnatural smile twitched with life as he opened his mouth to
speak.
�� You have not aged�except here,�
�� His hands brushed away the white and
red uniform bonnet from her head, sliding it back to her shoulders. At each of
her temples was a prominent streak of white hair twirled in with the rest of
her jet black tresses. He threaded his fingers through the strands and stared
at his hands in her curls, then felt his face and body to check if he was still
him. Still old.
�� Tell me, spectre, have you come to
claim me?�
�� I am no ghost,� she said,
indignantly.
�� Then you are a figment of my mind,�
he said thoughtfully. �I should confess my sins.� Before Isis
could object, his hand fell onto hers. �I wanted to wait for you�I just didn�t
think you made it out. I didn�t think I�d make it out,� he said sombrely.
�� She held his hand back and gave it a
reassuring pat, �I don�t blame you, Douglass. I was going to leave the Whistler
too, but then I found Vane. He made me look for the others.�
�� He smiled fondly, remembering the
lanky, clean cut man. �Your brother was always the do-right kind of guy,� he
said. �We always joked that you two couldn�t be related because he was so kind
and upright and you were just��
�� A bitch,� she finished.
The old man raised his brows and nodded. He was trying to be delicate
but there was no need. This was an old friend and they both knew the truth�she
more than him.
�Maybe,� he said settling back in his seat. �But don�t be so hard on
yourself. You were young then.�
�Believe me, I have paid for my ways. And it
looks like you have too,� she said, touching her mouth.
Douglass mirrored her action and snickered. �I have,� he nodded. �A
Class A tried to make me a host that night,� he explained. �It shoved something
in my mouth but I bit it off before it could finish. I cost me, as you can
see.� He said drawing a finger over his wickedly smiling lip.
�You also killed a few Class Bs,�
�Yes,� he smiled proudly. �How did you know?�
�I overheard some one speak on it,� she said, �and I also read it in
your book.�
Isis pulled the literary chip from the top
pocket of her nurse�s uniform and tossed it in his lap. The old man put a
monocle in the crook of his eye and inspected it before looking at her.
�I take it this is not a happy reunion?� he said, stiffing his
posture.
Isis shook her head, �No. There are some�individuals who do not like what you
have said here.�
�Ise, please. Everyone who has read this said I was mad,� he
chuckled, waving the bit of plastic. �Academics said there was no way an alien
species as technologically developed as I described existed that had not
entered in the interspecies treaty. Never mind the fact that the governing
bodies of all those who have signed their precious treaty�we are talking
species from all fourteen quadrants�have in one form or another reported the
same anomalies for thousands of years.�
�And those would be?� Isis prompted,
hoping he could not answer.
�Bodies hung upside down, bled out and skinned, if not left as piles
of boneless mush. Obviously sentient distortions captured on surveillance video
that let women and children pass before gutting their armed male protectors?�
�You studied this a lot,� Isis said
dismally.
Douglass nodded. �I even started a group to analyse the evidence we do
have and find more.�
Isis groaned and covered her face with her
hands, �This group, is it still active?�
�Who knows? My son is in charge of that now. I�m sure it fell into
ruin,� he sighed. �If it does not make Jared money, he is not interested in it.
Can I ask why you are interested in it other than the obvious?�
�I represent those individuals I was talking about,� she said
standing. She told the man to stand, offering her arms for support. �You have
to get out of here before they find you.�
�They who?� he demanded, refusing her help. �I said, �they who?� Ise?�
She ignored him, looking at the door over his head, watching the
handle jump. Something heavy and angry was thundering their way. Isis took Douglass by the thick of his arm with
surprising strength.
�No time. I�ll explain on the way,� she said, dragging him to the
patio doors. They jittered too and more violently. It was right upon them now.
Isis looked to the Lounge door just as it
burst open, shards of the heavy black lacquered thing shooting across the room
like a thousand tiny darts. She tossed the old man one way and dove in the
opposite direction, reaching for the pokers by the fire.
Douglass scrambled to his feet, his knees knocking, and looked at the
destruction in his room. He thought to ask what the hell did this, but a
clicking, a sound he could have lived never hearing again rattled just in front
of his face. The old man looked forward, watching the painted patterns on the
walls in front of him.� He gasped seeing
them ripple with invisible movement.
Douglass lunged for the patio door but something knocked him back,
landing a heavy blow on the underside of his chin, lifting him off the ground.
He fell with an awful crunch into a bookcase behind him. It pinched in half as
his body travelled down its centre and then collapsed on top of him. Through
the tinkling of breaking glass and the thrum of his own furious heartbeat, he
could hear it stalking closer. He felt the vibration of its footfalls on the
floor as it neared.
It was standing over him now. He heard its spear open, the distinctive
chime of metal sliding over metal as it extended. Douglass fisted the wood
around him and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the strike of death�but it
never came.
From across the room, Isis shot the
poker in her hand like a javelin. The heated tip of the thing sunk into the
yautja�s back, sliding through muscle and sinew until it could go no more. The
warrior turned with a roar and Isis gripped a
spade next, flinging like a tomahawk at what she thought was its head. The
yautja caught it with an irritated hiss and flung it back at her, jarring the
flaming logs from their neat pyramid pile to scatter throughout the room. The
fire spread with them, climbing up the thick curtains and bookcases loaded down
with antique texts as they fought. The bar in the corner ignited almost
immediately, rippling with blue light.
Isis armed herself with the long and pointy
tongs, the last item in the fireplace set, and tore them in half, making two
weapons. She was better with a staff but this would do. It had to. The yautja
that was ready to kill Douglass was charging toward her, the ground underfoot
trembling. It leapt in the air and she ducked, striking it doubly across the
back as she tumbled out of the way, knocking it toward the fire. It stopped
short, raising up on the tips of its feet to keep from
touching the smouldering heat and Isis
crouched low behind it, swinging her arm round to spear one of its claves.
The roar was deafening. It fell to a knee in pain and then stood, tossing
hot ash in her direction. Isis turned away,
shielding her eyes, and the warrior seized the opportunity, lobbing a flaming
log at her stomach. The sweater she wore caught fire almost instantly. The
woman peeled it off, putting the make-shift daggers in one hand while she
disrobed. She did not see her assailant charge her until it was too late. Isis swung her arm again, stabbing his shoulder but it
wasn�t enough. His hand snaked around her neck, lifting her from the floor.
It could have snapped her neck. It should
have if it was trying to kill her but instead it held her with just enough
pressure to make her eyes roll and her vision blur. Isis
was drifting into unconsciousness when she was suddenly released. She fell to
the floor and scrambled away as her still invisible attacker fell with a
familiar spear lodged in the centre of his back.
Ali�shir strode from the open window and wrenched the thing from
between the warrior�s shoulders, making the body pop off the ground. He looked
to where Isis fell, expecting to see her
panting in recovery, waiting to be consoled, but she was gone. Across the room
she strained with all her might to move a piece of downed furniture. He helped
then, shoving off the broken bits of wood and revealing the broken and elderly
man underneath.
Isis held his head up, encouraging him to
breathe, but Ali�shir could plainly see as she did, the man was going to die. A
piece of jagged wood pierced his side and possibly his lung, judging from his
laboured breathing. Ali�shir raised the spear in his hand and sprung it open.
He was going to drive the tip right through the man�s heart but Isis shielded him with her body, her hand outstretched.
�You knew it would come to this,� he said in his native tongue.
�There has to be a better way,� she said through tears. �Please let me
find a better way.�
Douglass made a pained sound. He twisted in the pile, unwittingly
driving the wood deeper inside him. His eyes shot open with the pain and he
could feel someone hold him down, taking him about the shoulder. Douglass
looked up to see Isis staring down at him and
the room around them being eaten with fire. The silk wallpaper he imported from
Yun-Yin melted away from the walls, breaking apart into thick flakes of black
ash that swirled about them. He could hear the building groan and pop under the
heat, so he knew everything was on fire, but he felt the ground underneath him
pool with warm wetness, and his body was incredibly chill.
Douglass touched the ground with pain and gasped seeing dark purple coat
his fingertips. Isis held the hand and told
him not to worry.
�We�ll get you help,� she said, sniffing. �We�ll get you help and
you�ll be good as new.�
It was bold face lie and it only twisted the knife of shame a little
harder to know she said it for her own benefit and not his. Her hand stroked
the pitted shiny-topped scar that twisted his mouth. It seemed unfair that he
would survive so much, before and after the horror on the Whistler, only to
have it end like this.
Douglass closed his eyes feeling her bend toward him, pressing a kiss
on his forehead. She paused, with her lips still pressed against him, as a
growl rumbled through her body.
�I don�t think it likes that, Ise� Douglass said.
He did not move, for fear whatever was still with them might do. The
old Scorn warrior was unsure of what he saw at first but the rippling became
quite pronounced when she kissed him. It was moving all around them, stalking
with what seemed like anger, beating a path in the expensive but singed runner
beneath it. Douglass could see the soft carpet give under the large and heavy
footsteps.� It stopped when Isis sat up, seemingly growling herself. A warning of
sorts, directed at the spectre.
Douglass looked at her face, drawn into an angry scowl. �I am going to
die,� he announced crisply, making her turn immediately to him. �But before I
do, I would like proof that my life�s work has not been in vain. I�ve spent all
my life and a fair amount of money trying to prove the existence of the
fantastic. It would be nice to know I am right,�
Isis looked at Ali�shir and then back to the
man in her lap. She didn�t even have to glance up to know the yautja was
granting his wish. The biting scent of electricity filled the air and Douglass�
face changed. His eyes bloomed wide and his mouth fell open, his winkled face
smoothing as a kind and childlike smile brushed up the ends of his lips.
�Remarkable,� he breathed. �Simply�remarkable.�

�Mr. Pyre! Nurse Ross!�
Isis looked to the broken door and saw the
one at the hall�s start open. Orderlies with their crisp white uniforms and
security charged toward them, running full tilt, battling burning debris and
downed supports.
�See, Doug, help�s on its way,� she said, shaking the man.
She looked down at him with a smile and then her stomach bottomed out.
Douglass was gone, his face frozen in awe, eyes lifeless but wide open to the
spectacle that had been before them. She closed his lids with her hands and
looked up to Ali�shir but he was gone as well, so was the body of the unknown
warrior. She was alone in the room now. The patio door swung with the breeze,
fanning the flames around her, reminding her of what she had to do next.
�Isis
kissed Douglass� head again before easing him from her lap. Slowly she left
him, standing and then moving to the bar. Wrapping her hand in a terrycloth
rag, she carefully fished the bottles that hadn�t burst or caught fire from the
bar. With her back to the patio, she took one last look at her friend and
whispered an apology before hurling bottle after bottle at him, igniting his
body in roaring flames. The bookcase acted like kindling, helping the whole
thing burn and Isis watched the flames rise and rise yet still before hopping
over the banister and leaping to the safety of outside.
��
For a man of his considerable wealth, Douglass Pyre was buried with
little fanfare. Only a small collection of family, close friends and of course
a few of the Wilson Manor staff attended the funeral. Isis
watched it all from a safe distance away. Leaning against a smoothly polished
obelisk, a monument to someone named M. Gentry, she watched it all. When they
covered Douglass�s grave, Isis finally found
the strength to walk away.
Wiping tears from her eyes, she strode through the rows of grey
statues, in heels and a heavy wool pea coat. Feeling the flight ticket in her
hand she smiled to herself. For what she had lost, she had also gained. Her
life was her own again. She could hear Marca�s voice just thinking of the
woman�s face. The mother figure would probably try to cripple her with guilt
for being away so long but then things would return to normal quickly. Mondoon
was like New Sussex, a sleepy farm town with little excitement.
With Douglass� death, the danger was lifted, and now that everyone she
loved would be safe and sound, Isis could go
back to enjoying a quiet evening with Seth by the fire, listening to Robert and
Marca bicker about what to watch. She looked forward to playing cards with the
ladies after church, delivering fruit and goods to the local grocer, but most
of all she looked forward to rebuilding the farm, mucking out pens, repairing
fences and bailing hay. Hard work left her little time to think, little time to
remember or regret either. And she didn�t want to remember any of this again. Ever.
A far off sound became progressively louder and interrupted her
hopeful thoughts. It called her name, or the name she stole. That reminded Isis,
she had to let the couple out of the trunk of that car before she left. It had
been almost a day and she tried to make them as comfortable as possible with
blankets and pillows, bottles of water, but she was sure they�d appreciate
being out of the back compartment as soon as possible much more.
�Nurse Ross! Alini Ross!�
She turned and a
blonde man jog casually towards her, his narrow black tie flapping. She
remembered him as being one of the mourners from the funeral, one of the
security guards who swarmed the scene after Douglass died.
�I�ve been calling you for a while now!�
he exclaimed, panting.
�How can I help you?� she asked, putting
her hands in her pocket and continuing to walk.
�I missed you at the funeral,� he said
breaking into a sprint to catch up with her. �Actually, I missed you when you
ducked out of the emergency room.� He eyed her critically. �I mean, I guess there
was no point for you to stay. You�re walking ok for a woman who took a seven
floor dive out of a burning room. It�s a little abnormal.�
�I am normal,� she said, walking faster.
�Average and plain in every way.�
The man darted in front of her and shrugged
his shoulders, �I don�t know,� he said reaching casually into his jacket
pocket. �I�d say not every normal woman
has an eight foot invisible body guard. Although I haven�t
seen it around as of late.�
He handed her a photo and her blood ran
cold. It was a picture of her leaving the emergency room and behind her, an odd
but telling collection of colourless shapes followed. Dammit, Ali.� Isis could have snapped his neck. She did what he asked, she found Douglass before Bhadri and
although it ended badly, she was supposed to be able to enjoy her life again. A life without him.
She handed the picture back to him,
pretending not to see the male, telling him he was crazy.
�Come now, Isis,� he crooned, latching onto her arm.
�Don�t be difficult. I hoped we could discuss this all over a cup of coffee.�
Isis was so taken back at hearing her name
she let the man move her step. She walked where he pulled her, shifting closer
to him before breaking her grip on his arm. She swung a solid fist on his wrist
and it gave with a sickening snap, letting her ghost from his side. The man
only recoiled a moment, growling in pain while holding his arm, then he grabbed
at her with the other hand. Isis shunted the
heel of her hand under his nose and he finally turned her loose, his eyes
tearing and broken nose bleeding wildly. But she was not free yet. Another man
ran towards them, following her as she cut a path to the car.
She was making headway when an arm swung
out into her course, throwing her down by her neck onto her back. Yet another
man, dressed similarly to the blonde guard crept from behind a massive
headstone with a smile. He reached for her and she willingly took his hand,
breaking his thumb with a crack when she was on her feet again.
He lunged for her, but her foot in his
crotch stopped him short. He crumpled to the floor and she hopped over him,
kicking off her heels and tearing off her coat, bobbing and weaving through the
stoic monuments rooted in the rolling green hills.
She had a commanding lead, but more kept
popping up from nowhere. Like zombies, they seemingly sprouted from the
cemetery itself, swiping and swinging, filing behind her after leaping
haphazardly into the chase. But she kept the car in her sights and despite of
the burn of her legs, she kept running towards it.
She was getting near, the keys already
in hand when something slipped against her legs. Another guard sprang out at
her, trying to tackle her to the ground but all he caught was the end of her
skirt. But it was enough. He yanked and she lost balance, tumbling to the grass
below with a heavy thud. She was on her back again and hope of escape was
blotted out with the sun as they piled atop her.

A/N: Sorry it took so long! Work has been pulling a lot of my time and
attention as of late. Thanks to Amentet for kick starting me back to work, Das Grauen, chancelor22,
kittyZ, Firesblood, Tiki, midnighteyes, Death God Dist, and Wranch.
Bee: �The first part of the story is the same and
I�m glad your back too! I didn�t think I put
restrictions on who could comment, but I know for sure I�ve ticked the little
box to make it free and open to everyone to put their two cents in. Jennie: Believe me hun,
it was not on purpose, lol. My job is evil, I tells ya.*holds pinky to lips*
Eeeeeeevil. Kayla: No body liked the
first ending hence this story, lol. I hadn�t put much thought into Ali�shir and
his family, but now that you�ve asked I�m going to try and weave some stuff in
upcoming chapters, so thanks for the inspiration! Happy Thanksgiving for those
in the US of A and please keep the comments coming, good, bad or otherwise!
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A Union of Convenience II