Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

For this chapter, I would like to personally thank a faithful reviewer on my Fanfiction.net posting of this story for giving me this idea. It really solved a lot of problems I had unknowingly caused myself. Thank you!

On another note, I don't know how much writing I will be doing this summer. I am a glutton for punishment (apparently) and am trying to work as much as possible and take a biology course without being good in biology. Then, I'm taking an online economics course and working full time. In housekeeping. I will try but no promises. Do not fear though! I will probably end up getting inspiration and bombing at least one exam because I spent the night writing.

sarahlet2999

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Chapter 20

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Dalir hesitated outside the door as he heard the weeping from within. Torn, he listened, running over and over in his head what he had found and how to reconcile it with the hurting person within the room. Death. So much death. So much we didn't even know about. But I know he loves her. She loves him. He would stop the death for her.

When the sounds of tears ceased flowing, Dalir knocked, bracing himself for whatever he would find inside the room, and what would occur when they had finished talking. He had no idea how Erik would react to his knowledge and suggestions.

"Erik, I'm coming in." He hesitated when he heard scrambling in the room. After a moment, he entered and closed the door behind him before he looked at the sick man on the bed, covered by a sheet tucked up under his chin.

"What do you want, Dalir?"

"Well, two things actually." He walked into the room and took a seat next to the bed, smoothing a wrinkle from his faded jeans and plucking absentmindedly at a loose thread. "Why did I just put Christine to bed with tear streaks on her face? She said you lost your temper."

Pain echoed in the moan that escaped the prone man.

"She saw! Dalir, she saw!" He reached up and covered his face, almost reflectively as if the mask wasn't enough to hide the abomination beneath the plastic.

"Yes, I know that. She saw it when she found you. How does that change anything now?" Dalir kept his voice as calm as he could, not feeding into the despair radiating from the man buried beneath the blankets.

"She saw. She'll never..." He trailed off, his eyes sparkling with tears. "She'll never want to see me again, or lo-... care about me."

"You're being an idiot right now, Erik." Dalir remarked, rolling his eyes towards his brother. "If she didn't care about you, would she have spent nearly a week at your side? It wasn't pretty, but she stayed, determined to see you better."

"Pity perhaps. She's so good." Erik's hands slipped from his face and tangled in the blankets tucked up against his chin.

"Yes, of course it was pity. It was 'pity' that kept her at your side every waking moment. It was 'pity' that caused her to panic every time your breathing grew a little irregular. It was 'pity' in her eyes when she watched you at night, denying herself sleep when she desperately needed it!" Dalir nearly shouted the last words at the already shaken man. I remember the look in her eyes when he slept beside her. The warmth, the feeling, the light. It is the look I see in Keeya's eyes whenever I come home safe.

It was the look in my mother's eyes when she saw my father.

"You don't have to say it so succinctly." Erik replied sullenly.

"You damn fool. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say that she loves you."

Silence reigned the sole queen in the room for nearly an hour, broken only by the occasional breath or popping of Dalir's old knees. He left his friend to mull over his words, not regretting finally broaching the subject with him. Erik would never notice her feelings for him on his own. He needed this push.

"You...think so?" The tiniest tremble of hope wavered in his voice, striking Dalir as almost childlike. For a moment in Dalir's mind, Erik was a kid again, asking his only friend if his mother would actually happy to raise him. The image of child painted itself on the back of his eyelids and gave him pause, nearly drawing tears to his eyes. He hasn't changed so very much after all. Still so desperate for the tiniest scrap of hope. I failed him once. But Christine isn't my mother.

"Yes. I was wrong years ago, and you paid for it in pain and suffering all your life. But I am not wrong here, Erik. Ami. I firmly believe she loves you."

"But...my face? My...actions. Oh no. She'll never forgive me now; let alone..." The words wouldn't even cross his lips. Dalir reached over and clamped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Apologize. You'll never know until you try. She didn't react like my mother did."

"Do you know exactly what happened to your mother?" Erik whispered, distracted in his thoughts. Dalir sighed, his hand slipping from Erik's shoulder.

"Not exactly. She never talked much after...that day. We never quite pulled the truth from her. I gathered it had to do with..." Dalir trailed off, waving in the direction of Erik's expressionless mask.

"She wanted to see the face. I wanted to make her happy; I wanted to be accepted. I took it off, and she never stopped screaming. She was going to make me cookies that day. My favorite... I had begged her to make them while you two were gone so I could have them all to myself." Dalir actually chuckled at the thought.

"Sounds like something a brother would do. Cheat me out of cookies." He shot a sly, teasing smile at Erik and sensed a faint smile in Erik's eyes at that one fond memory.

"What happened to her? How did she die?"

Dalir licked his lips once, suddenly feeling his mouth go dry. How do I tell him she died scared? That she died thinking he would return to take her to hell?

"That day was the straw that broke the camel's back when applied to her sanity. If it hadn't been you, it would have been something else. Another miscarriage even. She cracked, never quite recovered from the mental break. I do not believe she intended to commit suicide, but that is what it effectively boiled down to. She...stepped in front of a car six months later. We buried her next to the graves she erected for her lost children." Dalir looked down at his brother and laid a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"I killed her then."

"No, she destroyed herself from the inside out. She was never...stable to begin with. I have come to realize that over the years." Dalir slowly shook his head. "You didn't kill her. I never blamed you for her death. I don't think Father did either. Even in his lowest, most grief-filled moment, he never blamed you."

"I blame myself."

"Then that's self-inflicted and for you to deal with." Dalir rose to his feet, popping his knees as he did so. "Now, it's been a while since you ate. Shall I heat up some soup? Christine wouldn't leave your side, so I was left to cook for your scrawny ass."

"I'm not hungry." Erik muttered, sinking deeper into the pillows that cradled his masked skull.

"You will be after a shower. You reek. Christine will probably forgive your behavior and even accept your face but, there are few things a woman can stand less than a man who stinks. I'll be back in a bit." Dalir walked out the door, leaving his friend to bath however he pleased, and sought out the kitchen.

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Thirty minutes later, Dalir walked back into the bedroom, bearing a tray with some thin broth, plain rice, a banana, and a glass of water. Erik occupied the bed, but now wore a long nightshirt and a pair of black pajama pants. His hair, or what could be seen of it, had water droplets dripping onto the pillows, revealing he had in fact showered.

"Food. You need to eat." Dalir set the tray across the invalid's lap and gestured for him to eat. After suspiciously eyeing the bland contents of his tray, Erik began lightly sipping on the broth. Dalir watched him for a moment while he drank a glass of coffee, stiffened with some "liquid courage" he'd found inside a cabinet.

"Erik, we need to talk." Erik glanced up at him, pausing mid-sip, waiting for him to clarify. "About what I found in your office."

The bowl clattered to the tray, and broth splashed out.

"What have you done, Nadir?"

Dalir settled back, taking another sip of the coffee and tasting the faintest flavor of brandy washing over his tongue. How to explain? Sighing, he began to speak,

"Ami, I didn't come to this place to retire or to see the sights. I came after you. At the time, I didn't know I was pursuing you, but I was nevertheless." Dalir dug around in his pocket and fished out his badge, flashing it in Erik's direction. "I am on a task force with the goal of bringing the Destroying Angel to justice. Imagine my horror when I found it was my brother."

Dalir put away the badge and stared at the coffee cup in his hands. Erik didn't say a word, only finished the broth that remained his bowl and set aside the tray with a calm that set Dalir's nerves on edge. In that moment, he was reminded that despite everything, Erik had mastered the art of a calm kill. At long last, he broke the silence.

"Tell her I went on a trip and never came back. Please don't tell her I went to the electric chair. That's all I ask. I'd prefer her to just remember me as drug addict rather than a murderer."

Dalir's brain did flip-flops as he looked at the man in the bed, a resigned aura radiating off of him. Shaking his head, he tried to wrap his head around what Erik had just said, the words sending him reeling as he tried to follow the leaps and bounds of Erik's mind.

"No, no, no! I'm not taking you in! You will not go to prison, let alone the electric chair if I have anything to do with it!" Dalir ran a hand through his hair and set aside the empty cup of coffee before pacing at the end of the bed.

"But, how? There is no other place for me, Nadir. You know what I've done." He laid his hands palms up on the blankets covering him. Erik could almost see the blood dripping from their tips, staining her bedding with their sin. His hands were made of death and only worthy of bringing death. Death – it's the only master I've ever served. Finally, I meet it personally.

"There is another option. It's...slim. But it's our only chance at saving you from prison or the death penalty." Dalir sighed and leaned on one of the bedposts, looking older and grayer in the faint light streaming through the windows. He'd spent the entire week of Erik's illness pouring through information he found on Erik's computer and in file cabinets. For such a wealth of tips, the government would do almost anything. Even let a murder walk free.

"A chance? Dalir, you're truly senile. Forgive the cliché quality of the expression, but I don't have a snowball's chance in hell."

"Well, more like a snowball's chance in a mean nor'easter. I'm suggesting that you buy your pardon by handing over your employers." Erik remained completely silent, a look of confusion then realization and almost elation dawning in his eyes and posture.

"I have everything on everyone. They never knew or never thought I'd be taken alive." He rubbed his bony hands together and murderously chuckled to himself. "The ultimate mission... But will it work? Will it be enough?"

"Erik, you have records dating back twenty years. You have money trails on every employer, lists of all their aliases, contact information going back to before I joined the force! No only that, you have records on every single person who you...eliminated. And why they were eliminated. Do you know how vital that will be?" Dalir nearly shouted, actually smiling from unbridled giddiness. The perfect way to free him!

"Extremely?" Erik offered.

"Invaluably. I can't count the cases that will be closed because of it. Or how many of the vilest will be put behind bars because of your testimony."

"And, in return...?" Erik quietly inquired.

"A complete pardon. Don't accept anything less. You can leave this behind...be a man Christine will be proud of. A man with an acceptable job who isn't running from the law." Dalir's voice softened, kinder, more understanding now.

To Erik, his friend had just handed him his every wish on a silver platter. No more criminal record. No more fear of capture. No more. Just free. Free to love her. If she will let me.

"If you think it is possible...I will. For her. For Christine. Tell me what I need to do."

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Some hours later, Christine rose from her coma and sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes and blinking to remove the blurry shapes in her vision. Her limbs felt liquid, nearly melting into the sheets. She shakily ran her hand through her knotted blonde hair. Weariness clung to her bones, threatening to drag her back under. But she slid her body out of bed, momentarily leaning on the edge of the bed to get her balance.

I need to see him.

Her ankles wobbled, and she nearly fell but caught herself. When her equilibrium returned, she lurched out of the bedroom and down the hall towards Erik's room. In her mind, she vaguely remembered him being angry at her, throwing her out of the room.

I need to see him.

She half-stumbled into the bedroom.

In the bed, Erik lay perfectly still, his chest rising and falling slowly as he lay peaceful in the arms of sleep. Next to him, Dalir sat, reading a book and sipping on a cup of coffee. When she stepped into the room, leaning heavily on the doorknob, he looked up at her and smiled. He raised a finger to his lips and pointed at the sleeping man.

Trembling, Christine closed the door and tiptoed towards the bed. Her legs gave out when she reached the edge of the mattress, and she sunk down, her fingers slipping around his. Her eyes fluttered for a moment before she passed out again, her head plopping quietly down next to his bare arm.