The Galileo Affair

[Maid of Marvels]

Dr. Sidney Hollingsworth sat at her desk, transcribing some notes into her computer files, the framed documents on the wall behind her banners of her scholarly achievements. Glancing at her watch, she noted with a sigh that she should have been out of her office two hours before. One of these days... It was a promise she made to herself daily, though one she was seldom able to keep.

Logging out at last, Sidney pushed herself back from her desk just as her pager went off. "Damn!" It was Jack. Dr. Jack Richardson. Former mentor cum lover. Currently... Sidney sighed.

Had she forgotten a date? She really wasn't in the mood for the sound of his superior tone as he reminded her yet again that they -- read he -- was just as important as her patients were. Well, whatever he wanted, she could just give him a gentle brush-off and head for home. At least if she replied now, her machine wouldn't be littered with messages by morning.

Lifting the receiver from its cradle, she punched in Jack's number and waited for him to answer.

"Richardson here."

"Jack, it's Sid. I'm sorry, but I'll have to b... "

"Sidney. I'm so glad I caught you before you left. A man was brought in this afternoon... "

Sidney closed her eyes in an attempt to shut out the inevitable. Why people did that, she never did know. "Tell me about him."

"No. Wait, Sid. Hear me out, okay? A wino. John Doe. He's comatose."

"Jack. Can't you pass him off to someone else? You know I'm full up." The last thing she wanted right now was to deal with some guy in the last stages of cyrrhosis. Even one of the residents could handle this.

"He keeps mumbling something, Sid. I wrote it down. Just a sec. Phonetically, it sounds like "ee poor see moo ah vey". No one knows what it means. Come on, Sid. Please?"

"Epur si muove," she repeated. "It's Italian. An odd thing for a wino to be mumbling." Taking another look at her watch, she took a deep breath. "Okay, Jack. I'm hooked... but you owe me. Again. Big time. Where is he? I'll be right over."

OOC: This is a story for chris2c4u and myself. Read along as the intricacies of this tale ravel and unravel across time and space in our search for the identity of John Doe.

As ever, comments and critiques by PM are always welcome.

Maid & chris2c4u

 

[chris2c4u]

John Doe

Sounds. Breaking glass. Bells. Sirens. Voices underwater, gurgling smokily. "What's your name? Tell me your name, hold on now." Mary?

Sights. Blue, azure, deepest blue, a sky? Arching higher than God's heaven.

The man on the ground next to him in the alley was feeding a line into his arm. "You'll be OK buddy, can you focus? How many fingers? Tell me your name."

The cop who'd found him was talking to the other paramedic - he'd noticed she was cute and she wasn't wearing a ring so what the hell maybe he'd get her cell. "He's a wino I guess. Maybe sleeping here, maybe tried to rob something from Yang's," he pointed to the Chinese family gathered on the doorstep of the little convenience store whose window had been broken. "Almost missed him, those rags he's got on stink to hell - pardon my French - and blend in real well with the crap around here." The paramedic gave him a nod and went to help her colleague.

The cop shrugged; you win some, you lose some. Ahh Pat, you should have walked on by, think of the paperwork for this heap of garbage. He gave the medics a cynical glance but didn't ask them why were they trying to save him, tell them that the world would be better off without him. That was why they were medics he supposed; they just had to try. He switched on his radio to report back to the precinct before going over to the Yang's hoping they would clam up. Case closed.

Smells. Piss. Rat piss. Cabbage. Scallion, garlic, Szechuan peppercorns.

"We're gonna lift you up now, OK?"

They had on a collar for his neck and brace for his back just in case though their check didn't show major damage. Black eye, abrasions, some blood loss from the cut on his chest; maybe internal injuries though. He was on the stretcher, rolling towards the ambulance.

Sensations. Hands probing his soul. Pain twisting his gut. Air. Perfume.

Allie rode in the back with him as they jerked through the traffic, checking the saline, she looked at his face as the John Doe murmured. She put her hand on his forehead. "Can you hear me? Tell me your name honey. You're going to be all right." She listened again but couldn't work out his slurring.

He opened his eyes and saw the black. Blind then. No. Sudden light flooded his mind. He closed his eyes. More black.

*****

Jack Richardson wasn't accident and emergency any more; every time he went and saw the people waiting, the junior doctors surviving on caffeine and donuts he was pleased with his relatively new consultancy. This time though, he'd had a call from an A and E nurse he'd dated a few times and was mildly curious to get back in the sack with her after what she'd promised him before they drifted apart.

"It's a weird one Jack, thought you might like to help us out."
"Would love to, what's up?" Intrigued by the story he went down to the cubicle they'd put the John Doe in to find a crowd of four people, who should have been working, listening to this guy.

"What is this, a convention?" One of the junior doctors thought it better if he wasn't there but the rest stayed.

"What's he saying Jack...Dr Richardson," Susan secretly squeezed his ass with her small black hand, "we can't work it out. Thought it might help us to identify him, he's no papers, nothing."

Jack, though a little distracted by her squeeze of his posterior, listened and pulled out his telephone bill and scribbled down on it what the guy was saying. It still made no sense; not to him. But he knew someone who might know.

"Let me...look it up in my office. I think I know what it is but I just need to check," he told Susan. He left to make a phonecall.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

True to form, Jack was nowhere to be found by the time she got over to City General, though he had left a message to call him later. Picking up his chart, Sid waved off the nurse who offered to accompany her. "It's okay, Nancy. I just want to take a quick look. I won't be in there very long."

His cubicle wasn't far from the desk, the sound of beeping monitors along with the unseen but inevitable accompanying display of blinking lights and the whoosh slap of a ventilator served as an audible Baedeker to his location.

"Good evening," Sidney said as she walked over to him riffling through the scant pages of notes as she approached. John Doe wouldn't be able to reply with the vent inserted, but she knew that he would be able to hear her. Not knowing if he spoke English or something else altogether, she added "Buonasera" as an afterthought. The phrase Jack had copied down -- epur si muove -- was definitely Italian. At any rate, it couldn't hurt.

Setting his chart on the end of the narrow bed, Sidney moved closer. There had been a diagram of his body showing scars and bruises, but there was one of particular interest to her. "My Italian is poor, but I will use both. Posso... ? Do you mind?"

Pulling back his johnnycoat, Sidney continued to talk as she traced her fingers over the scar on his neck. Not a cut, she thought, it looked almost as though someone had tried to strangle him with a garotte. And nothing recent, either -- the scar tissue had lightened over time to something only slightly darker in flesh-tone than his normal complexion.

"My name is Sidney Hollingsworth," she said. "Il mio nome e' Sidney Hollingsworth. I'm a doctor... il medico and this is a hospital... Siete in ospedale."

Pulling his gown back up, she pushed a damp strand of hair off of his forehead and pulled up a chair beside his bed. Taking his hand in her own, she examined it. Odd for a wino or street person, she thought. His nails were dirty and a little long, but they weren't torn or chewed down. In fact, she thought they looked as though he had had them manicured -- or at least took good care of himself. Before... Sidney hadn't meant to even take on this case, but now she was hooked.

"You were speaking Italian they said. You are no common street person. I can't just call you John Doe. I wish I knew your name. Come ti chiami? Where are you from? Da dove vieni? Do you have a wife? Family? C'è la moglie? La famiglia?"

"I'm a psychologist," she sighed, unable to remember the word -- if, in fact, she had ever known it. "I will be coming to see you every day... ogni giorno. I want to help."

Totally unprofessional, she chided herself. Absolutely and totally. Standing up, she patted him on his shoulder. "Ciao... I will call you... Daniel. That was my father's name and a good one. I'll tell you more about him another time -- or you can wake up and correct me." Picking the chart, she left his room and returned it to the desk.

"Well, I'm off. I'm really beat. See you gals tomorrow," Sid said to the nurses behind the desk with a tired smile, barely slowing as she headed for the elevators.

What had she gotten herself into, she wondered? What indeed.

 

[chris2c4u]

Dr Rosenberg pushed his half moon glasses to a better place on his beak of a nose and finished the notes on the John Doe. Richardson had found out something about the patient's compulsive repetition; Italian it seemed. Well, someone had found it out for him, Isaac thought cynically. Richardson had never impressed him intellectually.

Looking at the figure in the bed he wondered how much he was going to cost the hospital just as a voice behind him said, "is he ours now doctor?"

Looking around he smiled at the two junior nurses. "Yes Jane, he needs cleaning up. Not much wrong with him otherwise. Bit of concussion, reflexes ok." Rosenberg was puzzled really; the alcohol and drugs tests had been negative. Not your typical wino or addict looking to knock over a convenience store. "Just have to wait for him to wake up. If there are any signs page the duty doc. If he says anything try and work it out. Either of you speak Italian? Nevermind."

***

Paper, falling from a sky: blue, streaked with tears; John Doe dreamed. Walking on cobbles, a lute playing from a balcony somewhere, water running over his body. Voices singing, far away, in another world, "I'll be your friend forever if you'll change shifts with me, I want to spend the weekend with my boyfriend." Laughter.

The nurses finished their bed bath of the nameless patient.

John Doe dreamed of light, fractured through stained glass, pouring colours on the floor of his dream, colours that danced into the shape of a woman's mouth.
"Buonasera."
The colours sounded nice. In his dream his mouth didn't work.

"Epur si muove." He began to run away as the whitewashed walls started to drip blood.

Perfume drifted into his dream; jasmine? The faintest sensation of touch made the nameless patient's eyelids flutter just as her hands traced the scar. A shadow of a shadow remained of his memory of where it came from, twisted into parody by his dreams. A piano, lurching down the road dressed as a heavy from a film noir, it reached in, pulled one of its own wires out and looped it round his neck. Its keys a grotesque mouth, laughing and it pulled the wire tight.

"Do you have a wife? C'è la moglie?"

John Doe dreamed.

Spooning her sleeping form in the dawn's whiteness, feeling her breathing next to him, the dream switched focus again. This man abed with a lover wasn't John Doe; he'd switched into the soul of another man. She wasn't the wife of this other man, this Marina. He stroked her hair as they lay in the small house on the Ponte Corvo.

"La famiglia?"

His hand ran down to caress Marina's swelling belly. Born of fornication they would say.

"I will be coming to see you every day... ogni giorno. I want to help."

Every day they would come. Every day. Yes, he tried to forget they were coming but they forced open the door of his dream. Twisted into a feedback howl in his head the voice he remembered said, "give it up. We'll make it easy on you."

Blackness. Blessed be. The monitors kept up the steady counting of his heartbeat.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sidney Hollingsworth leaned back in her chair and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell she was doing. Her first visit to the comatose man had been out of curiosity -- that and to get Jack Richardson off her back. If she went to see the guy, Jack would find another amusement for the evening. A bonus of sorts.

They'd had an affair early on; he'd been her mentor. It had been exciting and passionate, thrilling even; but after awhile it just wasn't there for her any more. Jack Richardson was a fraud on a personal level. Once he was certain of someone or something he just didn't need to put forth the effort anymore -- and it showed. Now he only chased her cause his ego was bruised, and he knew she had long since tired of his bullshit.

She knew he'd taken the credit for naming the language spoken when Daniel was brought in. It didn't surprise her nor was it unexpected. Sidney was sure that he wasn't pulling the wool over too many eyes lately anyway. And that, too, was cool. What goes around and all that jazz.

But back to the John Doe... She had been going each evening for six days now and was ecstatic when they had finally removed the vent even though there was little change in his condition otherwise. From the first, Sidney realized that Daniel was someone other than just a "John Doe", other than the usual homeless alcoholic or addict who came through the emergency room doors of City General every single day of the week. He was a mystery, admittedly, but he had become far more to her in the short time since the first phone call from Jack.

Sidney really didn't know what she was doing or why. There was something that pulled her to him, made her give him a "name". Brought her back there day after day when she didn't have the time for herself let alone another patient. What was it? Certainly not just another pretty face. Maybe it was transference... Her mind began to travel back to when she was younger and her twin brother was...

"No! I won't go there!" Slamming her fist down on her desk, she shook the memory from her mind and slammed out of her office.

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

Sid started speaking as soon as she walked into his room. "Buonasera, Daniel. It's me, Dr. Hollingsworth. Come stai?"

She'd brought a radio with her this evening, knowing that the more aural stimulus he had, the more likely he was to wake. Plugging it in, she fiddled with the tuner until she found the local NPR station. It would offer a variety of music as well as news and talk with little to no commercial interruption -- those jingles were enough to drive a well person insane. Satisfied that the signal was clear, she adjusted the volume and pulled a chair over to his bedside.

"Posso?" Sidney asked the same question every evening before she sat, though she wasn't sure what she would do if he ever told her that he indeed did mind. Probably jump for joy, she thought with a chuckle.

"Your color seems to be improving," Sid said quietly, tracing her fingers across his cheek. "You could do with a shave though. I'll see if one can be arranged."

She prattled on almost mindlessly for the next hour, talking about the weather and how fast summer seemed to have gone by. Sid talked about what she wanted to read -- when she found the time, of course and she mentioned the vacation she'd been planning for so long that it seemed to be almost a dream. She told him the day and the date and periodically would state the time.

Sidney had promised to tell him about her father, the person whose name she'd given him, but she didn't. She also didn't talk about her brother, Tommy. Maybe she should. Maybe it would help to exorcise some of her own personal demons. Even so, she remained silent on both counts and found other things to discuss.

"You must tire of hearing me drone on endlessly, Daniel" she said finally. "You could always wake and tell me to shut up, you know. And I just might. I just might. But for now, I hear a hot shower and my bed calling so I'm going home." Standing, she put the chair back against the wall and returned to the bedside for just a moment. "I know you have quite a story to tell. I'd bet anything you do. Satisfy my curiosity will you? I hate riddles."

Patting his shoulder, Sid sighed and walked out of the room. "Buona notte, Daniel. See you tomorrow."

 

[chris2c4u]

Morning came white and still, lying on his eyes. Something was missing. He moved around in the bed, not worried about the blur of his eyes. Words began to come back like air rushing in to fill a vacuum his mind started to hum a tune of words. Faces started to flow into and out of his head. Faces but no names, no connections. Something was missing.

His eyes became used to working again and the words said Hospital and that was what it was. The naming made his room real.

Arms, they were real too and he could moved them, though it made his chest ache. He tried to sit up, there was a sting in his side and he lay still. Far away, sounds of corridors being cleaned clanked buckets through his brain. More and more words made their reappearance to his consciousness. He opened his mouth; it felt dry and he looked for water; it would be in a glass. The top of the cabinet was bare. He knew what to do though.

"Nugghh" He knew but his throat wouldn't agree with him as he tried to call a nurse. It began to cough instead, making his ribs ache more. Then he saw the red button on the bed. Reaching for it he pressed it.

The swing door opened and a young man put his head in. "Hey, welcome back to the land of the living!" He smiled and came in, reaching for John Doe's hand, mechanically taking his pulse. The patient croaked again, pointing to his mouth. He tried "Wata?"

The nurse noted the pulse rate and smiled. "Sure, no problem, nothing to say you can't have liquids or solids." Going over to a sink he filled a feeding bottle and brought it to the bedside.

"Whoa, careful there," the nurse dabbed at John's gown where he had dribbled. The water tasted good, loosening his voice.

More came flooding back, more skills. He traced his eyes across the little rectangle on the nurse's chest. Alan. Words could be written down. It was called writing. Interpreting them was reading. John could read.

The inside of his mind became bigger than the room with an image - a memory? Books, piled on books on comfortingly old wooden shelving, seats, desks, quiet. Peace. That was the place to be.

"Ok, well it's early, I'll leave the docs a message to come look at you when they get in for rounds. You OK?"

The patient was smiling. He nodded. Peace.

"OK, now, can you tell me your name?"

Looking into the nurse's brown eyes he framed a word, pleased by its entry into the world; almost intelligible.

"Daniel," he said, though something was missing.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

The nurses were buzzing when she arrived at the hospital that evening. John Doe was awake and he even had a name! Daniel, they'd announced proudly, sending the adrenallin surge of excitement she'd felt plummeting into the depths of her stomach.

"That's not his name," Sidney said quietly, effectively deflating the festive balloon of elation that had obviously been the atmosphere of the day. "It's just what I've been calling him."

So now what did she do? The news that he was awake was fantastic, but the fact that the name she'd "given" him had somehow insinuated itself into the man's subconscious as his own, was... Face it, Hollingsworth. You've been less than professional from the first, and now it's up to you to set things right.

She knocked on his door before walking in, startled by the intensity of the look on his face as he turned to her voice. He looked as though he knew her but at the same time struggling to remember who she was. "Buonasera," Sidney said as she approached the bed and placed her hand on the back of the chair before moving it closer. "Posso... may I?"

"I'm Dr. Sidney Hollingsworth," she said by way of re-introduction. "I've been here every day since you arrived... which is why my voice might seem familiar."

He hadn't taken his eyes from her since Sid had walked into the room and it made her feel a little uncomfortable despite understanding how he must be trying to fit pieces together. Not sure where to begin to try to set things right, Sidney sat down.

"This must all seem very strange to you. You were found in an alley and brought here. Here being City General. You were found a week ago -- the twenty sixth of August. Today is Thursday the second of September. Can you remember any of it? Anything at all?"

"Your name... " She watched him as intently as he watched her, his fingers drumming a tattoo on the bed. Perhaps this was overkill. They must have asked him these same questions and more all day.

"Daniel," he finally replied quietly, though the confusion in his eyes was quite evident, and all the while his fingers kept drumming, drumming.

"No," Sidney said quietly. "That is what I chose to call you when they had labelled you 'John Doe'. I didn't want you to be... nameless. I'm sorry... mi spiace... I don't even know what language you speak."

 

[chris2c4u]

The day had been full; tests on faculties, muscles, reflexes. Dr
Rosenberg had been pleased as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Well Daniel, you're fine. Except...have you started to remember
anything other than your name?"

"Not really." Rosenberg had noted from the first the soft accent, which could have been New England, possibly with a trace of somewthing but definitely not Italian. The patient went on, "there are faces I see. Men and women. A tall, blue roof. Also a place comes back a few times - it's like a library, a place I feel a sense of peace." He shrugged as Isaac watched the nervous twitching of the unknown man's fingers, something he seemed almost unconscious of himself.

"Well, the important thing is not to worry, you remember what we've done today? Good, so there's no damage to the laying down of memory. These things often right themselves after a few days." He smiled and said as he left, "a few days of rest, eh?"

There was no reply; Daniel sank into his pillow, sank into the swirling mass of thoughts; like a set of pigeonholes caught in a storm, papers blowing everywhere, out of place, out of time.

He had slept again, a dark, dreamless sleep this time to be woken by a voice that he recalled. "Buonasera," He watched the woman smile as she saw him and as she approached the bed and placed her hand on the back of the chair before moving it closer. "Posso... may I?"

The voice, it had snaked ito his mind while he slept. His nervous
drumming of his fingers grew more rapid as he gazed at her. This, you see before you, is called Feminine Beauty, said the labeller in his head. His eyes tracked her supple motions, traced the line of her jaw, the softness of her skin, the brightness of her eyes. He watched her, listened as she explained why that soft voice was known to him.

Your name... "

"Daniel."

"No," Sidney said quietly. "That is what I chose to call you when they had labelled you 'John Doe'. I didn't want you to be... nameless. I'm sorry... mi spiace... I don't even know what language you speak."

He looked away then looked up at the ceiling as the one piece of the jigsaw of his life was snatched away. Not Daniel? He sighed, long and deep.

"I speak English. Are you Italian?" Italian? Why was that important, how did Italy get into this fog in his head? He sat up a little in the bed his eyes dark gimlets as he pointed a finger towards her. "What would you say if I gave you the moon?" He smiled a crooked smile, leaning forward conspiratorially, beckoning her close. "No; more. Not one moon. Four moons." He gave a short laugh and fell back onto his pillow, his hand still drumming a rythmic beat, a repeating bass line on the bed cover.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

His eyes were dark, intense when he spoke; and yet they showed a sparkle of something other. Something she couldn't quite place. Excitement? Humor? He wasn't mocking her, but she had the feeling she should know what he was talking about.

He had closed his eyes, but his fingers were still beating that rat-rat-a-tat on the bed. Fascinated, she watched his fingers while she waited for him to answer, noting that there was a certain cadence to it. A song, perhaps; he seemed to pause every so often. Breaks in lyrics?

"You're a puzzle to me, Da... " Sidney stopped herself before completing the name. "I'm sorry. I should stop calling you that. Perhaps you have one you'd prefer?" It was subtle -- and a long shot, but she hoped that his own name would be the first to enter his mind.

It seemed her question had spurred the rapidity of his fingers' movements. Thinking to quiet him, Sidney placed her hand gently over his. "Shh... " she whispered. "Shh... " Even with the weight of her hand, his fingers were still tapping out the pattern.

"I seem to have upset you. I apologize. I only want to help. Please tell me... " Sidney blinked. Tapping. Pattern. Could it be? She'd read a book once in high school. Nah. Just wishful thinking. Even so, it might be worth a shot. But who could she ask?

 

[chris2c4u]

"You're a puzzle to me, Da... " Sidney stopped herself before completing the name. "I'm sorry. I should stop calling you that. Perhaps you have one you'd prefer?"

He opened his eyes and saw her concerned look, her hope, expectation. Names; yes, one did keep echoing in his mind, there was some reason why it wanted to stay there.

"John," he said, "call me John." His fingers slowed. With the lack of self consciousness of a child - or a man with no past - he reached out his hand towards her, turning it palm up on the bedclothes. It was there for her to rest her hand in. Gradually, unbidden by deliberate thought, his other hand took up the beat again, drumming on his thigh.

"Lost," he said, then again, more questioningly as if the word concealed something in just four letters. "Lost…" His brow furrowed as in his mind's eye he saw a great door of burnished brass, men uniformed in strange costumes, clearly guards, stood either side of it. The vision dissolved and he realised he had been tensed, sitting up a tiny bit from the bed and pillows from his waist up. He exhaled and let himself - made himself - relax and settle back down.

He looked over to the woman on the chair by his bed. "Tell me where I am. And papers - newspapers - TV…maybe those will help? And mostly about you." He turned on his side towards her and gave her a grin. "I want to know lots of personal details very quickly…"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sidney placed her hand gently into his, once more noticing his long slender fingers, his well-groomed nails, the lack of calluses. Touching was important and so was a name -- both of these gave a person an anchor in the 'now' she felt, though he didn't look as though he was certain of the one he'd just given; and she wanted to believe that it wasn't based on the 'John Doe' moniker they'd tacked on him. Recalling his surname would hopefully come next... or at least soon.

"John it is and so it shall be. Pleased to meet you... John."

His next request was a delight. The curiosity shining in his eyes brought a large grin to her face. "You've set me to an Herculean task, John" Sidney remarked thoughtfully. "Oh, no... Not the newspapers nor the television," she chuckled. "The wanting to know about me. But first things first."

She pointed to a series of controls built into the railing of the bed. "This one," she explained, "is the button to call the nurses if you have a need. This is for the television." She pressed it lightly and looked up and they both looked up at a view of the main lobby displayed on its screen as it came on with a pinging sound. "The volume -- up and down, and the channels -- here."

John nodded as she continued. "The newspaper... " She turned around to where she had set today's edition when she came in. "Is... here." Sid handed it over and he took it as though it was some fragile manuscript, running his fingers gently over the newsprint and smiling bemused when he examined the excess ink that had darkened his fingertips.

"The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette," he said, the look in his eyes begging the question of location. It wasn't unusual to read a big city paper in a different mise-en-scène.

"Yes, we're in Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania," Sidney added as an afterthought. "This is a hospital. City General. You were... found... in an alley not far from here. A week ago. Today is Thursday, the second of September 2004." She repeated the date she had given when she'd first greeted him this evening, sensing that this scraplet of information would be more meaningful now that he was suddenly showing an interest.

John nodded again, a spark of the man he was gleaming in his eyes as they wandered from the television to the newspaper and back to her face. "Now you."

"That," Sidney said, "is the Herculean task. You are a glutton for punishment, John. I am boring as all get out. Are you sure?"

He smiled and set the newspaper down on his lap before reaching over to turn off the television. "Yes," he said simply as he replaced his hand, palm up, within her reach. "Everything."

Without realizing, Sid had wrapped her arms around her body protectively; a subconscious movement that screamed her unwillingness to share. Embarrassed by the fact that John had possibly recognized what she had done, and why, she tried to look nonchalant as she lowered her arms and put her hand into his once again. "Where to begin... Where to begin... "

John squeezed her hand. "At the beginning, of course. You were born."

"And so I was. On the twelfth of April. And I'll spare you the math, I am thirty two... once half of a set of fraternal twins." Sid left the explanation hanging, unsure why she had mentioned the fact at all, and more than a little agitated with herself that she had.

"I grew up in New Jersey," she hurried on. "Near the ocean... a town called Belmar. The house is still there, though I rarely have time to visit. Mom still lives there. Dad is gone... "

His eyes bored into her as she spoke, though Sidney felt it was more a sense of her own perception rather than the way he was actually looking at her. "I went to Belmar High -- cheerleader and Honor Society -- then on to college. Carnegie Mellon. I have a Phd. in Social Psychology. I have a semi-private practice but do occasional work for the city. And so here I am. Here we are."

Sidney took a deep breath. Somehow she didn't think that this Cliff Notes version of Sidney Hollingsworth's life-in-a-nutshell was exactly what John had asked for, but she didn't know what else to tell him. Didn't know what exactly he wanted to hear.
http://www.Bibracte.dreamwater.org/ATWAS/Sidney.jpg

 

[chris2c4u]

Listening - half listening, more than half watching, much more envying, the few scraps of her life she was ready to share made him wish for his own mind to inhabit. Did he have a twin? Did he go to university? Did he have money? He smiled to himself and she looked at him, tilting her head in question.

"I was just thinking, do I have money or am I in debt? If they come to collect, I'll just say I forgot." He smiled his crooked smile and looked at her.

Her storytelling was done. She fell silent and John flicked through
channels on the TV, seemingly absorbed by everything he came to. News, Bugs Bunny, buy this genuine diamond necklace for $45.99. As he watched his fingers tapped on Sid's palm, the same irregular pattern, repeating,over and over.

He wondered about himself, in an out-of-body-experience kind of way. He'd tried making the small pieces he'd told Isaac about fit but there was no pattern. He tried not to worry; it would come back.

"Found in an alley?" He repeated her phrase. He closed his eyes; it wasn't a recollection, not a memory, it was an occurence in his head. The door of the car was black and he was seeing it stand open from a vantage point in a gutter. He blinked and it was gone and he frowned, made as though to speak to her but held his tongue.

His mind started twisting, weaving the words she had spoken into a pattern of its own making.

"New Jersey, near the ocean."

The water he saw in his mind wasn't near New Jersey. He stood on the shore and something was in his hand, something - the tapping with his fingers became more intense on her palm. What was he trying to do, who was he trying to communicate with, there on that shore in - where?

He realised how tense he was when she reached over, gently settling him back on the bed.

The TV advertised car loans.

Were these bits of memory or fantasies created by his brain to fill the void? He glanced over to her and smiled. "I'll get some sleep," he said, "thanks for coming." He squeezed her hand and she patted his arm, promising to call again.

As she left he switched off the TV and tried to doze.

****

The black cassock highlighted the red face and purple nose. Nurse McCarthy smiled to herself; she's seen the same colouring on her own parish priest who had a fondness for Irish whiskey.

The gentle Irish brogue made the request seem innocent enough. "I saw it in the papers, about a week ago about the young man so badly beaten in my parish and I thought it my duty to come and see how he was getting along. Of course, I didn't know where he had been taken to so it's taken me a bit to get here. Parish life makes it difficult for me to find the time but this incident it just stuck in my mind. Such a terrible thing, isn't it? You're a Catholic girl yourself are you?"

The nurse smiled. "I'm not sure he's allowed visitors Father."

The priest returned a reassuring smile. "Now, it'll be just our little
secret, sure I'll just pop my head round the door, now what harm can that do?"

She smiled and nodded up the corridor. "Room 130."

"Bless you my dear," he said and walked slowly down the hall. Looking inside he saw just the figure in the bed and entered, closing the door behind him. From his pocket he pulled an ampule and syringe and quickly, quietly, walked to the bed. He filled the syringe with the clear liquid and pressed it to the sleeping figure's arm. At the cutting of his vein, the patient stirred. As the syringe was emptied into him he moved, opened his eyes slightly.

"Go to sleep John," said the Irish voice in his ear, "just routine."
Quickly, the black clad figure moved from the room.

John's dreams took him into a study, before a fire. The face of the
person he had just seen pushed a glass of Irish whiskey his way and the voice asked him to reconsider. "It's so big, John, I think you should think of the consequences. Another project perhaps - fully funded, of course, instead of this. What's the point of opening up these old wounds?"

John opened his eyes. His chest felt tight. His vision blurred as the dream was banished by the iron bands pulling tighter, tighter across his chest. He stabbed for the call for the nurse, tried to shout as well before, once again, slipping into unconsciousness.

****
The alarms from the monitors went off at the same time as John's calls for help reached the nurses station. They ran in, seeing his distress and they called for the resucitation team, pulling blood for tests, putting oxygen into place.

The on call doctors came and asked what had happened; no one knew and McCarthy kept her own council. The cardiac arrest was well under way but it was an odd one, as if the heart were just slowing down of its own accord.

"We're loosing him," someone called. "Any bright ideas before we cut open his ribs and start heart massage?"

Ella Hammersmith, the most junior doctor-in-training, there just to
brownnose and learn, made her reputation that day when there was nothing to lose. The lecture had been just the other day on control of excess heartbeat.

"Look, don't ask me how but it looks like digoxin overdose - maybe he got a wrong drug." The test was quick and confirmed her acceptance the following semester on the funded track for cardiac specialisation.

"Digibind, now!" The antidote was administered. For the second time in a week, John's eyes fluttered open then closed on the edge of death.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

There were cops and detectives all over the place by the time Sidney arrived at the hospital. They had requisitioned the Nurses Lounge and were taking statements from everyone that had had contact with John; hence the call to return to City General just as she was settling into bed. The info they'd given her was spare to none, though they did make it understood that someone had tried to kill John.

"Dr. Hollingsworth?"

She looked at the man who had spoken her name. Tall and slender, unshaven and wrinkled. "You must be Detective... "

"Sucholbiak. I have some questions."

Sid nodded, wanting to ask if all detectives were as unkempt as he and whether it was some sort of special dress code required by the Secret Society of Sherlocks. Truth, she had more than a few questions of her own.

"Would you mind if I looked in on him first?" Not waiting for an answer, Sidney headed for John's room, only to be stopped at the door by someone from Hospital Security. Obviously a case of closing the barn door after the cows got loose, but also a stopgap to cover their asses in case someone -- anyone -- decided to sue. She would have laughed out loud, except there wasn't a damn thing humorous about it.

The ancient octogenarian guard's rheumy eyes darted from the photo on her name tag to her face and back several times before he looked askance at the detective hovering behind her. He must have nodded, because George "Call me Cap and let me know if you need anything" Morgan suddenly stepped aside after opening the door for her to enter.

"Thanks," she replied as she brushed past him into the dimly lit room. Stopping near the bed, Sid looked down at him and sighed; his eyes were closed, his skin an almost ghoulish white. The barely negligible movement of his fingers beneath the blanket a telltale sign, at least to her, that John was awake.

"John, I'm here." Sid spoke quietly before placing her hand on his shoulder. She didn't want to startle him after what he'd just gone through. "With a detective. You're going to be okay."

John's eyelids fluttered, but he didn't open them. He must have heard the second set of footsteps when she came in. "Tell you what," she said, giving him a pat. "I have to go talk to this detective and I'll come back after. Okay?" Not waiting for, nor expecting an answer, she gestured for "Columbo" to follow her and headed for the private room used for consultations. She really wasn't in the mood for the bustle in the lounge.

"Close the door," Sidney said, waiting for him to do as she bade. "No one will bother us in here. Now tell me what in the world happened here!"

"Close as we can figure, some yayhoo dressed like a padre from the local parish came in here and tried to off this guy. You're his shrink... and don't pull any of that confidential stuff on me," Sucholbiak retorted testily, not liking the way she had turned the tables. "I want to know everything you know and more. Have a seat."

Sidney preferred to stand, but indicated that he should feel free to make himself comfortable. She did some of her best thinking on her feet, and this required some major thought.

"Okay, Detective. This... yayhoo, as you call him, just waltzed into John's room without speaking to anyone first? Obviously someone saw him or you wouldn't have that much of a description. Who?? I can't have been gone more than an hour before I got the call back. What about McCarthy? She was his call nurse. The woman watches the floor like a hawk. She couldn't have missed... Did you ask her?"

"Look, Dr. Hollingsworth," he began, a bright crimson flooding his face at her implication that any of this was his own fault. "I want to know the answers as much as you do. More even. As I hear it this guy's just some John Doe wino that got brought in here just over a week ago. You see him every day. You tell me why someone would try to kill him."

"Pah!" Sidney was at the door and had it open before he finished talking. "Detta!" she called into the corridor. "Could you come here a minute, please?"

"What're you... " He stood up angrily, thinking she was going to leave before he'd given her the third degree, but Sid had other plans.

The young nurse approached the door and Sidney moved to admit her into the small room. "Detective Sucholbiak, this is Detta McCarthy. John's nurse. Have a seat, will you?"

"I already talked... " Detta began, her eyes darting around the room nervously when she saw the detective.

This time Sidney did sit, wanting the young woman to feel at ease. She well knew you could get more with honey than with vinegar and this woman had to know more than she was saying. Patting the chair next to her, she smiled warmly. "It's okay, Detta. It's me that has some questions and this time it's off the books. Right, Detective Sucholbiak?"

He grumbled something unintelligible, but nodded his assent before pulling up a chair and sitting across from the two women. "Looks like it's your show, Doc. I'm only the audience." They both knew that was the furthest thing from the truth, but there was a chance... more than a chance... that McCarthy knew something she was afraid to tell.

"I want you to understand that there isn't a chance in hell of you losing your job over this. No censure. No suspension. Understood?" Okay, Sidney really couldn't guarantee that, but she would keep her promise to speak on the young woman's behalf.

Detta nodded, the tears she'd held back for the past few hours welling up in her eyes. "I already... "

"Yes, I know, Detta. But I want you to tell me now. I know how important John is to you since the day he was brought here. Same as with me. Now we need to find out why someone would want to... hurt... him. Please help me. Please."

Forty five minutes later, Nurse McCarthy had spilled it all. She'd been taught to always trust a priest, hadn't she? They only meant well and were supposed to express concern for the people in the parish. Isn't that so? How could she know... As for Detective Sucholbiak, he asked a few of his own questions and asked her if she'd mind looking at some photos before giving a description of the "priest" to the cop shop artist. Sidney almost breathed a sigh of relief when the young woman assented.

"Thanks, Detta... Detective Sucholbiak. You're a treasure." Leaning over, she gave the young nurse a reassuring hug. Okay, it wasn't the answer to the main question of "why", but there was a chance now of knowing "who". "Look, it's late and I'm beat. I'm going to go visit with John for a little while then home to bed. I assume you know how to reach me, detective?"

He nodded, letting out a low whistle of appreciation as Sidney Hollingsworth let herself out of the room without further fanfare.

 

[chris2c4u]

Sucholbiak took the call from his partner;the parish hadn't had an
incumbent priest for years, the duties were carried out by a retired padre helping out the bishop. He didn't fit the description and anyway was out in the suburbs at his bridge club that afternoon.

He flicked through the medical notes of the John Doe. Amnesia also. Great. He looked up and saw the overweight figure of Sam Boticelli bearing down on him. Someone had decided to call in the newsboys and here he was, the innocent cherub with the receeding hair, his handkerchief out brushing away the perspiration caused by the walk from the lift.

Sucholbiak waved in his direction and moaned at the uniformed cop, "get that guy outta here..." Walking quicker (quite a feat for
Boticelli), Sucholbiak heard his inappropriately reedy voice, "the
people have a right to know what's happening here and why they can't rely on their police to protect them while they are in hospital, detective."

Turning, Sucholbiak waved the uniform away and sighed, imagining the headlines if he didn't speak to the lard assed - but persistent, award winning - grub street hack. Not that he had anything to say.

****

John was awake but he knew that he wasn't alone so he kept his eyes closed. Inside, he smiled at a strange train of thought. Blind,
through closed eyes and of his own chosing, John Milton lay in the hospital bed considering the trouble he was in because of another blind man from long ago. A blind man that another John Milton had met.

Pieces were slowly coming together, focused through the lens of the face that had come before his eyes, before the tightness of the chest, the voices calling, the blackness. He was certain. That face had tried to kill him.

The pieces weren't complete by any means; he believed his name was John Milton - the same as the seventeenth century English poet - but was it? He believed there was some meaning to the strange twitching of his fingers - but was there? Something had ingrained it into his muscle memory, into his soul but had erased it from his consciousness but what was it?

He raised his hand, though his eyes he kept closed. He hoped it was her. Yes. The soft touch of her skin as she let him place his
restless fingers against her palm, let him beat his strange tattoo,
over and over again, the quick quick slow of am odd litle dance
against her soft skin. She could help.

****
Their talk had ended predictably quickly and the detective rold the reporter visiting time was over for John Doe - he'd already had enough visitors for one day.

Boticelli gazed into the room of the patient they both spoke about and whistled. "Who's the looker?"

"You mean the guy on the bed? Is he your type Sam?"

Botticelli didn'y bother replying but continued to ogle before getting ready to walk in.

Sucholbiak pulled on Boticelli's elbow, stopping his advance and looked away from the circular window into the John Doe's room and shook his head; they weren't going in there. They had both watched the silent gestures of the unknown man, and now witnessed the soft touching of hands and the doctor's frown as she felt the fingers drum against her skin.

Sucholbiak put his other hand up to his own lips and mouthed a sshhh.

Quietly he said to the reporter, "we both wait. She can get into his head. They'll give us what we both need, give them time. Come on, let's get some coffee."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sidney looked down at John, noting that the color of his skin had improved slightly in the hour or so since she'd last been in his room, though the incessant drumming of his fingers as he placed his hand in hers seemed, if anything, even more urgently demanding. She waited for Sucholbiak and whoever was with him to leave before speaking. Her hand, placed over the top of his to gentle its movement, did little more than slow them and for the second time in as many days, a niggling thought came to mind. But it couldn't be... could it?

When the door to his room closed, and Sid was satisfied that they were quite alone, she chuckled. "Alone at last, Caro. You can open your eyes now, faker man."

His mouth turned upward as he did; wrinkles, maybe laughlines, forming at the corners of his eyes. "I said I would be back."

"And so you are."

She nodded. "What happened, John? I mean I know what they are saying, but I am asking you if you know who that man was or why... " He didn't answer, merely gesturing the question away with a wave of his hand.

"Fair enough. You've had quite a time of it, haven't you." Sidney sighed. "Talk is that they'll be moving you to another area in the hospital. Just in case. You understand?" John nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he did.

"They won't be able to keep you in here much longer, John. Have you considered where you will go when they release you?" Was it her imagination or had the frenetic movement of his fingers seemed to increase when she asked? Alarmed, she soothed his forehead. "Never mind. That, too, is something for another day. Not to worry. We'll figure something out."

A quiet knock on the door announced the arrival of the orderlies who would be moving him. Somewhere safer, Sid hoped, though she really didn't understand one bit of it. "I'll go with you," she reassured him as she gathered up the radio and the newspaper she had left with him earlier. "It shouldn't take too long, then I am off to bed. You already have yours." She smiled and winked, John returning the same, his fingertips tapping now against the mattress instead of her hand.

******

"Si?"

"C'e' stato un incidente."

"C'erano dei testimoni?"

"No."

"Buon."

The receiver clicked back into the cradle as the woman turned to her companions and nodded. It was done. The price for his failure had been paid in kind. But they would send another. And another. As many as it took.

******

Exhausted, with a million thoughts whirling through her head, Sidney opted for a taxi instead of driving. She'd pick the car up in the lot tomorrow. She had the fare ready, and the tip, and was halfway out of the cab when she handed the bills to the driver with a quiet thank you. Of course he would have thought the thanks were for him, but cabbies were notoriously dangerous behind the wheel and, truth be told, she was just grateful to have arrived home in one piece.

Letting herself in, Sidney locked the door and leaned against it, kicking off her shoes. "What a day!" Unwilling to tackle the Everest of stairs to her bedroom, she barely made it to the sofa; asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Her dreams were fitful, a kaleidoscope of images that spun round and round like a vortex. John. Words. Si muove. A priest with his hand on a white cocoon that blurred into a bandaged torso of a man and a nurse. Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap. Like the report of a machine gun. Over and over. Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap. The sound of someone screaming.

Sidney sat up with a start, her entire body bathed in sweat. She knew. She knew! Heart pounding, she ran to the bookcase. There it was. This is it! Hands shaking, she reached for the book. In it was the answer to one of John's questions.

"Thank you. Thank you," she whispered, clutching an old dog-eared copy of "Johnny Got His Gun" by Dalton Trumbo tightly to her chest.

 

[chris2c4u]

Isaac sat on the bed a few days after the attack. The policeman outside the door had been withdrawn after a token presence. Mind you, the psychiatric wards were mostly secure, he thought.

"Well, now you have a name. You say you're getting other bits and pieces coming back?"

John stood at the window in the only clothes he was known to own. Those he was in on the day of his discovery in the alley. The faded blue jeans and white shirt - laundered by the hospital to take off the road dirt and blood. In congruously he wore several hundred dollar's worth of hand crafted Italian brogues and dime store terry tennis socks.

"Bits of things. Nothing like friends, parents, where I live. All that unimportant stuff."

Isaac buried his nose in John's notes; the pointed remark showed the limits of medical science. Not only that, the hospital admin were keen to have him released. Attempted murders weren't popular with hospital boards.

"We're looking to get you some temporary accomodation. Outside. Might help if you get back to reality, jog a few memories. It'll have to be a hostel...maybe for the homeless. We were thinking of doing a piece in the paper, see if anyone recognised you, though that idea seems to be a non-starter since...well better not advertise you or your whereabouts for now."

John nodded. Sidney had already told him that there was no report of him being missing - at least not an identifiable one - with the police. There was nothing to anchor him; no lifeline.

Suddenly a window opened in his head. A memory; so vivid it could be nothing but a memory. A manilla folder, handed from him to...He couldn't see the face of the person he passed it to. Then he was in the gutter again.

"John?" Isaac was by his side as he saw John's eyes close, his body sway.

"I'm OK." He explaied to Rosenberg what had happened; the doctor smiled. "Don't force it. I'll get someone to let you know about the place to stay. You're doing well John." He patted his back. John didn't tell Isaac about the sudden desire that burnt for no known reason in his head. John went looking for more jigsaw pieces of his mind, staring at inmates tending the small enclosed garden.

With a lurch of his stomach his perspective seemed to shift up, to a corner, looking down on different plants in a small courtyard, far away from the hospital. The sun shone; a room at the top of the whitewashed walls was used for drying fruits.

He sat down on his bed and lifted a hand to his face and rubbed his temples. Slowly, piece by piece, things were returning. As yet they were strays, no homes in his mind but soon he would be able to piece together his life. He hoped.

He wondered where Sid was. He wanted to tell her he knew where he wanted to go when he first got out.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sidney barely made it to sunrise before she had the phone in her hand and was pressing the buttons that would connect her to Uncle Louie. Her mother's brother, he'd been a Seabee, and after listening to his war stories for most of her life, she knew that he would be the one to help solve this part of the riddle. Of course whether he was home or not would be a different matter altogether.

He was not.

Another call to her mother enlightened her to his whereabouts. A senior cruise and he wouldn't be home until Thursday night. Of all the luck! But she'd get him Friday morning for sure. "What's this about? And when are you coming home? It's been ages, Sidney. You know I miss you awful."

"Yes, mom. I miss you, too. I'll try to set up some time for a getaway soon."

"More than a day, you hear. You work too hard."

The conversation was more of the same with Sidney finally ringing off and heading for her office. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

******

When he answered on the seventh ring, Sid let out an audible sigh; she hadn't even realized that she'd been tapping out John's litany with the dog-eared copy of the book as she waited.

"Yeah!"

"Uncle Louie, it's Sidney. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"I was in the head," he replied with a gruff chuckle. "My kidneys ain't what they use ta be, kiddo. What's up?"

"I told you to get your prostate checked, didn't I? It's a simple blood test, Uncle Lou. You shouldn't let it... " she began, but he cut her off abruptly as he always did.

"Yadda yadda. Ain't nothing wrong with my prostrate, Sid. And no one's cutting off any of my parts if there is."

Sidney rolled her eyes. No matter how many times she tried to explain, this man who was so smart in so many ways was going to remain deaf, dumb and blind to things doctor-related. And especially when they concerned anything remotely near his "manhood". "Okay, truce. New subject."

"Good. Just hang on a sec while I go take another piss."

She sighed again. Maybe she could give mom a call and get her to threaten her brother or something. He rarely refused her anything.

"Back. So what makes you call me so early in the day. Don't you have work or something? You really ought to get yourself a paying job, you know. One you... "

"Okay, Uncle Lou. We're even." As much as he loved her, Lou had the same aversion to headshrinkers, as he called them, as he did to medical doctors. Most of the time they just had to agree to disagree... and this was one of them. She needed help and hopefully Uncle Louie was the one to give it.

"Morse code, Uncle Lou. Do you remember... "

"I ain't senile, missie" her uncle groused as he began to tap out some message against the mouthpiece of the phone. "See?"

Of course she didn't, but she found herself saying that she did. "I want you to listen to something. Okay? I think I can get it right... Just listen."

Closing her eyes, Sidney began to tap out the rhythm she'd come to know by rote over the time spent with John as he'd tapped them into her palm, onto his thigh and against the mattress of his bed. She hadn't realized until the dream that she had memorized the unvaried, repetitious cadence of it.

"Where'd you get that?" her Uncle asked brusquely when she finished.

"Is it Morse?"

"You know damn well it is. Where did you get that?" She could tell that his curiosity was piqued by the tone of his voice. He hadn't sounded this excited about anything in a long time.

"A patient, Uncle Lou. What does it mean?"

"Well," he began. "It's been a long time but some things a man just doesn't forget. Did I ever tell you about the time when... "

"Uncle Lou. This is really important. You can tell me the story after. What does it mean?"

"It's not English for one thing, Sid. But I think I got the gist... What kind of patient?"

They went back and forth for the next few minutes until her uncle finally gave her a rough translation of the code which left her with yet another riddle on her hands. Maybe she'd skip the office today and just go talk to John.

A shower, a fresh change of clothes and a call for a taxi later, she bundled herself into the back of the cab and leaned back for the ride. Sid wanted to think and she couldn't do that if she was driving through rush hour traffic. She'd grab them both a coffee and maybe a bagel from the snack bar on the way up.

******

"Good morning," Sidney said to John's back, entering his room with the daily tucked under her arm and two coffees with accompanying bagels balanced precariously on a flimsy cardboard tray. He was standing at the window staring down at the street below. Dressed.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, wondering if they'd given him his walking papers.

"Yes. Belmar. To the ocean." His eyes bored into her as the corner of his mouth tilted up in that mischievously boyish grin that always made her smile in return.

"My mother will love you," Sid said, shaking her head. "She was just nagging me the other day... "

John nodded and took the proffered beverage before joining her on the heater in front of the window for their impromptu breakfast. "When can we leave?"

Sidney hadn't really considered where he would go when he was released from Central, but she knew that a halfway house was not going to be either safe or acceptable. He wasn't an alcoholic or a junkie and she was sure that he hadn't really been homeless either. Belmar might just be the answer to that little dilemma... not to mention that it would get her off the hook with mom.

 

[chris2c4u]

Sucholbiak pushed his badge into his belt and went under the Do Not Cross tape on the riverfront. The leaden sky of the early morning added a sombre note to another unexplained death in the city.

The ambulance stood at the end of the short pier, its lights still
turning slowly though the person who it was called for wouldn't need any speed to the hospital. A small knot of people gathered round the body that had been spotted on the mud by the dog walker earlier. Before it was bagged Sucholbiak looked down at the bloated form.

"How long dead?" he asked Janice, from the coroner's office who shrugged her shoulders. The fluorescent yellow jacket she wore was too big for her. She looked cold. "Hard to say, been in the water maybe a couple of days. I should have more for you back at the lab."

"Cause of death?"

"No obvious wounds other than trauma to the neck. Possible
strangulation; might have been a garrot. Possible drowning finished him off."

As an ambulance man was zipping up the corpse, Sucholbiak slowed him and took another look at the face of the middle aged man. Grey hair. Black-purple nose. Deep mark around the neck.

"Can you get me a photo of him looking something like human? And full report on what he was wearing?"

"It'll all be there," Janice replied.

****

John was nervous. Syd was there and that helped but no one else to protect him and there were still be no leads on the attempt on his life. He tried to remember that they were going to have a good time, they were going shopping for more presentable clothes for him before they set off to New Jersey. She had a plan about that too, she said, tapping her
nose.

The day outside was grey, people moved purposefully in the streets; they didn't want to linger in the growing cold of approaching winter. John lingered though, taking a deep breath and tasting freedom. In his mind more faces were coming back; one he was sure was his mother and he seemed to recall a brother. Where they were, whether they were alive or dead, he still didn't know.

He told Syd of his fragments of memory and she smiled as she drove towards the mall. "Amy," he suddenly said. "My mother's called Amy." She grinned and touched his arm. "Good." He smiled and instinctively his hand covered hers for a moment as they shared the pleasure of the recall.

He laughed as they pulled in to the parking. "I'm feeling nervous about you buying me clothes. I'll pay you back. Do you think that means I'm a chivalrous old fashioned guy?"

She grinned at him. "Don't worry about it," she said, "you can treat me when we find out you're an eccentric millionaire."

They did a tour of mid range outlets where he would emerge from the changing rooms and model the creations for her at which they would sometimes both fall about giggling and sometimes she would give a thumbs up. He had relaxed now and as they clutched bags they headed for coffee and a sandwich at lunchtime.

"So," he said, relieved to sit down. "What's your cunning plan regarding New Jersey?"

She explained that since the mystery of the attempt on his life wasn't yet solved she had borrowed the keys of a mountain cabin from Jack Richardson, telling him and a few others who were good at gossiping that she was going to let John use it rather than the homeless shelter.

Secluded. "Safer, while you get back you memory completely."

She had - well, she had been there with him while they were going out, she said, taking a bite of her sandwich and averting her eyes. "It's a nice place," she said, "pity we're not actually going there."

It was a cover for their actual trip to New Jersey. "Just in case." He nodded and ate in silence for a minute. To put people of the scent. Were they still after him? Who were they?

They slowly drifted into discussing the people around them, deciding on fictitious backgounds for them and beginning to giggle again. The middle aged pair, the man with the worst toupee in the world and the woman with a facelift that could have gone better, were clearly returning from Atlantic City and the poker championships. "With a poker face like hers," he made goggle eyes and pulled his skin tight as he whispered, "how could they lose?"

Syd nodded her serious look betrayed by the twinkle in her eye. "They could always stash an extra ace under his rug."

John tried not to guffaw and ended up coughing so much the old lady at the next table gave him her water.

"Let's put these clothes in the car," she said. "Then back for round two?" They gathered the bags up; for a moment their free hands brushed each other, nearly joined until they both smiled a little nervously at one another.

****

It was early evening. The fourth floor office had a good view across the beginnings of the light show called rush hour. Sucholbiak answered his phone.

"Hey Janice, what's the news?"

She gave it in her usual clipped fashion. "Strangled with a knotted thin - rope probably. Could be metal - but not dead when he his the water. Drowning finished him off. Not much to say about the clothes except one thing."

That was what he liked to hear. "Yes?"

"His pants - they came from an ecclesiastical outfitters. Jones, Balliol and Sons." Sucholbiak scribbled it down.

"A padre?" He was thinking allowed.

"Nothing else to suggest it," Janice answered, "nothing else from the shirt or underclothes he was wearing."

"Did you get him cleaned up enough so you could get me a picture?"

"Sure, I'll E-mail it to you. If you want a better one you'll have to
wait a few days. We could put some false eyes in for you."

"Thanks, spare me the details. And no saucy stuff in the E-mail. My lieutenant doesn't like it."

"Yeah, right, you should be so lucky Johhny."

"You still seeing that fireman?"

"Sorta," she said, teasingly.

"Good," she could hear his hope rising in his voice. "Dinner soon then."

She laughed. "I'll mail you the picture."

He printed off some copies of the face when it arrived then went to the hospital attempted murder file. He leafed through to find the witness interviews and made a call.

"Nurse McCarthy? John Sucholbiak here, the detective you spoke to? Look, I wonder if I come around could you look at a picture for me? I think it might be the priest you saw?" It was a long shot.

****

Syd negotiated the traffic heading out on the Pennsylvania Turnpike when her hands free cell phone rang. She pressed accept.

"Dr Hollingsworth. Isaac here, Isaac Rosenberg."

"Hi Isaac, how goes it?"

"I'm calling about my patient. John Milton? I had arranged a place for him in the shelter on 35th street; I now hear, from a nurse, no less, that he is off out of the city with you? Some cabin or other?"

"He wanted a change of scenery Isaac. He's discharged now, a free man."

"Not a well man though and I am still the physician in charge here."

"I tried to track you down but we had to leave early this morning. He's perfectly safe. I'm going to make sure he gets local medical care." She looked over to John, who gestured asking to speak.

"Look, Isaac, here's John."

"Doctor? Hi, John here. Yes, I'm fine. It was my idea entirely, I'm
sorry I didn't let you know what was happening but the drive up here has been wonderful. The scenery is marvellous." He peered out onto the back of a tanker with Acid: Highly Corrosive on its warning sign. "I'm feeling much better already."

Isaac slowly removed his stuffed shirt and urged him to keep in touch and to arrange an appointment with him when he got back to the city. Rather curtly but in a mollified state, he said goodbye to Syd as well.

They drove east, the tentacles of the city and the traffic slowly easing as they sped through the dark.

The motel they stayed at was a couple of hours outside Pittsburgh but they'd had a long day. Syd also wanted to share the news with him that night and not wait, so that it gave him a chance to sleep on it if nothing was triggered immediately by what her uncle had told her. It was over dinner that she told him what she had done, when they both realised that the nervous drumming of his fingers hadn't been seen all day. Now, though, muscle memory was piqued and his forefinger drummed a little on
the tabletop.

"It was Italian," she began slowly. "It was morse code. Are you ready?"

He nodded.

"I have seen the papers. They are what we need. They are in a safe place. I cannot wait for pick up as I am betrayed. I will call with news ASAP." Syd bit her lip and waited.

John ran his hand through his dark hair. As the fingers skimmed his scalp he could see the dark ripples of a water's edge. In his hand the small transmitter. Out at sea a pale light glimmered for a moment before he turned his back and began to run up a beach towards a small fishing village.

He told her what he could recall. She reached out and covered his hands with hers. "Don't force it. You're doing so well."

The papers. He rubbed his temples and sat amid the jig saw of his mind; there was a great knowledge just beneath the surface. More faces swirled.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Pulling into the parking lot of the motel after dinner, Sid found herself looking at license plates, memorizing types of cars, peering into shadows. Maybe it was foolishness, but she sensed that John was doing the same.

"I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. Shopping has a way of draining every drop of energy from me by the end of the day," she said as John unlocked the door to their room, holding it for her after flicking on the light.

They hadn't discussed sleeping arrangements when she'd registered them, and one room seemed far more economical than two. Besides, there were two beds and they were both adults. Right? Right. "Shower. TV. Sleep. Do you want the shower first? I just want to get comfortable."

"No, no. You first. I want to... " John waved his hand over the pile of bags containing his new wardrobe which were perched precariously on top of a roll-along that they'd purchased also. "Labels."

"Scissors. Right." Sid rummaged through her overnight bag for the manicure kit she'd packed. "Here you go," she said, tossing it in his direction before pulling out a tee shirt and a pair of sweats to put on after she showered. "Now... if you don't mind?" Sid slipped her shoes off and padded toward the bathroom.

She didn't take long. Drying off and dressing quickly, she wrapped a towel around her still wet hair. "All... yours." Sid's voice trailed off and she smiled. All the clothes they'd bought were folded neatly on one bed and John was sound asleep on the other.

Deciding to forego the television, Sid gave her hair a vigorous workout with the towel and brushed it out, though her mind was swirling like a maelstrom. The code John had been tapping out. The fact that her revelation had sparked a memory in him. What were those papers? Why were they so important that someone had made an assassination attempt on him in the hospital? How he could look so peaceful in his sleep was beyond her.

Christ! What had she gotten herself into? And why?

Sleep. Tomorrow they'd get up early and head for mom's. Barring construction, they'd be there just after noon. Gently pulling back the covers, Sid covered both of them up and was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

******

Sid woke with a start, disoriented. Where... Oh yes. The motel. The room was still darkish; not much light could get past those double lined blackout curtains covering the window. She guessed most people didn't mind, but she much preferred waking with the sunlight greeting her in its own inimitable way. Lost in reverie, she slowly realized that the room was too still. John!

She sprang out of bed and called his name. The clothes were gone from the bed and he was nowhere to be seen. What in the... Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out a pair of jeans and exchanged them for her sweats, deciding to skip a bra and just grab a pair of sneakers. She had to find him. What if something... No. She wasn't going to go there.

Reaching for the door handle, Sid was just about to turn it when someone pushed it open from outside. She jumped and let out a high-pitched squeal which quickly dissolved into relieved laughter.

"You don't like this outfit?" John asked, barely able to mask that crooked grin of his as he nonchalantly pushed the door closed and walked past her.

"You... you... "

"Yes, it's me. Bearing gifts. Breakfast gifts." His back was to her as he unpacked a bag onto the small table in the corner of the room. "Orange juice. Hotcakes and sausage. Coffee." Turning to face her, John was smiling broadly now. "Mangi."

"How?" Her heart was still threatening to pound itself right out of her chest, though she was relieved to see John safe.

"The money you put in that wallet we bought. The diner across the way. A pretty waitress." He paused and grinned again. "A not-so-bad cook named Norm."

The coffee smelled delicious and the food wasn't half bad. Sid skipped the lecture and dug in. "It should take us about four hours or so to get there," she said, looking around the room to make sure they wouldn't leave anything behind.

"Good. Ready?"

"Yup. Let's go."

******

True to her word, just over four hours later they turned onto Fifth Avenue. The houses were closely spaced, turn of the century summer homes originally though most were occupied year-round now, and many had small bungalows nestled behind. "Rental revenues," Sid explained while pointing out several favorites. "We can walk down to the beach later. It's only three blocks."

She grinned as they pulled up into the driveway beside her mother's house. "This is it. Chin up. Shoulders back. Prepare to be inspected."

John gave her a mock grimace and rolled his eyes. "I'm ready."

"Sidney!! I thought you were coming last night. I was so... "

"Worried. I know." Sid sighed and gestured toward the small gray-haired woman on the porch. "Mom," she mouthed to John as if he couldn't have guessed on his own.

Getting out of the car, she hugged her mother who had swooped down on them faster than a seagull diving for a fish. "Mom. This is my friend, John Milton. Remember I said I was bringing a guest."

"Yes yes. My he's handsome."

"Mom!" Sid hissed. "You know he has ears."

"I'm sure. Two at least. Hello, John Milton. I'm Sidney's mother. You must be starved. Come, I have lunch waiting." Slipping her arm through John's she fairly dragged him into the house toward the kitchen. "So. Are you married? How did you meet my Sidney?"

Sidney, all but forgotten, followed grumbling behind. It was going to be a long weekend.

 

[chris2c4u]

The morning seeped slowly through the curtains but John didn't move. He'd been awake a while, lying quiet behind Sid. Gently, over the covers he'd let his hand trace the sinuous wave her figure formed as she lay, sleeping on her side. He could smell some faint remnants of soap from her shower, perhaps a hint of perfume. Her hair had fanned out on the pillow and as the dawn began to grow it highlighted the blonde strands.

He was becoming aroused at having her there beside him; yes, desire was surfacing in his mind. With a start he wondered - am I married? A family? A girlfriend? He smiled again; clearly it wasn't a boyfriend he had, judging by his reactions to Sid's body.

He rubbed his temples and slid quietly out of bed. His new clothes waited and there was a long day ahead. The diner nearby would do for breakfast...

****
Carter was a good lieutenant, Sucholbiak thought as he sat in the heavy set black man's office while he skimmed the report. He hadn't objected to Sucholbiak taking time to pursue the strange case of the attack in the hospital and now it looked like it was paying off.

Carter glanced up, his always weary-looking face, to those who knew how to read it, had signs of interest.

"So you think this river body is related to the hobo in the hospital?"

Sucholbiak nodded. "More than think; witness from the hospital is almost sure this is the guy in the priest's clothing who looks like he's the one who tried to kill Milton."

Cater nodded and leaned back putting his arms behind his head; the underarms of his shirt were damp.

"And now he ends up dead." Carter did his best thinking aloud. "Anything to trace him?"

Sucholbiak shrugged "fingerprints and dental are still being worked on. He was wearing some pants from a clerical outfitters so I'm going to see them later. I'll try the press; Boticelli was sniffing around, he'll be up for getting a picture of him put out."

Carter rolled his eyes at the mention of the reporter's name. "Where's this mystery man from the hospital?"

"He was released yesterday, gone off to some cabin in the hills with his new ladyfriend." Sucholbiak still recalled the tart reception he'd received from Hollingsworth. He explained to Carter about the psychologist. "People seem to find Mr Milton fascinating," Carter said laconically. "OK, well keep on with the case looks like we have two links in a chain here."

Links in a chain. Pieces in a jigsaw. Sucholbiak mulled over the
metaphors as he made his way back to his office.

****

John liked Sid's mother.

"call me Connie - Costanza to those I'm trying to impress with my
European roots," she flirted shamelessly with John, "not those I'm trying to steal from my neglectful daughter. You - I bet you see your family every chance you get..." She covered her lips with her fingertips and apologised, recalling what Sid had told her about his condition. She reached out and gripped his hand. "Soon, soon you will see your loved ones again."

John smiled and nodded, cheered by the older woman's honest approach to his problem.

He could see where Sid's spirit came from, the same wit too. Despite her frame being similar to a hungry sparrow, (she did aerobics at the gym, kept herself supple, "not like poor Mrs Whitstable, what with her hip and all") Mrs Hollingsworth piled on homemade dishes until they couldn't move from the table.

"That was quite a spread, thank you," John said, sitting back in his chair. "I'm glad you liked it," the sparrow chirruped as she began to clear the table. John and Sid staggered to their feet to help when Sid's phone rang.

John was laughing at an anecdote about Sid's childhood when he saw the look on her face as she closed her phone. He didn't say anything as Sid picked up a teatowel and distractedly began to dry dishes as he mother revealed snippets of her past - even when they were about boyfriends long past she didn't intervene. Eventually, John managed a moment or two alone with her.

She looked up into his eyes; the worry passed across their surface like clouds over a summer sun.

"It was Jack on the phone - the person whose cabin we're at?"

John nodded.

She seemed distracted. Frowning, concentrating on remembering what he'd told her she said, "the cabin. There was a fire. The local police - they think it was deliberate. It was - Arson."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

John's eyes were dark and discerning as he perused Sid's face, though his face showed no trace of concern. So like a mask, she thought. Just who are you, John Milton? What are you?

"Look. We can't talk about this here," Sidney said quietly, looking around for signs of her vigilant (and sometimes over-nosey) mother. "Let's go for a walk."

Threading the now damp dish towel through the handle of the refrigerator, she announced to her mother that they were going "out". "It's a lovely day for a walk, Sidney. John, make her take you down to the boardwalk. You'll love the ocean view," her mother replied cheerfully. "I'll just stay here. Besides it's time for my soaps." Sid smiled indulgently and gave her mother a peck on the cheek before gesturing toward the door and stepping out onto the porch. "Ready, John?"

The trek wasn't long, less than three blocks to the beach from her mother's home, but they walked in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Sidney didn't know where to begin or even what to think about the news from Jack. No such thing as coincidences, she was sure that this was at least a second attempt on John's life. And who, besides Jack, was priviledge to the fact that they were going to his cabin? And that begged the question: who now knew that they were really in New Jersey? Proudly agnostic since her early teens, Sid fought the urge to cross herself.

When at last they climbed the stone steps that led to the weathered planks of the boardwalk, she was pleased to note that there weren't many people about and that gave Sid a faux sense of safety. At least no one would be able to sneak up on them unseen.

Right.

Wrong. These... people... Whoever they were, were professionals. Professionals hid in plain sight. Gods! They didn't stand a chance. Did they?

Sid's fingers covered her lips to stave off the efflux of maniacal laughter that threatened to erupt from her. She stopped walking and turned to face the man beside her. "John... " she said quietly at the same time he spoke her name. "Sidney... "

Any other time, she would have laughed, delighted by their synchronicity. But not today. No, not today. Not after... Could they go to the cops? Were they on the same side? Sides. This was like some weird Kafka-esque flick. Maybe she'd wake up to find out it was only a dream. Only...

John's attention was suddenly drawn from her to a couple of older men standing by a bench speaking in Italian. "John?"

He didn't reply, his gaze fixed, his body tensed and his full attention focussed on them and their conversation. "John?" she repeated quietly. "What's wrong? Do you know them?"

Sid only understood a few words, though none of what they were saying appeared to have any bearing on what had been happening. Like she really understood any of it in the first place. They didn't look menacing. One had an enormous splint-like thing on his middle finger, which he used to emphasize what he was saying. Uncle Louie would have told him to wave at him using his whole hand next time. Italians can't talk without using their hands.

"John!" Unsure whether to stand or run, Sid wove her hand through his arm and gave a tug. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Coming here. Let's go get our things and go. We can't stay at mom's... "

John looked at her finally, like a man who was just waking from a dream. "No, you're right. I can't stay here. It's not... "

The tone from her cel cut him off mid-sentence and Sid reached into her pocket to answer it. What next? Heaven help us... what next?

"Hello?"

"Dr. Hollingsworth. Sucholbiak here. I suppose you've heard. We need to talk."

"About?" She tried to sound unaffected, as though she hadn't a care in the world. Okay, so Sucholbiak knew, too. Now who else? She mouthed his name to John who was staring at her intently.

"No games, Doc. I think your guy is in big trouble."

"No clue, Sherlock. So tell me what you know?" She listened while he talked and picked up the pace, heading back toward the house. If she wasn't mistaken, John intended to go off on his own. Every frantic heartbeat in her chest told her to let him go, but she knew she would not. Could not.

 

[chris2c4u]

Sucholbiak mused. The news about the fire had come his way via Jack, the cabin's owner. He knew Sucholbiak was on Milton's case and thought he ought to know what had happened. The detective reached for his nicotine gum; at times like these he needed a cigarette, needed the old days when it wasn't a smoke free office.

One dead, one nearly dead and now a fire. The doc wasn't giving anything up either, not even where they were. He'd tried to tell her to let him help but something had spooked them - and they were already one step ahead of whatever game was going on; they hadn't gone to the cabin. They used it as a cover.

His phone rang disturbing his train of thought. The young uniform he'd asked to go and see the clerical outfitters was in the running for a detective's badge.

"They said they had a new customer come in not so long ago, they remembered him cos it was strange - he didn't seem to know the local parishes but said he'd just moved to the neighbourhood."

"Do they have a name? Address?"

"Already checked it out," the young man's voice made Sucholbiak smile; pride in the job, thinking ahead. "False address. Name was pretty weird too. Paulo Foscarini."

"Good work Steve, thanks. Hey Steve? did the guy have an Italian accent do they remember?"

"No, said he sounded more like New York Italian."

Sucholbiak rang off. Catholic priest - or a counterfeit one - Italians. He sat back with a sigh, deciding to wait and see if they picture Boticelli was publishing might produce some leads.

****

Frozen like a rabbit in the headlights John stared at the men on the boardwalk. Sid's voice faded all he could hear was their conversation, like a badly tuned radio station he heard the Italian - and somehow his brain understood them. Not everything but -

"Snapped like a twig," the man gestured with the splint as his friend shook his head, the blue beret he wore turning before John's eyes. A few words he couldn't catch. "...new pianist for Sophia's wedding..."

He was walking but a door in his mind opened. A museum. Florence; under a glass dome, Galileo's index finger on display. He had seen it. He had been to
Florence. He rubbed his head, deciding not to tell Sid - not now. The danger - someone wanted him dead; it was as though he had only just realised it.
He began to move quicker, ahead of Sid, going back to the house. He stood. Sid's voice came back. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Coming here. Let's go get our things and go. We can't stay at mom's... " he heard her saying. Yes, of course, she would want him gone, it was understandable. Protect her mother, herself. It wasn't fair on them, they had lives - to put them in danger. No, it wasn't right.

They reached the house; Sid's mother beamed, asked if they'd enjoyed their walk. John smiled a drawn smile, Sid, subdued followed him in and her mother kept a diplomatic silence. She could wait to find out what had happened; obviously something had happened out there.

John had to wait, to bide his time but his opportunity arrived and he guiltily put his plan to rob Sid into action. Her purse was on a chair in the kitchen. He fished out her cash and the car keys before slipping out of the back door. Quietly, he got into her car, started the engine and reversed swiftly into the street. With a glance back at the house he suddenly realised - he could drive. He pressed the accelerator and headed off - to somewhere.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"Sidney, you know I don't like to interfere... "

"I know, mother. Then please don't. If I could explain, I would."

"But he seems such a nice man. You two... "

"Not right now mom. Please?" she interjected, listening to see if the noise she'd heard was what she thought it was. "John?" No answer. "John!" Still no answer.

Sidney ran for the kitchen window and looked out. Her car was gone, and, so, obviously, was John. Grabbing her mother's car keys from the hook beside the back door, she waggled them at her mother. "I need... "

"Maybe he just went to the st... " But Sid was already gone, having grabbed her bag on the way out and jumping off the porch rather than taking the steps. "Kids."

******
Sidney closed her eyes and turned the key in the ignition. "Thank you. Thank you!" she whispered when the engine turned over on the third try. She'd have to get Uncle Lou down here to check it out. Maybe it was time for mom to get something newer.

Where in the world did John think he was going? That was the whole thing, wasn't it? Where in the world. Muleheaded man!

Sidney's eyes flitted back and forth as she headed down 5th toward Main. Which way? Which way? Wondering if he was backtracking the way they had come in, she decided on a left, barely making the light. "Eureka!" She was just in time to see her car roll into the Mobil station and come to a jolting halt as it gently kissed the pole in front of the air pumps. Could have been worse.

Putting on her directional, she beeped the horn loudly and pulled into the station as one of the attendants reached John and started hollering. "What? Are you drunk or sumpin? Hey! I'm talkin' to you!" Hunched over the wheel as he was, John didn't appear to be answering.

She pulled up beside them and got out, trying to distract the teen who was trying to open the door and pull John out. "Hey! I'm a doc, okay? I know this guy. He's diabetic."

"So," the kid said suspiciously. "He had a seizure or sumpin'? Want me to call an amboolance?"

"No, no. I'm sure it will be okay and it's nothing like that. Just let me get a look." Reaching past the boy, she lifted the door handle and immediately felt for John's pulse. It was steady. Maybe even a little too... "John?"

He turned his head and grinned at her sheepishly. "I... "

"Oh, shut up and hand me the keys." Turning toward the kid who was singing and playing some sort of air instrument, she peered at the name on his overalls. "Bob?"

"Uh huh."

"Cool. My name is Sid. I live over on 5th. Tell you what... The damage to the pole doesn't look too bad but I'm wondering if the trouble is with the brakes on my car. How bout I leave the car here and you have the mechanic check it out for me? I'll leave my number and you take this for your trouble... " Sid started digging in her purse only to find that John had cleaned her wallet out.

Wiggling her fingers at him, John reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills which she snatched up, handing a twenty to Bob. Scribbling her cel number down, she handed that to him as well. "No hurry and no harm done, right?"

"Right," he beamed, pocketing the note before she could change her mind.

Leaning closely, she whispered to John. "Okay. Make it look good. I'm going to walk you to mom's car. Oh, and, Bob? C'mere." Planting a kiss on his cheek which made him blush ten shades of red, Sid 'assisted' John from her car and helped him to her mother's.

******
Neither of them spoke until she had parked the car and then Sidney let John have it with both barrels. "What were you thinking? Where were you going? Are you out of your mind? What if... Wha... " Her tirade was cut off as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

"There," he said. "I've been wanting to do that... "

Sidney blinked, her fingers tracing her lips as if to preserve the memory. "Oh, no you don't. I'm not falling for that old trick!"

"Trick?" This time John looked genuinely confused, but only for a minute. "That was no trick. I can show you again if you want me to prove it."

"Argh. Men! Just get in the house. We need to talk and I have to call Uncle Lou." Not waiting for him to follow, but expecting him to, Sid strutted up the stairs and into the house.

"Did... "

"Don't ask, mom. I'll try to explain later. In the meantime, John and I need to talk. Alone."

Her mother nodded. "The bungalow is empty."

"Thanks, mom. You're a peach." Sidney gave her a quick hug and grabbed the bungalow keys, replacing them with the car keys. "This way," she said to John over her shoulder as she led him out the back and into the sunporch of the small bungalow that her mother sometimes rented out in the summer.

Unlocking the door, she could swear he muttered something like "crazy woman", but decided to ignore it. Crazy? Maybe. This whole damned thing was crazy!

******
Too nervous to sit, Sidney walked through the living room toward the kitchen. Coffee. She needed... "Crap!" Although the place was completely furnished, even down to cutlery, there weren't any groceries in.

John grinned and gestured toward the door and the unmistakable pitter-patter of her mother's feet on the floorboards. "You two just go on with whatever you're doing," she twittered. "I thought you might be needing some things."

Sid grumbled something unintelligible while John went to look. "She's strong, that one," he chuckled, presenting her with a box of food enough to feed an army. And coffee. "Just like her daughter."

 

[chris2c4u]

There were too many things going on in his head, John decided as they sat in the car and she berated him. He looked at her, agitated, worried about him.

"What were you thinking? Where were you going? Are you out of your mind? What if..."

He smiled before he kissed her. She tasted of a cologne he couldn't name and fall by the sea. Her lips were soft;guiltily he wondered if they reminded him of someone else.

She looked surprised in the moments of silence that followed. Even as she walked away, her words, "argh. Men! Just get in the house. We need to talk and I have to call Uncle Lou," seemed forced, covering up her surprise.

The bungalow smelt of damp as it prepared itself for the winter but the aroma of coffee soon replaced it and they sat over the pine table in the kitchen looking at one another. She pushed a strand of hair back over her ear and waited.

"The Italians?" John finally said. She nodded remembering the men. "I understood them - well, a lot of it. So I speak Italian. And I've been to Italy. The guy with the splint..." He told her the story of the museum and remembered the day he saw it, the meal he had. The person he was with? Who was that? In his head was the background of the street, the alfresco eating, a blue wooden door. A person sat opposite him over the tablecloth that fluttered in the breeze from passing scooters. But the person was a black space, as though cut out of the picture by his mind. The voice, whoever it was, spoke and he felt happy, but the voice in his memory was distorted.

He shook his head. "Anyway, I've been in Italy. Florence. Rome too I think. There's something..." his brow furrowed as he recalled the night by the water, the transmitter, the message. "I think - I was in Italy when that message was sent..." He reminded her of his fingers insistent chatter by reaching out and caressing her palm with his fingers, then, as if relaxing from a tug of war with memories that refused to emerge he exhaled and sat back.

"Why were you there?" Sid prompted gently.

Again he shook his head. "I dunno." A nauseous feeling as his mind cartwheeled through memories and visions. Paper, falling; the smell of oiled oak tables. Vellum. Parchment. Latin words.

She came to him eyes wide as he had to clutch the table to hold himself upright.

Her unasked question received, "I'm OK. Just some more - visions."

The warble of her cell phone interrupted them. Frowning she checked the number before answering.

"Ms. Hollingsworth." Sucholbiak's drawl was its usual calm.

"Detective. What can I do for you this time?"

"Could you ask Mr Milton a question for me? Does the name Paulo Foscarini mean anything to him?"

Moving the phone she asked John his question. Milton swallowed; looked down at his lap. His shoulders heaved with supressed laughter.

"Why does he want to know?" John asked as he chuckled. The name opened a file in his head; information spilled out.

Raising the phone. "John wants to know why you want to know."

"Because Mr Foscarini was pulled out of a river, very much the worse for wear AKA dead and might be the man who tried to attack John in hospital."

Sid relayed the news.

"I doubt very much whether Mr Foscarini is Mr Foscarini." Again Sid transferred the information before Sucholbiak asked to speak with John direct. She held out the phone.

Taking it, John reeled off facts.

"Paulo Foscarini...1613 or so...a letter...a book...he wrote...did the Earth move around the sun? He thought so. So did Galileo. They were friends; Foscarini defended the view in Rome. His book got the heave ho when Copernicus was not flavour of the month. Oh. And then...he died, mysteriously, not long after. I don't think that Mr Foscarini is your man, Detective." John handed the phone back to Sid.

Sid asked about the fire at the cabin but Sucholbiak had no news. Both he and Sid were silent but a silence of shared ideas; Sid wondered about sharing the idea John had been in Italy with Sucholbiak but bit back the words.

"Keep in touch," said the detective, ringing off.

Sid looked at John. "Where did that come from?"

Leaning on his hand he looked up. "I know more about Galileo and his times than more than a few dozen on the planet."

Sid blinked. "You're remembering?"

His face was a haze of confusion, not knowing where the words came from. He
looked at her and she came to him, caressed his face, standing before him as he sat on the chair. He stood up, looked at her, this woman this crazy woman who had done so much for him.

For the second time that day, he kissed her.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Resisting the urge to just melt into John, Sidney broke the kiss and spun around, flustered and muttering something about making that phone call to Uncle Lou. Timing was everything right now, she thought innately, and this wasn't the time for that.

"Yeah." He answered on the seventh ring.

"And hello to you, too, Grumpy."

"That's Uncle Grumpy to you, pest. Two phone calls in one week. Are you bored? You really need to get yourself a nice Italian boy and settle... "

"Yeah, yeah. Nag, nag, nag. Another time, huh? I'm at mom's, Uncle Lou and I need you to come."

"Is something wrong with my sister? Stop beating around the bush and tell me, will ya?"

She could hear the concern in his voice, and tried to soothe it. The real news was going to be bad enough. "No, no. Mom's fine. It's... me. I need your help."

"You?? What do you mean you? Have you gone and gotten a flat or something? Didn't I tell you to get Triple A?" There was a pause on the line, broken by Uncle Lou clearing his throat. "Sorry, sweetie. No jokes. What's the matter?"

"Passports, for one thing. I need... two. And mom... "

"I thought you said she was okay!"

"Well, she is. Right now anyhow."

"Sounds not too good to me, kiddo. You're in Belmar?"

"Uh huh. I'm in the bungalow. Mom doesn't know anything. Please come. I'll explain everything when you get here. Oh... and Uncle Lou? Don't get arrested for speeding on the way."

"Be there," he said brusquely, severing the connection.

Sidney snapped her cel shut and turned to John. "He's on his way. If anyone can help... "

John nodded and put his arms around her. No kiss this time, but she took the proffered comfort and rested her head on his shoulder for a minute before moving away. They were in trouble sure enough and right now the only person she could trust was her uncle. If she knew him at all, and Sidney did, he'd make that hour and a half trip in under sixty minutes. That, at least, offered a modicum of easement. In the meantime, they turned on the television to something inane and sat together in companionable silence.

******

Sure enough, they heard the deep rumble of her uncle's bright red convertible pull into the driveway in record time and the chirrup of her mother's voice as she greeted her brother from the front porch. "Wassa matter," he grumbled. "Can't a guy just pop in to visit his sister when he has a hankering?"

"Did you eat? You must be starving. I'll get you something. Oh... and Sidney's here," Connie added not-so-quietly. "With her young man." If she had her way, she'd be stuffing food into her brother for longer than it took him to drive there. After all, it's what she did best.

Sid groaned and John looked at her with an arched eyebrow and a huge grin. "Not so young, I think." She didn't reply, getting up to ready the coffeemaker for a fresh pot.

"And just where is my favorite niece?" Her mother must have pointed because Sid heard no reply... just the sound of Uncle Lou's feet stomping across the sun porch and his booming voice as he opened the door.

"So," he said without preface. "You're the boyfriend, I'm the Uncle and you're the dame in trouble. I hope you made the coffee strong, cara. Now let's talk. First the CliffNotes version."

Introductions finally permitted, the threesome sat at the kitchen table with steaming mugs of fresh coffee while Sidney explained how John had been found, the attempt on his life in the hospital, the cabin. Uncle Lou listened intently without saying a word, his eyes rarely leaving John's face.

"Now it's your turn," he finally said to John. "This is my niece we're talking about here and it seems she's bound and determined to get ears deep in this business of yours. Now I want to hear your story." Uncle Lou's version of the hotseat was suddenly redirected.

John spoke slowly, thoughtfully, as if considering every word while searching for fragments -- more bits of memory that seemed to hover very near the surface. Filling in the gaps left by Sidney's rather broad synopsis of the situation, he finally shrugged and held up his hands as if to say "that's it".

"So you think the answer is in Italy? Or at least part of the answer," Lou paused before adding, "And this is why you need the passports." A statement rather than a question, the two waited for whatever would come next.

"That last bit's a snap, but it will be pricey. Also not a problem. The problem is... " Lou's eyes bored into John's before glancing at Sidney's and coming back again. "I have a particular fondness for my family and I wouldn't want anything to happen. Capisce?"

He waited for John, but it was Sid who replied. "Uncle Lou," she began, trying to sound braver than she was. "John didn't ask, I insisted. In fact, he... " She placed her hand beside John's and he covered it with his own. "Look. It's like this. Even if he told me to stay, I'd find a way. This is important... to both of us."

Lou didn't smile, but he knew how stubborn his niece could be when she had her head (and especially her heart) set on something. In a way, he was proud -- she came by it fairly. Not to say that he was muleheaded or anything, but...

"Dinner's ready! Hurry before it gets cold!"

The three rolled their eyes and laughed simultaneously as if it had been choreographed. "I'll make the call," Lou said. "I don't want Connie involved. You'll have to figure out what you're going to tell her." Pushing his chair back, he patted his stomach. "Now, let's go eat. I'm starving" thus bringing an effective end to the conversation.