Paul sounded resigned.  "I have not seen him here since the day he showed this to me.  I did not know he remembered."

I glanced around, but I could not see anyone.  "Are you sure it's Michael?  Are you okay?"

"Of course there is a fraction of a possibility it was not Michael or one of his men," he said calmly.

I tried to calm my breathing.

"I'm fine; I was only grazed by the bullet.  I'll heal quickly.  There's no need to worry, Dylan."  How like Paul to get shot and then reassure me.

"What should we do?" I asked, not sure what I should be thinking.  I was so confused.  Michael just shot Paul?  What the hell was I supposed to do? 

Even worse, why did a small, stupid part of me feel glad Michael might have come back for me?  Would I never learn?

Perhaps Michael would even kill me, if he thought it would hurt Paul enough. 

I felt a cold shiver of fear crawl down my back.  It had grown foreign to me over the intervening months, but there was a time when I had been afraid of Michael and my body remembered the feeling well.

Paul smiled grimly.  "Michael won't kill me from afar.  That's not his way."

He addressed the trees surrounding the graveyard.  "Michael, why don't you show yourself?" Paul called out.

"Paul, why don't you give me back the little girl?" Michael asked as he stepped out of the trees.  He had a dark look on his face.  I shivered.

"You can't even call her by her name, Michael?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow.  "Were you ensnared in your own trap?  This little girl's name is Dylan."

"Shut up, Paul.  You've interfered in my affairs long enough."

"I would like to suggest it is you interfering in my affairs this time, Michael.  Leave this place and leave the dead in peace."

"I would like to suggest you die and leave me in peace, Paul," Michael responded coldly.

He seemed more serious than the Michael I had come to know, even more serious than he had been when dealing with the blackmailer.  I felt horrible dread, yet I could do nothing but watch the two men face each other with serious intent.

"That's an excellent suggestion.  Why don't we both die here, Michael?  Let it be over.  Don't run away this time," Paul goaded. 

I could tell he wanted it finished, once and for all.  He was so weary, yet at the same time the thought of freedom seemed to grant him a manic energy.

"I have no intentions on running.  How dare you steal her again?"

"Again?  She's not Sarah, Michael."

Michael just stared at Paul.

Paul continued, "I had no need to steal either of them.  Both came with me of their own free will.  I'm not the one who has been dragging the uninvolved into my madness all these years."

"You murdered her, Paul.  For that you deserve death."

I waited for Paul to explain to Michael what had happened, but instead I only saw Michael's deadly intensity reflected in Paul's eyes.

They were going to fight and one of them was going to die.

I could not just wait in silence.  "Michael!  Paul!  Don't do this.  Not here!"  I moved between them.

"Dylan, get out of the way," Paul said quietly.

"Little girl," Michael growled warningly.

I glared between Paul and Michael.  I might be only a poor replacement, but perhaps I could stop their battle.

Michael did not bother to respond with words.  He strode forward and grabbed me by the arm.  He was still stronger than me and he flung me out of the way. 

I was unprepared and I stumbled.  My head made striking contact with one of the unmarked gravestones.  For a moment all I felt was shock and then pain flooded through my temple.

It was harsh sounds that brought me back to reality.  I pushed myself up and wiped the blood that was dripping down my forehead with the back of my hand.

Michael and Paul were fighting, while I lay against the headstone.  It had seemed like a long time but had probably only been a few seconds, yet Michael and Paul were both already bloody.  Paul's blood was still seeping from his arm and from his nose and Michael's mouth was bleeding. 

The two of them beat viciously upon each other.  It seemed like centuries of stored rage and loneliness were pouring out at once.

It was terrible to watch.  "Michael!  Paul!  Please stop!" I yelled, but they either did not hear me or they did not care. 

And why would they care?  I was not the catalyst; I was not the one who could stop them.  I was too weak and I was not the one either of them longed for. 

I pushed myself to my feet, keeping my eyes on the two men while I did so.

It happened so quickly it took me a moment to comprehend what had happened.  Michael aimed an upward kick at Paul.  Paul was clearly caught off guard.  He stumbled backwards, towards the fence. 

Michael aimed another kick at him, adding momentum and Paul hit the fence.  Hard.  I watched it as if it was in slow motion.

There was blood.  One of the sharp tops of the fence, no, two, pierced through his chest.  One metal heart had pierced through his right side and the other must have been very close to his beating heart. 

He jerked spastically, yet remained anchored on the pointed metal of the fence.

I just stared at the scene in horror for a long moment and then I was in motion, almost against my will.  "Paul!  Michael?  What have you done?" I cried in horror. 

I ran over to where Paul was impaled.  I tried to force my sluggish mind to figure out what I should do.

"Come on, little girl.  Let's go."  It was an order.

"No!  I'm not leaving him here like this!" I yelled.  I looked at Paul.  His eyes were open, staring dark pools in his pale face.  He was looking at me.

"I'm glad I got to see your face in the end," he said. 

I did not know if he was talking to me or Sarah or perhaps even to us both across the ages.

"Shut up, Paul.  It's not the end.  Michael, come help me get him off of here."

"No, we're leaving.  Come with me now, little girl."

"I'm not leaving and my name is not little girl, Michael."  I ignored him and turned to Paul.  "I'm going to try to get you off of here and then stop the bleeding."

"Little girl!  We are leaving!"

"Go without me!" I snapped.  "I'm not your sister!  I'm not Sarah!  If you are not going to help, get lost!" 

I lifted Paul's body as gently as I could but I was afraid I hurt him greatly, even though he did not make a sound.

"What, do you love him now, too?" Michael growled.

I worked to carefully lower Paul onto the ground.  I was thankful for my extra strength.  I probably could not have managed alone before I met Michael.

But still, I did not have time for Michael's nonsense.  Paul was fading fast.  "Shut it, Michael.  Give me your shirt."

"No.  Let's go."

I was probably in shock and I was certainly scared, but I was also angry.  "What are you going to do if I don't obey you, Michael?  Kill me, too?  Now shut up!" I said, my voice getting progressively louder with each syllable.

Michael stopped giving me orders, but he also did not leave.  Instead, he went and leaned against the fence a few feet away from where Paul's blood still dripped from the metal hearts. 

He watched me silently.  It was unnerving, but I continued doing the best I could to defeat the bleeding.

It was clear that I was losing the fight.

Paul spoke.  His voice was raspy and I could hear a faint gurgle in his words.  "It's fine, Dylan.  There's nothing you can do." 

I realized there were tears running down my face.

"No!  You're not going to die from this!  Sometimes humans can survive this sort of thing, so of course you can!"

"And sometimes we don't survive.  Thank you for listening to—" he took in a rough gasp, "Everything."

"Paul!"

"It's fine, Dylan.  Don't cry.  Merciful God will let me see Sarah again."  How like Paul to reassure me while he was dying in my inept care.

I was crying then and nothing I did helped.  Probably my father could have done something, maybe I could have if I had went along with my father's plan for my life.  "I'm sorry!" I wailed.

"Dylan, I trust you to take care of everything," Paul said, his voice little more than a breath.

Then Paul went completely limp as if he had been a marionette and someone had cut his strings. 

Even the pool of blood was spreading more slowly.  It was hard to believe one person could even have that much blood inside of them.  I knew there would have been more than a gallon, but to see it dripping out and pooling on the ground...

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Michael push off the fence.  "It's finished.  Let's go, Dylan."

I dug in my feet.  "We're not leaving him like this, Michael."

"Little girl," he began warningly.  I felt pain along with annoyance at the nickname now.  I was done with him pushing me around.  I was not afraid of Michael.

And I was not going to leave Paul's remains lying there on the ground to rot.  "No, Michael.  We are not leaving him to be devoured by scavengers."  I would not see his bones scattered.

Michael looked at me coldly.  "If we bury him, he'll just be chewed up by worms.  It's all the same."

"No, it's not."

"We are going back to the island," Michael said slowly, putting emphasis on each word.

"You can carry my body back to the island if we don't bury him now," I threatened and part of me was serious.  I did not think he would further harm Sarah's double and I was willing to take the gamble I was wrong.

For all I had longed for the island; I was not going to be forced to go there before this was finished. 

Michael no longer had the threat of Paul to frighten me into returning.

I shifted my body into a ready stance in case I had to fight him off.  He himself had ensured that I was not as helpless as I once had been.

He stared at me and then finally shrugged.  "Have it your way then, little girl."

I was surprised so it took me moment to respond.  "We need to go and get shovels," I told him.

"I don't have any money with me," Michael said and I found it hard to believe, but I did not argue.

I made a decision.  "We'll go back to Paul's house.  We'll take a couple of shovels and I'll get my things.  And I will let Millicent know what happened."

"No one needs to know."

"Shut up, Michael.  I'm not going to leave her wondering forever.  She loved him.  She knows a lot of this anyway.  She'll figure this out."  But I dreaded telling her.

Michael's face was a black mask of frustration, but I did not care.  I probably would have been terrified if I had seen it two years ago, perhaps even two weeks ago, but now I felt oddly immune. 

I did not think he would hurt me and even if he tried, I would go down fighting.  I would not be dragged around in willing chains by him any longer.

"Fine," he finally said.  I followed him down the green lit drive, to where he had parked on the main road.  I suddenly realized I was covered in Paul's blood and felt exposed as if I were in some way guilty of what had happened. 

I quickly got into the passenger side of Michael's car and he got in the driver's side.  I was becoming used to the odd side of the road and did not even blink while Michael careened down it.  We made good time and we rode in silence.

Millicent was in the garden when Michael pulled into the driveway.  I saw her look up and I saw a inquisitive expression pass across her face. 

I had hoped to at least be able to remove my bloody clothing and wash my grimy face before I saw her.

Now there was no escape.  I got out of the car.  Michael remained in the driver's seat, clearly with no intentions of helping.  I did not care.

"Dylan!  What happened!?" Millicent wailed when she saw the state I was in.  "Why are you covered in blood?"  She glanced towards the car.  "And where is Mister Tappan?"

Dread and grief filled me and I bit my lips together and tried to think of the right words to explain what I needed to say.  I told myself it was better to know the truth than to be lied to, but still it took all of my energy to form those few simple and terrible words.

"Paul is dead," I said. 

I watched helplessly, as Millicent crumpled to the ground.  Her wail was long and keening and I just waited because I did not know what to do. 

Next to Millicent my feelings appeared so diluted and weak I almost felt ashamed for crying.  I had barely known Paul, but she had dedicated her life to him.

Millicent pushed herself up into a sitting position on the ground.  "I never thought he would die before me," she said in a shaky voice that broke at the end.

"Let me help you into the house," I said.  Let Michael be impatient.  He had all the time in the world. 

Millicent let me help her and I half supported, half carried her inside.  I set her down at the table, where she burst into another round of tears.

"I'm going to go and change," I said.  I did not think she heard me, so I left the room.

I grabbed some clothing, then stripped and wiped myself down with a washcloth.  I threw it straight into the garbage, along with the blood soaked clothes.

Then I dressed myself and I went and gathered up some of the clothing and Paul's research notes.  The novel I had been reading I left behind, because I could not bring myself to care enough about those characters at a time like this.

When everything was together, I went back to the kitchen.  Millicent was more composed, but her face and eyes were swollen.  "What happened?" Millicent asked me.

"Michael killed Paul."  I did not feel up to telling her the details.

"Is he the one in the car?" she asked; her expression was unreadable.

"Yes."

"I always feared that this would happen."

I did not think there was anything else I could say.  I had to leave.  "We are going to bury him.  Do you know where the graveyard is?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"We're going to bury him next to Sarah.  I'm going to borrow some shovels.  I'll leave the shovels in the ground where the headstone should go."

"I'll deal with it, dear," she said woodenly, but her face was blank. 

I thought about Paul's secrets in the basement and the blood soaked clothes I had left in the garbage.  I trusted her to deal with it all.

"I'm so sorry.  I tried to stop them, but there was nothing I could do," I told her.

"I know it's not your fault," she chocked out and started crying again.

I left the house as quickly as possible.  I put my bags and two shovels in the trunk and then got into the car.  Michael slammed the car into gear and we were moving.

We got back to the graveyard quickly thanks to Michael's reckless driving.  I suspected he was driving even faster than usual.  When he turned off the road into the drive the car slid and fishtailed, but Michael straightened it out and parked right behind Paul's car.

I got out.  Michael did the same and opened the trunk.

I grabbed both shovels and noticed Michael was glaring at me.  "The least you could have done is
bandaged your head," Michael said in an angry tone.

I scowled back at him.  I had completely forgotten I had banged my head when he had tossed me out of the way.  It did not even hurt.  I wondered again if I was in shock.

"So?" I asked rebelliously.

"Don't blame me if you bleed to death," Michael said angrily.

"Yeah, it's not like that would be your fault at all, would it?" I challenged.

"You should not have gotten in the way."

"Yeah, because it did no good.  You killed him anyway." 

I thrust one of the shovels towards him.  He looked at it and then looked at me.  He did nothing.  "Take it," I demanded.

"No."

"You didn't help me try to save him, the least you can do is help me bury your brother."

Michael scowled at me.  "Even if you did manage to save him I would have just killed him after that."

"Michael!  Take the damn shovel!"  I snapped.  Finally he took it from my hand and Michael followed me towards Sarah's grave.  I did not know why it was so important for Michael to do this, but it was.  I dug the spade into the earth.

"We're not burying him here."

"Yes, we are."

"Damn it, little girl."

"I don't know any little girls," I said in a voice of lead.

"Have it your way, then," he snapped.

"Just help me and I'll go back to the island with you," I promised him.  I did not say how long I would stay.

Michael shoved the shovel into the ground with jarring force.

We dug and I wondered why I had forced Michael to help.  I was certainly strong enough to do it myself.  The callouses on my hands were testament to the rosebush holes I had dug.

Finally the hole was deep enough.  The gap in the earth looked dark and wrong in the soft green light.

Michael went over to Paul's cold body.  He lifted him up and carried him over.  I was surprised he did it without my suggestion or argument. 

I helped him lower the body in.

In silence, we filled in the hole and Paul was hidden under the freshly disturbed pile of dirt.  I wondered if it would have happened if I had not been there.

I shoved my spade as hard as I could into the head of the pile.  Then I did the same with Michael's.  I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks again.

"So you are in love with him," Michael commented, his voice flat.

"Don't be ridiculous," I snarled, wiping across my face with the back of my hand.

"Then why are you crying again?" he accused, looking at me angrily.

"Normal people cry when people die, Michael," I hissed.

"We aren't normal people."

"Right.  You're just a murderer."  I glared at him.

"So was he."  It was true.

"That's not the point.  I'm not and I cry when people die."

"We're leaving." 

I did not argue.  I followed Michael to the car and we tore down the drive. 

I glanced back at the graveyard and wondered if Millicent would come to plant hollyhock on Paul's grave later. 

Michael wrenched the car around the corner.