Guardian

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(OOC: A tale about a Guardian and the one she is sent to watch over…based loosely on another story of mine…comments welcome via PM… )

Aradia was a Guardian.
Like most of her kind, her life had been cut short before her time and now she led a different life, an eternally youthful life, helping those mortals who needed someone. That was the life of a Guardian. They would appear in people's lives when they need a friend, or guidance, anything...even just someone to talk to.
Everyone will have had one of those people who came into their lives for a time, who helped change their life and then...vanished. They moved away, their job changed, they just left. And, not for want of trying, they cannot be traced. Sometimes even their name or appearance eludes our memory. The mark of a good Guardian is that only their advice and their love will stay with you.

She had been a Guardian, since departing the mortal world, for over two hundred years. Death hadn’t been as bad as she had expected. It had been peaceful and a release from the nightmare that had caused her end, a fatal injury caused by a would-be rapist in an alleyway close to her home. She tried not to think about it too much, and she had a new ‘life’ now that meant she had other things to focus on. She had seen the world she’d grown up in change so very much. It had grown noisier and faster. People, who earned more money in a month than she could have earned in a lifetime, found that money brought with it problems and worries.
And even in such an intelligent, learned world, diseases still stalked the land. New, terrifying, kinds of illnesses that still killed indiscriminately, regardless of age or race.

It was an illness that had brought her back to the mortal world most recently. She had watched over an eight year old girl in Great Ormond Street hospital in London, the city that had once been her home. Guardians were usually placed as close to the place of their life as possible, although there were always exceptions where their specific personality might be better suited elsewhere. A little girl who had to choose between fighting to live or giving in to a disease that was threatening to take over and destroy her young body. For eight months Aradia had been the night nurse who had sat by her bedside and helped scare away the nightmares and find the joy and hope in every sunrise. Then, after a tough fight, she had recovered and returned home with a new spirit. Aradia's job had been done and she had left the earth once again. Leaving behind no trace that she’d ever been there. As such, the little girl from Great Ormond Street never mentioned "Nurse Radia" to her family and friends when she returned home or to the rest of the hospital staff during her stay. Even if she had they would only have smiled and sighed. There was no "Nurse Radia" on any shift-rosta they had ever seen.

And now, Aradia was preparing to return once more to the Mortal world, to help another who was in danger of becoming lost…another who needed a friend in a time of darkness…

Stanislav Wlordarski - the Promise

He stopped in the park before heading home. Every evening, for as long as he could remember, Stan would enter Founder's Park and walk the winding path down to the river. Every single day of his life Stan kept his promise to his grandmother. He would pay his respects to the lady who had welcomed and sheltered his family.

Family was important.

As he reached the end of the path, standing alone lost in his thoughts, Stanislav Wlodarski peered across the river toward Manhattan; seeing Lady Liberty would thank her for the opportunities she granted his grandparents years ago. They immigrated to America, fleeing their native Poland on the brink of war.

His grandmother had made sure her children and in turn her grandchildren never forgot the gifts the green lady had offered to the newcomers from lands far away. She had made it her life's goal to instill in future generations that one has to repay debts especially those on behalf of family.

As each of her children and grandchildren came to be of age, Grandma Jeanette would take them quietly off to this very spot at the end of the path. Stan could remember her voice in his ears today: "Your grandfather, bless his soul, and I were very fortunate to have been able to come here young Stanislav. We arrived here penniless, but were welcomed with open arms. This country rewarded us for working hard. We were able to have a wonderful family and were blessed with being able to see them grow up to be fine productive members of society. You are an adult now Stanislav, it is time to take your place and pick up the responsibility of making this world we live in a little bit better for generations to come."

Stan remembered a tear rolling slowly down his grandmother's face. His grandmother turned to face Lady Liberty and spoke: " Thank you courageous maiden for the gifts you so openly shared with my family. I will do my best to repay the gifts you so freely gave to us." Grandmother's eyes misted over as her face took on the look it did whenever she recalled a fond memory of his grandfather.

Stan now knew why so many of his aunts and uncles were public servants. Among them numbered soldiers, firefighters, government agents and highway patrolmen. Stan pledged that day to become a policeman, in order to protect his fellow citizens and the family he one day hoped to have of his own. He promised to keep that family tradition alive by never forgetting.

Stan enrolled in the New Jersey State Law Enforcement Academy, graduating near the top of his class. He impressed his instructors with his analytical mind and natural investigative skills. The FBI, the Internal Revenue Service, the Port Authority, and several large cities actively recruited young Stanislav, but instead he chose to return to his hometown of Cranfield Heights when they offered something unheard of for any fresh graduate... a detective postition.

Stan grew to become a respected investigator well known throughout the northeast. Detectives from across the region frequently contacted Stan for help with baffling cases. He was an effective force for the community tracking down and putting away criminal after criminal. Police work was his life.

That was until one fall weekend during a football party and cookout with some friends from the academy. Under one of the mighty Oak trees in the park was an angel. Stan felt his heart nearly leap from his chest the first time he heard her laugh.

Stephanie Tarrello was sitting with her back against the tree laughing with some friends. The ladies were watching the guys play football, oohing and ahhing approriately, indicating that they were suitably impressed with the display of manliness. Stan and his friends invited the girls to join them for the cookout. Stan and Steph as they quickly became known were inseperable. They walked and talked for hours that day.

They even took the path down to the river; Stan showed her the spot along the river where his grandmother had taken him. He shared with Stephanie his promise to his grandmother. She took his hands in hers, smiled up at him and they had their very first kiss.

They were married only six months later. They had been married for three years when Stephanie gave Stan a beautiful daughter. They named the baby girl Jennifer, a tribute to his grandmother Jeanette. Even after the baby was born, the happy couple honored Stan's promise to his grandmother by visiting the green lady, After all, family was important.

Aradia found herself in a strange new place, bustling and noisy. As so many places in the world were now. She hadn’t gone ‘home’ this time. Her gifts of compassion and empathy were needed further afield. This time Aradia had gone to America. As a child she had heard of others leaving to go to the ‘New World’ and now so had she. But it was hard to find excitement in such things when the reason for her journey was as tragic as it was.

There was a park nearby, one of her favourite kinds of places. Usually they were islands of calm in a cacophony of bedlam. Something told her that he was nearby. Upon entering the park she frowned. There were hundreds of people milling about. This wasn't going to be easy. Somewhere in this park was the man she had been sent to help and she had to find him. With a determined look set on her face she began to follow the path through the park. Glancing left and right, straining to spot the man who needed her somewhere in the throng.

Guardians are very rarely seen by people other than those they are helping. It would be too awkward to have too many people know them. The risk of being spotted in too many places in different circumstances was too high. However, there are always extenuating circumstances which mean that sometimes Guardians must reveal themselves to the population at large. Aradia hoped that this wouldn't be one of them.

Then she saw him. A lone figure, stood at the end of the path, looking out over the river beyond. She knew instantly that he was the one. She could sense his unimaginable grief and pain. His anger and hurt. Her heart aching as a little of what had happened to him filtered into her soul. She approached and stood beside him. Following his eyes out to the statue in the distance. The Lady who she knew embodied so very many things to so many people. Her eyes moved back to his face, noticing the distant look in his sad eyes of one lost in a memory.

Moving to stand behind him she lightly pressed her hands upon his shoulders, knowing he’d be unaware of her presence unless she desired otherwise, feeling his feelings rush through her as she witnessed the memories he was reliving.
He was here, in this same place with a young woman…they were both young…and in love…so very in love…and they returned, again and again, with a child…their child…
Aradia gasped and pulled her hands back, feeling a surge of loss and anger come from deep inside him at the memories. She knew why she was here now.
He was stood here alone. He had lost the ones he loved.

Closing his eyes, Stan could almost feel the presence of his lovely wife and daughter standing beside him. If he concentrated hard enough he could nearly smell her perfume lingering in the autumn air. Steph would stand close beside him resting her head on his shoulder as they shared a moment of calm at the end of the day. A touch on his shoulder raised Stan from his reverie; he jerked suddenly in confusion looking around. For a moment he thought she was there with him. But when he reached for Steph's hand it was not to be found.

Stan cursed the fates that were toying with his memories, jerking his heart strings. "Grandmother, I know I promised, and I will honor my promise, though I no longer find any joy in doing so." Stan often talked to his grandmother; prayer had not helped Steph and Jenny. Stan was a man alone in the world. A thankless world that he had sworn to protect.

He had been unable to protect his family.

Stan turned away from the symbol that had meant so much to his grandmother and began to trudge up the path back to the parking lot where his unmarked squad car awaited. He passed the playground where Steph and he used to bring Jenny. The joyful sound of children playing only managed to pierce his soul with further agony. He recalled how Stephanie had teased him for being so overprotective of their daughter. She lovingly mocked his hovering, ever the policeman, making sure the children didn't play too roughly and maintaining order over the line for the slide.

He sighed and watched with envy, all the other fathers with their children. They would be the fortunate ones able to watch their progeny grow from the promise of youth until they were able to make the world their own as adults. It was his job to see that they had that chance. It was to have been his job to make the world safe for his family.

He wondered why he should even bother going through the motions. He had been respectful, he had been honorable, he had doted over his wife and daughter. He had accomplished much with the support of his loving wife. It all was so meaningless without her now.

Stan opened the door of the car, sat behind the wheel and started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking lot and began the drive home, he was lost in thought.

Many detectives found the challenge of balancing the job and family very difficult. He knew that the divorce rate was high for law enforcement officers. Anniversary dinners, birthday parties and school outings missed added up over time. The demands of the job often robbed an officer of so many precious moments in the lives of family members.

Stephanie, however, understood. She knew that each time he strapped on his service revolver and headed out the door, that he did it for her and Jenny. Stan never shared the gritty details of his daily encounters with the scum and garbage that seemed to ooze across the river, seeking to hide from justice in the city, and festering in Cranfield Heights.

Even so, Steph loved and supported him. She knew what it did to his soul to face down that element day in and day out. She made it her sworn duty to keep their home a safe haven for him from his work. She never berated him for missing birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. When the phone rang in the middle of the night, to steal his warmth from her bed at night, she never complained, she simply arose with him to make him some coffee to take with him.

She would simply ask Stan to call her to let her know he was alright. He knew that she kept the fear and worry from her face so that he would allow himself to leave. Stan knew in this he was fortunate. So many of his friends on the force had their marriages shattered by the weight of the job. So often their wives became bitter shrews or took lovers on the side, anything they could do to cope with the stress of dealing with the fact that their husband walking out the door may be the last time they would ever see of him again.

His eyes watered as he remembered the last time he saw his beloved Stephanie. The phone had once again awakened them in the middle of the night bringing word that he was needed on another crime scene. Steph had risen and headed downstairs to the kitchen to prepare a thermos for him as usual. As he reached for his shoulder holster to slip it on, he heard a glass or mug shatter in the kitchen. He figured she must have knocked something over before turning on the light.

He entered the kitchen, expecting her to give him a soft smile and a quick kiss before sending him off with: "Get out there detective, time to save the world."

But instead Stephanie was standing over the sink. Her shoulders were shaking; she was sobbing. Stan, caught off guard, stood in the doorway unable to move. Stephanie turned to face him with tears streaming down her face. For the first time in their eight years of marriage she became hysterical.

Stephanie rushed across the room to Stan. She threw herself into his arms and wailed. "Don't do it tonight Stan." she cried. "Don't leave us, make them send another detective! Stanislav Wlodarski don't you dare answer this call! Something bad is going to happen I know it. We need you here with us tonight!"

Helpless in the face of her raw emotion, Stan could only hold his trembling wife and stroke her hair. "Steffie, you know that something bad has already happened. That is why they called me out tonight. It will be okay dear, it always is. I have to check something out down by the river but will be back as soon as I can. You know I'll call you. I love you."

Stan tenderly slipped her arms from around him. He kissed his distressed sweetheart on the forehead. "Shhh darling, we don't want to wake up Jenny. Please honey, go back to bed. Everything will be okay, I promise." He gently raised her chin to look into her eyes and whispered to her: "You know how important promises are to me."

***************

Stan reached over and turned up the volume of his police radio. He silently begged for a call to come requesting a detective on the scene; he would have responded to anything. Anything that would keep him from making that turn into his development. Anything that would keep him from reliving that night once again.

Aradia felt herself jump as he turned towards her. He could not see her, she knew that, but he must have sensed something. Sensed her presence.
She stepped away a little, not wanting to torment him in what was clearly an emotional time. She watched him reach for something or someone that clearly wasn't there and her heart ached a little more.
"Grandmother, I know I promised, and I will honor my promise, though I no longer find any joy in doing so."
With his almost bitterly spoken words still hanging in the air, he turned and began to walk back down the path. Aradia walked beside him, watching his expression and manner. Feeling the heaviness that was weighing down upon his soul.
The sound of children playing, shrieking and screaming with inexpressable delight filled the air as they passed a playground. But that was not what Aradia focused upon. It was the fresh wave of sadness that seemed to be drowning the man beside her.
Of course...his child, she realised, they must have been here together...
She glanced across at the toddlers and young children, scaling ladders and enjoying swings with their parents, with their fathers.
How such a scene must torment him...an yet he chose a path that would take him that way...was he punishing himself? Showing himself what he had lost...
Aradia frowned to herself as she followed him to his car, appearing in the seat beside him as he started the engine. There was much she would have to find out about this man before she could help him.
He drove in silence, no radio, no music. Nothing. Just his thoughts. So many, so very many thoughts, questions buffeting back and forth in his mind. Some Aradia could sense, others passed too quickly, too quietly for even her keen senses.
Then another memory. His eyes grew bright as she saw him begin to lose himself once more.
She reached across and tentatively touched his shoulder. Not wanting to distract him from his driving, but knowing he was clearly a very perceptive mortal.
It was her, the woman, the mother...he was leaving...she was crying...clinging to him, desperate for him to stay...he soothed her, trying to calm her obvious fears...
"Everything will be okay, I promise...You know how important promises are to me"

Aradia withdrew her hand as the memory began to fade, her eyes drifting to his face, seeing such strength and resilience that had lived there once, now covered over with regret and distress.
Suddenly he moved, leaning to alter the volume of the radio, she sensed he was waiting for something that somehow they both knew wasn't coming.
He guided the car around the final turns towards his home.
Aradia felt a weight settling on her own shoulders as they drew nearer. Homecomings were usually happy.
This homecoming was filled with nothing but anguish...

Hoping against all hope for a call for assistance that would allow him to do anything but return to the dwelling that had been their home, Stanley continued his drive through town. There was to be no relief from his gloom this evening; no call to duty that would temporarily exorcise the demons trapping him in the hell of his own memories...

*********

Stan reluctantly left Steph in the kitchen, and headed downtown to the station. Detective Paul "Jocko" Larsen, his roommate from their academy days was waiting for him inside. Jocko had received the call that had come in over the tip line. Jocko slipped a note to Stan and commented: The guy wouldn't leave a name, but said he had to talk to you tonight. Said it had to do with Moretti, I hated to bother you, but figured I had better let you know right away."

"Thanks Jocko. You did the right thing." Stan replied.

Collaring Giacomo Moretti, son of Vincenzo Moretti - head of the Moretti crime family, had been a shining moment in the brilliant career of Detective Wlodarski. Only last month had Stan's testimony at Moretti's sentencing helped sealed the fate of the swaggering cop killer. Moretti was currently residing on Death Row at the New Jersey State Penitentiary, awaiting the needle that would relieve the earth of one more piece of worthless garbage.

It had been Stan's dogged determination and dedication to duty that had led to the arrest, conviction, and eventual death sentence for the mob heir. Giacomo and his thugs had gunned down two uniforms unfortunate enough to take their 2:00 a.m. coffee break in a diner across from an alley in which Moretti had staged the culmination of a major drug buy.

The poor guys never saw it coming, they had left the diner, their curiosity piqued by the presence of cars in the alley. Before they could say good evening, let alone draw their weapons, one of Moretti's goons had taken them out with gut shots. One had been a rookie less than two months out of the academy, the other a family man like Stan himself.

All cops hate cop killers, departments tend to put their best people on cases involving slain officers. Stan was Cranfield Heights best, so was assigned the case. It was all he could do to keep his bile down when he came upon the bodies of the two uniformed patrolmen.

The coroner said the slugs would have been fatal, but they were not the immediate cause of death. Stan had guessed that when he saw the corpses lying in the alley. Gunning down the two cops had not been enough for Moretti apparently, what had killed the officers was the message Giacomo left for the detectives and coroner to find.

The Moretti family was big on messages. If someone stuck their nose into business in which it didn't belong, they cut it off. If a thug was greedy and put his hand in the till, he lost it. In this case the officers died because they saw too much. This was apparent from the shards of glass that had been shoved through their eyes, and into the bundle of nerves behind. It was an act of gruesome savageness; Moretti's way of taunting the force with his percieved invincibility.

Stan had proven Giacomo wrong. Stan had put him away. Now the slimeball would die.

He had thought that chapter of his life was closed for the time being. The case file shipped to storage along with the evidence should it was needed for an appeal. Stan wondered what an informant could offer him that he did not already know. He wondered if it was someone willing to finally come forth about the old man. It was a brave soul if true.

Stan looked at the address on the paper he had received from Jocko. He recognized the address as being in the area of the warehouses that aligned the river. He made the decision then to go incognito.

"What's available in the impound lot? he asked his friend. "I had better leave the squad car here. Anyone recognizes it or hears the radio chatter and it will not be a healthy situation, especially for the informant!"

"The Navigator from the Estrada drug bust is still there." replied Jocko. "Its not scheduled to go to auction until next week. Take it."

The downside to using one of the impound vehicles, was the lack of the radio, but Stan figured it would be well worth the risk if it led to nailing the crime boss. Stan drove down to the warehouse district keeping an eye out for vehicles tailing him. It never hurt to be cautious.

He cruised along the waterfront, trying to locate the building matching the address he had been given. He pulled the Navigator up and parked just outside the reach of the light from a lonely street lamp. Checking his weapon to ensure the safety was off, he eased from behind the wheel and looked around for the informant. Not finding anyone, Stan proceeded to the building.

It was dark, no signs of occupation, no lights were visible. Something wasn't right. Stan pressed his frame against the side of the building and slipped between it and the next, staying in the shadows. He saw no one; he heard no noise. Stan was about to head back to the station, figuring the informant had a change of heart, when he caught a glimpse of something flapping on the rear office door.

Approaching with caution, ever aware of his surroundings, Stan crept to the door to see a single sheet of white paper, folded in half, tacked to the door. Removing his pen from his shirt pocket, Stan used it to open the fold to discover a single line of text. His blood ran cold in his veins as he assimilated the words:

you took one of mine, now i take something of yours

His gaze was still distant and growing more and more distressed as the moments passed. Aradia leant as close as she dared, closing her eyes and attuning her mind to his own, the images and feelings of his memories passing through her as strongly and as clearly had they been her own.

Conversations and emotions flickered through her, names that evoked such hatred within the man beside her.
Moretti...
A name she knew was somehow inextricably linked to the horrible tragedy this man had faced. A name that caused anger to surge through the blood of the mortal at her side. The image of two dead policemen, shot and their eyes horrendously mutilated with glass, quickly explained why.

Watching his memories in her mind she saw him driving through the night to place abandoned and dark, alone and yet somehow unafraid.
Stalking between the shadows, she felt a chill descend upon her as he spotted a piece of paper. Almost hearing his heart stop as he opened it to read it's contents...a few words, a simple message...a deadly message...

you took one of mine, now i take something of yours

It was a trap...he had been lured from the side of his family to this place to discover this horrible promise...for it was not a threat, Aradia knew if it had been a mere threat she would not be where she was...

Her heartache increasing as his memory froze at the image...she reached out once more to touch his shoulder, willing him to feel the calming, warm nature of the touch but nothing more. Wanting somehow to ease his suffering, although without revealing herself to him, she could do little in her current form. But a touch was sometimes all it took.

Continuing to drive through the personal hell of his memories, Stan blindly guided the car closer to the home he now dreaded to set foot inside. Recalling the sheer panic, the normally rock steady detective, experienced at his first glimpse of that evil note only made Stan loathe himself all the more. The police shrink told him it wasn't his fault what happened. Stan knew better.

Tears once again threatened to blind him so he pulled the squad car to the side of the road to let it pass. He had been doing that a lot lately. He was about to once again curse the powers that be that could have let that night happen when he felt something else there in the car.

Confused and overwhelmed by his emotions, he thought Steph had been sitting there touching his shoulder again. It was the same sensation that he had felt down by the river earlier that evening. He looked over at the passenger side of the car in hopes of her miracle return, but he would have to be satisfied with a memory.

******

Stan remembered the look in her eyes on the day of their wedding; how beautiful she looked at the back of the Church; the way the whole room lit up as she walked down the aisle. When Stephanie had looked into his eyes and said I do, he had felt as if he could take on the world for her.

He didn't remember much else from the ceremony, just her face. He remembered saying I do and slipping on her wedding band, but not a thing about the priest or the church. That day he only had eyes for his young bride. The smile on her face and in her eyes indicated the promise of the future they would build and share together.

He remembered all the well wishers outside the church swarming them as they headed to the limo waiting to take them to the reception. His best man Jocko shouldered the crowd aside so he could slip his bride into the car. He remembered how they laughed and giggled in the quiet of the limo when he asked her: "Well Mrs. Wlodarski, ready to start answering questions about how long before the grandchildren arrive?"

Steph had melted into his arms and they would have made love right then and there had it not been for the voluminous wedding dress she wore. As it was, they were nearing her father's country club where the reception was being held. He asked the driver to pull off the road before entering so they could have a moment alone before accepting the congratulations of their guests.

Steph had leaned into him, her face tilted slightly, and parted her lips. Stan hungrily kissed his bride, their tongues dancing to the music that filled their hearts. They parted, both sighing, and acknowledged that they would have plenty of time for each other after the reception. They knew their whole lives were in front of them. They were only at the start of several decades to come: growing, living, loving, and sharing together as they raised their family.

The promise of the future had been very bright indeed.

*******

His eyes dry once again, his heart lightened by the pleasant memories that had surfaced, Stan once again eased the squad car into traffic and headed home. He sighed however, realizing the memories that would greet him there were not going to be the pleasant ones he had recently enjoyed.

He looked at her again, his eyes searching the air where she was. Aradia could see the desperation and hope that it the sensation he had felt had been real, had come from her. As his eyes swept back and forth over her form which his eyes could not see, she felt his mood lifting, the atmosphere around them changing. His memories grew brighter, full of love and joy and happiness. Aradia didn't need to touch him, or draw closer, to know what he was thinking about. The look in his eyes told her everything. He was thinking about her, about the woman he loved.

Aradia let her eyes move over his face as he submerged himself in his happier memory. His tear bright eyes seemed to calm as his mind replayed the loving thoughts in his head. Even in his happiness she could sense the ever present cold sensation of apprehension and fear, edging everything, coating everything like a winter’s frost.
She saw flashes of a wedding dress, smiling faces, a bouquet, exchanging rings, embraces, bodies wanting one another but knowing they should wait. She sighed knowing she had never, and would never, experience anything quite like that for herself. In her own lifetime she had been loved and was promised to wed…but fate had decided such things were not for her.

As the man lost himself in his own memories she allowed herself to revisit places in her long distant past that she hadn’t thought about for a long, long time. Family, friends, places. Feelings and emotions that had felt so very real at the time but had since faded into the mists of time, along with all of those she had known and loved.
Just as her memories were about to rush upon her, drowning her in them and forcing her back to the time before her death, the man moved, driving the car back out into the road.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. She wasn’t there for herself, she was there for him. And he needed her, of that there was no question. As the vehicle drew closer and closer to his home, the sense of impending doom only increased, pressing down on the both of them.

Turning his squad car into his neighborhood, Stan's anxiety level soared. He knew this evening there would be no flashing lights of police and ambulance units outside his house. In his mind though they were always there, a glaring reminder of the horrible tragedy that weighed down on his soul like an anchor dragging him down, holding him in the depths of his failure.

He had promised Stephanie that he would keep them safe from the misery he faced every time he strapped on his service revolver. He had failed to prevent the tragedy that befell his wife and daughter.

Stan paid for it every day of his sorry life.

It always happened when he made the final turn into the cul de sac that led to their once happy home. The flashing lights, visible only to his tortured soul blinding him, stunning him as his panic level soared. It was always the same. It always started with that ominous slip of paper tacked to the warehouse door.

*******
you took one of mine, now i take something of yours

Heedless of disturbing any fingerprints that, unlikely as it were, may be on the note; Stan ripped it off the door and thrust it in his pocket. He blindly ran back to the borrowed Navigator and fired the engine. Driving through town at breakneck speed, hoping to come across a traffic unit, he had to get word to send help to his house immediately. If a cruiser stopped him he could get an alert out on the radio right away. "Where the fuck are the cops when you need them?" he shouted to nobody in particular.

He had to make it home, he could stop that scum Moretti's thugs. If only he was fast enough. He cursed himself for not taking a police unit. How foolish to jeopardize his family out of concern for some worthless unknown informant. "What the hell was I thinking?" he thought as he flew threw light after light trying to get home to Stephanie and Jennifer, praying to be in time.

He wasn't.

Rounding the corner, turning onto his cul de sac, he saw the police and ambulance were already on the scene. He practically rammed the black and white unit blocking off the street in front of his house before he locked up the breaks and skidded to a halt. Not bothering to turn off the engine or shut the door he shouldered his way past the uniformed officer charged with protecting the crime scene. He yelled detective to the stunned flatfoot as he charged across the lawn to his front porch.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the arrival of the coroner's meat wagon. Bellowing at the top of his lungs, Stan tried to force his way past the detectives waiting on the porch. The four men grabbed him, holding him in place as he kicked and struggled against them, landing a solid blow to one's jaw in his efforts. "Shit, I can always apologize tomorrow." he thought as he tried to get past them again swinging wildly. "Let go of me you assholes! let me get to my family!" he was screaming at his co-workers.

Joined by a couple of uniforms they managed to wrestle Stan to the ground and hold him still for a moment. Stan was alternately yelling, cursing and sobbing completely out of control until, Jocko's voice pierced his hysteria and penetrated to his rapidly dwindling sanity.

"Get off of him you bastards! Let him up dammit!" Jocko managed to lock his eyes with Stan's.

"Wlodarski isn't going to charge in there, are you Stan?" Jocko spoke calmly to both Stan and the officers restraining him. "DETECTIVE WLODARSKI knows that we are on a crime scene."

Jocko's stressing of his rank and last name helped Stan reach back and find what most law enforcement types refer to as "official mode". The part of his consciousness that every good officer develops allowing him to maintain objectivity under the most stressful of situations.

Stan's struggles ceased. The officers holding him released him reluctantly. Nobody but Jocko would look him in the face. Stan forced himself to get his breathing under control as he looked to his long time friend to help him make sense of what was happening.

Stan knew that Jocko would have already told him if there was hope to be found.

"Stanislav, it is not pretty in there." Jocko proceeded to explain in the monotone that he always used to state facts when detailing a case. "If I let you inside Stan, you must stay with me and promise not to do anything either of us will regret later. Do you understand me?"

"Its my fucking house Jocko, get out of my way." He reached to pass by his friend, but only half heartedly. He knew in his mind what he would find if he got past Jocko. Stan knew his friend was right.

"Come on Stan. I'm trusting you to honor what you know we have to do here." Jocko held his gaze.

As Jocko stepped aside, Stan entered his house. The stench of death was in the air as he stepped into the living room to take in the scene. Crime scene photographers and investigators were collecting the evidence.

you took one of mine, now i take something of yours

The image of the words once again imprinted itself on Stan's consciousness as he took in what had happened. This was not simply a murder scene; just like the note at the warehouse, this was a message from Moretti.

The thugs had obviously been instructed in exactly what to do. The corpses of his wife and daughter were carefully arranged so that Stan would clearly get the point. Stephanie and Jennifer had been strapped down to the crucifix shaped sheets of plywood on his living room floor. They were laid out like Giacomo would be when it came time for the needle to be delivered that would rid the world of the scumbag once and for all.

Only the telltale signs on the bodies of his wife and daughter revealed that they didn't get the slow sleep of death ending their lives the way that bastard would. Who knew what kind of bizarre cocktail, delivered by the hypodermic needles even now being tagged and bagged by the investigators, had reduced his family to two piles of lifeless flesh.

The bruises where they had fought their restraints indicated that whatever poisons had been introduced had battered them from the inside, damaging organs and tissues. Both Stephanie and Jennifer had struggled for a long time before finally succumbing to lay in their voided wastes on his living room floor.

He had pushed too far and now Moretti had pushed back.

"I promise that we will track down the crazy ass bastards that did this Stan." came Jocko's words.

Numbly Stan reached into his pocked and pulled out the note. He handed it to his friend.

Jocko read the note and started to speak before Stan held out his hand to stop him.

"You know who did it; you know why." Stan intoned. "Don't promise me a damn thing Jocko. Tonight I learned that promises don't mean a god dammed thing."

******

Stan pulled the squad car into the driveway and headed into the house. For the thousandth time since that night he told himself he would sell the place and move somewhere else. He unlocked the front door and went inside. He robotically hung his coat on the rack by the door,

Without looking into the living room, Stan began to slowly climb the stairs. Reaching the second floor he entered what had once been his daughter's room. sitting on the bed surrounded by the stuffed animals and toys that had been her prized possessions he slipped his service revolver out of the holster.

Perhaps tonight was the night that he would end his suffering. He clung to Jen's teddy bear the way he had seen her clutch at it for much the same reason as she did. He was seeking some comfort, redemption, and sense of justice in the world.

Since that night this room had become a shrine to his lost family, he had brought in pictures of them together. On the floor next to an open photo album lay Stephanie's wedding ring; next to that was a lock of hair from Jennifer's first haircut. He knew other treasures were here as well, Jen's first lost tooth, the first Father's Day card they had given him. Things... that is all they were now. reminders of what should have been.

Tonight was the night he would join them. His hand shook as he raised the weapon in his hand to his mouth. His family was only one slow gentle squeeze away now. He rarely prayed anymore but he hoped that if God was listening, he would allow Stan to at least apologize to Steph and Jen for his broken promise before being sent to the Hell that he so greatly deserved.

Stan closed his eyes as he felt the cold steel against his lips. "Come on you fucking coward! Do it!" he cursed himself and his shaking hands as he lowered the gun to the bed. Yet again he failed. He couldn't even take his own life.

The last thought he had before eventually falling asleep on the floor of Jen's room was: "There is always tomorrow night."