Copyright© 2024 by Rottweiler

Deja Vu - Part Three: Soaring

by Rottweiler

Description: New challenges face Peter as he continues to forge ahead towards his destiny. With new burdens, terrible enemies, and the stigma of his color and disability, he must navigate a treacherous path to achieve his destiny while protecting those he loves from a sinister evil that threatens their very existence. There are some things money can't buy.

Tags: Much Sex, Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Ma/ft, Mult, Teenagers, Coercion, Consensual, NonConsensual, Rape, Romantic, Gay, Lesbian, BiSexual, Fiction, Crime, Rags To Riches, Tear Jerker, DoOver, Extra Sensory Perception, Paranormal, Sharing, Wife Watching, Humiliation, Sadistic, Torture, Polygamy/Polyamory, Interracial, Anal Sex, Amputee, Politics, Revenge, Violence

Published: 2024-05-09

Updated: 2024-10-30

Status: To Be Continued...

Size: 111,845 Words

Parts: This file contains 23 Parts

Chapter 1: Steward of Destiny

It was 1 a.m. on Saturday, January 4th, 1992—an hour after his arrest by the Apache Tribal police. They drove through an automatic gate next to a plain block building and parked near a door with a white-lit sign that read ‘Intake.’ After hauling him out of the SUV, they escorted him to the door and pressed a button. After the loud buzz, they opened the door and led him inside and down a short hallway to another door that buzzed as they approached.

They halted before a tall counter in the bright room and removed his cuffs. The passenger had a muffled conversation with an officer behind the plexiglass barrier, speaking through a honeycombed grill. The only words he heard were, “Makin’ trouble on the Rez.” His wallet was slipped through a small partition, and they turned to go. They were halfway back to the exit when a skinny deputy stepped out of a side door and re-cuffed him.

“This way, buddy.”

“When can I get a phone call?” he asked. He was pushed into a transparent cubicle.

“I’m gonna pat you down,” the man said as he removed the cuffs again. “Got anything in your pockets? Weapons? Knives? Firearms?”

Peter rubbed his wrists and gazed at the cop in disgust. “When will someone tell me what is going on?” he retorted. He was shoved face-first against the plexiglass and ordered to spread his legs. “Jesus, dude,” he snapped. “Take it easy!”

The deputy felt along his arms and shoulders and patted down his waist, taking a moment to remove his belt and toss it aside. Things got interesting when he groped down his legs and came to the abrupt end of his fleshy appendages.

The young deputy surprised him when he shouted in shock and bolted upright. He smashed the metallic red button on the wall with his palm. Instantly, a door burst open on the far side of the cubicle, and two more officers rushed in.

Peter heard the kid shout, “He’s packing!” before he was knocked to the floor and crushed beneath the heavy bodies of his attackers.

He tried to cry out, “Wait!” before a knee slammed down onto his head, smashing his face into the hard linoleum.

“Shut your face and don’t move!”

Peter felt and heard the metallic thuds as a wooden club hit his titanium ankles.

“Hold him!”

He heard a click before his pants were cut and ripped away.

“They’re prosthetics! I’m an amputee!”

A blow to the back of his head dazed him.

“I said, SHUT UP!”

“Goddamn, kid! This guy has artificial feet! Take them off!” someone laughed, “Jesus, Billy boy, you’re such a pussy!”

A sharp pain shot up his shin and into his knee as they tried to wrench his left prosthetic off by twisting and pulling.

“Ow! Take it easy! Let me do it!”

Another blow to the back of his head knocked him out.

A bucket of cold water shocked him awake. He sputtered and howled in fright and outrage as he blinked the water from his eyes. “What the fuck!” he screamed, struggling to sit up against a wall.

“What’s your name?”

“Where the fuck am I?” he demanded as his head throbbed. “Why are you treating me like this?”

“Answer the fucking question, inmate!”

“Fuck you! You got my wallet. Get me a lawyer!”

A sharp blow to his gut drove the air from his lungs, leaving him gagging and sobbing face down on the floor. As he lay in a fetal position, hacking and wheezing, the question was repeated.

“Pet ... Peter,” he gasped painfully, his eyes tightly closed. “Ship ... ley.”

“Run it,” he heard.

“What’s your address?”

He shook his head and tried to open his watering eyes against the bright overhead lights. “I don’t ... have one,” he moaned. “I’m staying in Whiteriver with a friend.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Lenna ... Uglyhorse.”

“Address and phone number.”

“No address. She lives on Eagle Ridge. No phone...” He paused and, in a moment of clarity, gave the man Kathy’s cell number.

“Hey, Sarge,” another voice interrupted. “Check this out.”

Peter was alone in an empty square room. He crawled back against the wall and sat up to hug his knees. He shivered from the damp cold, but the throbbing ache in his head took center stage, so he pressed his forehead into his knees. His prosthetic feet were missing, forcing him to lean further forward.

The door burst open again, and he heard several footsteps enter the room.

“Who the fuck are you?” The Sergeant asked.

“Nobody.”

The other man laughed harshly. “Nobody, eh? Not fucking likely.”

“Get a shirt on him and get him out of here!” His voice faded as he stepped out, “At least we don’t have to clean up this fucking mess...”

“Get up, ‘Nobody.’” the remaining guard grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him upright. “You walk like that? Or do we have to carry you?”

“I can walk.” At the doorway, an orange sweater was tossed at him.

“Put that on.”

“Where are we going?” he demanded. The sweater fell to his knees.

“I don’t know,” the man replied as he led him back to the Intake reception area. “Someone is coming to get you. After that—not my problem.”

Peter watched as his titanium feet, wallet, and onyx ring were tossed into a stenciled sack and placed by the door.

Everyone quieted as the whump-whump-whump of an approaching helicopter vibrated through the floor. A deputy opened the first door and prodded him into the short hallway. The chopper’s roar drowned other noises, but when he turned back, the door had closed. The sack lay nearby. He couldn’t hear the outer door, but it burst open, and two black-clad figures with military-style assault rifles entered, bearing down on him. Dark balaclavas covered their faces.

His fearful shout was lost in the rotor wash and roaring turbines. He was grabbed roughly before and carried toward the dark opening outside. A Blackhawk helicopter occupied the entire parking lot, shattering the night with its roaring engines and spinning rotors. He gaped in terror as he was rushed toward the open door and tossed into its pitch-black interior. He landed hard on metal plating and grunted in pain as his captors followed him in. The loud noise became muffled once the door was shut. He felt himself pressed into the floor as the helicopter lifted off.

He rolled onto his back and peered into the darkness. A small light flared into existence in front of his face. He blinked and saw a dark-featured face inches away behind a ski mask. A hand grabbed his face, turned his head, and released him. The light went out, and a dim red glow filled the cabin. He sat on the floor facing the aircraft’s rear, where four dark figures sat facing him. One was poking around the sack before removing and studying the ring. His feet and wallet were dumped onto the deck.

“Is this Whitaker’s héritier presume?” the figure holding the ring called over the engines and rotors.

“Homme mort qui marche,” another replied in thickly accented French.

“Aye, but with a message, Petré. With a message.”

Peter was defenseless against the black-clad commandos, even with his hands unshackled. He registered the rifle butt just as it appeared in his periphery. Then, his world exploded in blinding white agony before he lost awareness.

---

It wasn’t an interrogation. This was torture.

Every muscle, bone, and nerve ending screamed as he swung—like a punching bag—from repeated blows to his unprotected naked body. His arms were stretched painfully over his head, and his hands were tightly bound, attached to a cable bolted to the ceiling. His eyes were swollen shut, and his jaw ached from fractures. He had long lost the ability to think clearly as he succumbed to the harsh beating. It had lasted for hours, days ... weeks? He had lost all track of time.

If they sought information, they would have spared his face and jaw, preserving his ability to talk. But this was a message, as he was told repeatedly. The message’s nature was lost on him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The pain from the blows dulled his traumatized brain. He wasn’t aware when they stopped. A small part of his mind sensed he had ceased swinging and hung helplessly before his tormentor.

Despite the constant ringing in his ears, he heard a lighter scratch and noticed cigarette smoke. It blew into his face, causing him to cough. A sharp pain in his chest from fractured ribs made him groan. Aside from the spasms, he felt a heavy wetness in his lungs, making breathing hard. An excruciating yet familiar pain from a cigarette burn on his left armpit shocked his mind. His swollen jaw and raw throat muffled his shriek. His body jerked involuntarily, and he spun helplessly, oblivious to the cruel laughter from his unknown assailant. His sanity wavered again, and an odd sense of comfort settled over his mind. It was the specter shielding his shattered ego. The pain was still there, and he was acutely aware of the blows and jabs that followed.

He nearly lost consciousness but was revived by a sharp blow to his genitals, causing another scream. He thrashed about involuntarily, his tranquility unraveling momentarily. A harsh voice cursed at him in a language he didn’t understand. Nearby, another laughed mercilessly.

Why? He tried to claw himself back to the present, but the weight of his injuries and mental exhaustion pulled him back down into the abyss of his sub-conscience.

’You are not broken.’

Wha...? He felt and heard the presence. It came from without ... Beyond the physical constraints of his mind/body. Terrible blows landed on his body, driving the Specter’s veil further back.

’Heal yourself and fly away!’

A distant memory resonated ... a vision.

Warmth seeped into his mind/body, driving away the cold and buffering him from the blows that rained upon him beyond the spirit realm. They faded away, as did his pain and suffering.

The drums! He heard them ... so distant, like a faded memory.

The drum’s resonant vibrations could be felt in his bones. Eyes burned from the acrid smoke of the central fire. Shadowy figures danced and chanted in the dead tongue, beseeching the spirits. Boulders lined the clearing, painted blood red from the ceremonial fire. White feathers swirled about, but they seemed attracted to him as he drew close. Wherever they contacted his skin, they were absorbed, causing a cool numbing sensation that spread across his entire body.

Awareness returned abruptly with the sensation of falling. Part of him knew terror and panic for an instant before he struck the cold floor. One of his lungs collapsed, and he struck his head, causing painful flashes behind his sightless eyes. Then the sensation faded away, and he felt numb once again.

Anguished curses cried out, enraged and hateful. They grew distant. No longer consumed by his misery, Peter’s surroundings, environment, and time—ceased to exist. As he lay helpless over the cold surface, his mind grew heavy and slipped into oblivion.

‘Come with me, now, ’ she beckoned, reappearing before the great fire. She danced and twirled, her arms flung wide, lifting her face to the ephemeral sky. ’Come now.’

They soared upward together, far away from the pain and despair.

---

Something disturbed him, trying to draw him away from the swirling chaos of the spiritual realm sheltering him from the terrifying memories that raped his sanity. He resisted the compulsion to open his mind and seek out the source of irritation. Deep down, he knew that returning from the void meant facing unimaginable horrors again. Better to crawl deeper into the void and wait for death to end all suffering.

“Is he alive?” Though far away and tinny, the words penetrated the hissing, rushing, and ringing in his ears, jarring his dreamscape.

“Barely.” He didn’t understand the words; they were unwelcome and distracting.

“Take his legs—”

His mind didn’t register being lifted or carried from his nightmare. Oblivion swept over his dull senses again, and he welcomed it.

---

“ ... once he recovers from surgery.” “Even more concerning—” “Traumatic brain injury.” “Only time will tell—”

Two-Spirit.

Broken Eagle soars over the land of shadows. Ever watchful. Ever vigilant. He doesn’t fly on the wind or mountain breath—but on the spirit world currents between here and the realm of the ancestors. His keen eyes don’t seek the unwary jack rabbit or rock squirrel hidden in the sagebrush shadows. He glimpses the bright sparks of destiny, lost in the arroyos, canyons, and washes. Broken-Eagle is a steward of that destiny.

“Peter, can you hear me? Please, baby! Squeeze my hand. I love you so much! Please come back to me. I’m begging you!” A distant sobbing voice. A pleasant memory.

“Oh my God!”

“What happened?”

“He just squeezed my hand!” Closer still. He could almost... “Peter! Squeeze my hand again! Baby, it’s me, Kathy!”

There!

He heard a loud cry of relief, and suddenly, a weight pressed against his chest and torso, warm and soft. It shook violently, and he heard loud sobbing next to his ear. “OH GOD! THANK YOU!” she cried harshly.

“Get the doctor in here!” He recognized that voice.

“Oh, baby! I thought I lost you!” she wept, kissing his ear and cheek. “You’re okay now! Everything is going to be okay! Oh, thank God!”

He winced from the bright light shone into his eyes.

“Sorry about that,” the man straightened and set the ophthalmoscope back on the wall. “I’m pretty certain there’s no lasting damage to either eye,” he added reassuringly. “You suffered a significant subconjunctival hemorrhage to your right eye, which may stain the sclera red for some time, maybe even permanently. But despite its appearance, it won’t affect your vision.”

“Thanks, doc,” he replied with a harsh, muffled whisper. His vocal cords and throat felt raw and sore. Being intubated with an artificial airway several times—for multiple surgeries in the first days—didn’t help. His jaw was wired shut, preventing him from moving his fractured mandible.

“We’ll continue the ointment and eyedrops for five more days and reassess,” the man added before leaving. He was one of a dozen specialists monitoring his progress during his recovery, including orthopedic, chest, ENT, pulmonology, cardiology, internal medicine, and pharmacy experts. Every time he opened his eyes, a new face scrutinized his body. That didn’t include the nurses, aides, and therapists waiting to help him wash and move.

Peter was piecing together recent memories as his body healed. He had been treated for his worst injuries at Banner Medical Center in Mesa before being transferred to this private facility in Scottsdale. He looked around the lavishly appointed room with subdued lighting for his sensitive eyes.

Kathy was sleeping curled up on a nearby recliner. She was always by his side. The ordeal left her traumatized and fearful of being apart from him. She snuck into his bed every night and held him tightly despite the confined space. At first, it was uncomfortable due to the lines, wires, and tubes attached to his body. But he voiced no objection, knowing she did it for her needs and to comfort him. They promised him a larger bed in a more lavish suite in a day or two once the last chest tube was removed.

Sue and Bradly came and went, but one expected visitor never appeared. When he asked about her, he immediately forgave her absence.

“Mags was at the Airport when they airlifted you in,” Kathy told him the previous day. “When she saw your injuries—oh baby, it was horrific—and she had a breakdown.”

“We weren’t there, but Ian told us she went insane, and it took him and two others to hold her down until she could be sedated,” Sue added.

“Who’s Ian?”

Kathy glanced at Sue and Peter. “He was there when you were brought in. A kindly older fellow with a British accent like Monty and Alistair.” She gave him a nervous nod. “I think he’s part of the ... you-know-what.”

“I wouldn’t describe him as ‘kindly’ or ‘older,’” Sue remarked, ignoring their silent byplay. “Ominous, scary, soft-spoken, maybe sinister,” she shuddered. “The dude is built like a brick shit-house and has scars ... everywhere.” She looked intently at him. “As for kindly? I’d say he has a certain charm ... like Ted Bundy.”

“I’m glad he’s on our side,” Kathy agreed. “He checked on you a couple of times. We had to give him the black ledger and your notes. He locked them up in a special box and took it away.”

A memory jolted him. “My ring?”

“He has that too,” his fiancée nodded, holding his hand. “Your feet and wallet are here.”

“So are all the parts of your new computer you shipped to the shop,” Sue nodded toward a cabinet door. Then she sighed. “Oh, Peter, it’s a miracle you survived. This has been hard on everyone...” Her eyes teared up. “Brad may be a prickly pear, but he’s inconsolable for letting them separate you two. He feels responsible.”

“Len?” he muttered.

Kathy sighed, “She may just be the one person among us who has kept it together.”

Sue nodded, “That girl has deep layers. Outwardly, she seems focused and driven. She has probably kept us grounded enough to keep us from losing our shit. But deep down, this has got to be tearing her apart.” She sniffed sadly. “She may not show it, but you mean everything to her.”

“Old Begay?” He kept his words short due to the difficulty articulating his voice.

Both women smiled. “Lenna again,” Sue interjected, “She repaired his hogan herself. You’d think she drove Brad and the crew with a horsewhip, the way she demanded everything. She insisted on replacing the roof with metal and completely renovated the interior—new insulation, windows, a real door, and flooring. She bought him a new wood stove and had an outhouse built.” The Navajo woman looked proud. “They are finishing it this week. Brad said they installed a winterized water tank and plumbed it into the hogan, so he has a sink and running water.”

Peter was happy to hear the news. He tried to focus on their conversation but drifted off to sleep, feeling safe and not alone for the first time since waking up.

---

When he awoke later, he found a stranger standing beside his bed. As soon as he noted the severely swept-back gray hair, weathered face that bore several old scars across his left cheek, and his overbearing presence, Peter knew he was facing the man Sue described.

“Hell of a way to start the New Year, mate,” the man spoke with a soft British accent. He wore starched gray slacks and a thick army-green shooting sweater with leather pads sewn into the shoulders and elbows.

Peter nodded.

“Name’s Hughes,” he stated gruffly, without offering a handshake. “Ian Weatherly Hughes. Just call me Ian.” He stepped around the bed and sat on Peter’s right side for better lighting.

Ted Bundy fits. The man glided across the room.

“I’d congratulate your ascension into the Consortium,” the man said quietly. Then he gestured to the bed and monitors surrounding the wounded man. “Alas, you’ve probably picked up that membership can be costly.”

“What can you tell me?” Peter muttered through clenched teeth.

“Currently, all is well ... for the most part,” he replied. “Your partner sounded the All Call immediately after our adversaries had taken you. That Indian fellow called your girl when they took you from that pub up north.” He took a cup of water without offering one to Peter. “She, in turn, brought lovely Magdelaine into the loop, and the lass took immediate action.”

Peter glanced at the LED clock over his door. It read 19:34 SUN, JAN 12, 1992, eight days. “Who were they?” There was no need to specify.

“Being a global outfit with our mitts in everything—we create tensions and hard feelings among some out-of-sorts rabble,” the man offered. “Some adversaries are particularly put out over some insult or another. Most aren’t worth a casual glance, but some have pockets as deep as ours and the resources to annoy us.”

Peter found his euphemisms irritating. “They spoke French,” he muttered.

Ian nodded soberly. “As suspected. The Parisians are upset after we ... quelled a troublesome lot.”

You nerve-gassed a café!

He shook a newspaper loose. “Water under the bridge now,” he grumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“Your ‘mixed’ colleague went ‘scorched earth’ when your team located you,” he replied, glancing over the headlines of the publication. It was an early USA Today. “You were held in an unlikely urban townhouse in Tucson, just south of here. I guess they hoped to slip over the border when they were done with you.”

“What happened?”

“I meant ‘scorched’ literally, I’m afraid,” he replied without looking up. “Magdelaine rashly chose to take no prisoners and left the place a smoldering pile of ashes ... Hell hath no fury and all that.”

Racist and misogynist. “Good!” he coughed painfully.

“Not hardly, mate ... our strength lies in staying a step ahead of our enemies.” He folded the paper and gazed at him intently. “In this instance, they had the take on you, and I’d like to know how that happened. Instead of waiting for my colleagues and me, she acted out of passion and made a right mess of it.”

“Like gassing innocent bystanders in a corner café?” he retorted.

Peter could tell he had struck a nerve by the man’s stiff posture. When Ian rose from his seat, it was apparent that their conversation was over.

“I want to see her,” he stated firmly.

The older man turned and regarded him with an unreadable expression, but his eyes were smoldering. “I’m afraid your Magdelaine Desormeaux is ... down for the count, as you Yanks say,” he replied gruffly, setting the paper on Peter’s lap. “I don’t think she has the faculties for coherent conversation now, and I doubt she ever will again.”

“Send her to me.”

“Mr. Shipley, she won’t come,” he insisted. “We’re searching to find you an alternate—”

“No!” he muttered sourly, grimacing over his wired jaw.

“Peter, mate ... she can no longer function as your—”

“She can and she will,” Peter said firmly. “I need to speak with her ASAP.”

The older man sighed and shook his head. “I’ll pass on your request.”

“When you do, give her a message. She will understand.”

“What might that be?”

“Just tell her, ‘Geronimo’.”

Chapter 2: Protective Measures

Hours later, Kathy saw Ian enter with a disheveled Maggy. Peter’s ringing ears masked their entrance while he worked on a new motherboard. She touched his elbow, and he looked up before turning to regard his friend and colleague. She looked awful, and Ian had to hold her elbow as she shuffled into the room.

Peter’s heart lurched as he studied her slumped-over figure. Her short, spiky hair was matted, and her eyes appeared dark and hollow, lacking luster. Her face looked pale and loose without its healthy olive tone.

Kathy moved beside him and followed as he returned to his bed. She helped him out of the chair and moved it aside while the two newcomers looked on silently. Ian left without a word, leaving his despondent partner standing alone with her head hung low. Peter reclined on the bed with his covers off and nodded in silent communication to Kathy, who gave him a thin smile and warm kiss before leaving. She halted beside the disconsolate woman and pulled her into a warm hug. She whispered soft words into the mulatto girl’s ear but got no response. She kissed her softly on the cheek before slipping out.

Peter swallowed painfully as he gazed sadly at the sad figure. “Come here,” he beckoned with a catch in his voice.

Standing in the middle of the room, refusing to acknowledge or even look at him, she made no move to comply. Her demeanor seemed utterly defeated.

“Maggy!” he continued, more sharply than intended. He saw her stiffen and heard a quiet sniff. “Come over here ... please.”

Despite her emotional turmoil, she shuffled her feet obediently until she stood beside the bed at his torso.

He held his arms open and beckoned for her again. She sniffed and shook her head sharply, staring down at her feet.

“Please, sweetheart,” he murmured through his clenched jaw. “Don’t make me reach up for you.” He took her left hand, noted how cold her fingers were, and pulled her closer until she reluctantly leaned in. She didn’t resist as he grabbed her arms and gently pulled her down until her torso rested atop his. She wore a thin cotton spaghetti strap top and loose hospital scrub pants tied around her waist. He shifted her until her body rested stiffly atop his, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing her face into his neck. He felt her trembling slightly.

“Everything will be okay,” he murmured into her ear, then stayed quiet as her tremors intensified. He turned his head and kissed her ear gently, evoking a sharp intake of breath. She kept her hands close to her neck as she shivered in his arms.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I got you. I will never forsake you!”

Her body shook violently, and her hands wrung his shirt. She seemed to hiccup and drew a deep breath. He felt the vibration in her chest as she emitted a high-pitched keening sound that broke his heart. He rubbed her back gently and felt her take another deep, shuddering breath. Then she released a long, pitiful wail steeped in misery and despair. He tightened his arms around her as she shuddered and gasped before sucking more air into her lungs. Her tortured cries sounded strangled and choked as her pent-up emotions burst like a dam.

The door opened to reveal a nurse with a concerned look. Peter waved her off, holding the inconsolable woman. His throat tightened, and he wept silently. Her pain erupted, and she sobbed for hours, clinging to him helplessly. Her body shook so intensely that he pulled the comforter over them. Her tears soaked his shirt and the sheets. Eventually, her sobs faded, and she lay weakly on him, gasping and weeping. After an hour, she had calmed to the point that her body relaxed, and she drifted into a troubled sleep.

He held her long into the night as she slept fitfully. Eventually, she slid to his left side, curling into his protective arms with her face pressed into his ribs. He drifted asleep, awakening when he felt her stir beside him and suddenly sit up. He blinked in the darkness and sat up to join her, softly touching the back of her neck.

“I’m ... I’m sorry,” she shuddered beneath his touch. “I have to go.” She climbed out of the bed and stared across the dim room at nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her.

“No way,” he replied softly. “I just got you back. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second.” He slipped off the bed to his stubs and approached her, looking up at her face, trying to read her expression masked by shadows. “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “It’s not right. Ian said—”

“Fuck Ian!” he growled, taking her hand possessively. “He is the last person I want as a role model.”

“Peter, he’s not wrong,” she sniffed. “I let my ... I did everything wrong. If I had waited—”

“I would be dead,” he finished, feeling her stiffen next to him. “Come back to bed.”

“I’m a mess,” she whispered. “I soaked your shirt too.”

He let go of her to strip the damp shirt over his head and toss it aside. “Problem solved.”

“Wha ... what?” she stammered.

“No more excuses,” he ordered, pulling her gently back to the bed.

She stepped forward to follow him and swallowed nervously as she gazed at his chest and the discolorations, scars, and burns that covered him.

“You first,” he prompted gently.

Without a word, she climbed back onto the bed. His warm skin made her tremble as he embraced her again and pulled the blankets over them. She resumed her curled position with her cheek on his shoulder.

He kissed her forehead and told her to sleep.

“But ... what about Kathy?” she whispered anxiously.

“She understands,” he replied softly.

“She never once gave up on finding you,” she sniffed. “I—”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Get some sleep. You haven’t rested in days.” He kissed her closed eyes. “I’m here, and I will heal. I’m not going anywhere.”

He drifted off, comforted by her proximity. Her hair smelled sweaty, but her skin had a faint almond and spicy scent. She roused him frequently with startling cries in the dark. But his presence quickly calmed her, and she would return to her fitful slumber.

It was still dark when the discomfort of his injuries woke him. He felt every insult to his body and gasped when even the slightest cough sent spasms of agony through his chest. Reluctantly, he called for the nurse and requested pain medication. It was an older black woman, and she quickly took his vital signs as she assessed his pain level.

“Just something to take the edge off, please,” he requested softly, trying not to wake the girl beside him.

Mrs. Darlena defined ‘the edge’ based on his elevated blood pressure and dosed him with a milligram of Dilaudid.

---

The smell of rich coffee pulled him back to wakefulness. He looked up to find Kathy gazing fondly at him and the sleeping form beside him. He felt Maggy’s warmth against his back and carefully untangled himself from the covers to sit up.

“How’s she doing?” Kathy asked quietly as he joined her at the table where his new computer sat in pieces. Accepting the coffee and a kiss, he savored the first sip before ambulating on his stubs to the bathroom to attend to his morning absolutions. He showered and put on board shorts and a polo shirt before carefully and awkwardly putting on his prosthetic feet for the first time in nearly two weeks. Dr. Richardson had sent a new set to the clinic. He was impressed that they were lightweight and made from a Kevlar and graphite composite. They also had articulations ankles, which was a trip to get used to. The cups were new, and he’d have to break them in over time.

When he returned, Kathy stared quietly at the sleeping figure in his bed. “She’s having bad dreams,” she remarked as he stepped over to adjust her blankets. “I’m so glad you brought her here, babe. It was awful seeing her after...” she shuddered.

“I feel like you all suffered more than I did,” he said, returning to the motherboard. He only had to install the RAM and attach the cooling fans to the two CPUs, and then he could secure it inside the tower. They worked together quietly, assembling the PC one component at a time until an aide fetched him for his morning physical therapy. He preferred to complete his early rehab before breakfast.

When he returned to his room, he found Kathy asleep in his bed, snuggling with the smaller woman who hadn’t moved since he had gotten up hours earlier. He padded over to the table, finished his coffee, and worked on his PC to their quiet snores.

---

He was finishing the final construction when he heard movement and turned to find Maggy sitting up in the bed, blinking in confusion. Relief was evident on her face when she recognized him. Then she glanced down at the Native girl asleep beside her.

“Good morning,” he smiled, glancing at the wall clock. “Or afternoon, rather.”

She blinked several times and reached up to touch her matted hair. “Ugh. How long have I been asleep?” She tugged at her nightshirt with a grimace.

“About fifteen hours,” he replied.

Kathy stirred, stretched, and sat up. Her face was smooth and relaxed, and she smiled warmly at the woman beside her. “Hey, you.” She said softly, embracing the woman fondly and kissing her.

Maggy stiffened, then relaxed as she looked back at Peter anxiously.

“Hey,” Kathy said calmly to the disheveled woman as she climbed out of the bed. She stepped around and took Maggy’s hands. “Let’s clear the air a bit, okay?” She sat on the bed, holding her hands tightly. “I asked Peter to bring you to his bed. Okay? You need to understand how much we love you. And you must accept that our lives would be so empty without you.”

Maggy sniffed and nodded as she tried to meet her gaze. “I ... um,” she stammered. “We didn’t...”

Kathy grinned and giggled. “Baby girl, I know this. God knows our poor man is so bruised and battered I doubt he even could.” She coyly smiled at Peter, who blushed and sipped his cold coffee. “But you need to know something, Mags. I wouldn’t have minded whatsoever. And I hope that someday you feel comfortable enough knowing that.” She stood up and pulled the distraught girl to her feet. “Go hug that boy and give him a good morning kiss.”

Peter stood and welcomed the slight woman into his arms, holding her tightly. “I love you,” he whispered as she shivered in his arms. “It’s going to be okay. Do you believe me?”

She looked at him, peering into his crisp sapphire gaze, and nodded hesitantly.

“Ahem,” Kathy remarked, moving up to them. “On the lips.”

Maggy flinched at his kiss but didn’t resist. She licked her lips nervously after they parted.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up. I went shopping for you.” Kathy added happily, leading her into the bathroom.

Despite the intermittent ringing in his ears, he caught snippets of their muffled conversation and blushed whenever he was on the topic.

“I ... you and ha keep saying you love me. Like it’s so...”

“Sweet Maggy. We do love you ... so very much. You will see one day.”

“I’ve never...”

“What?”

There was a pause as hushed obscured by the shower.”

“ ... explain to you what love is all about ... Let me wash your hair. God, I love your skin...”

Peter felt a familiar twinge in his groin as he pictured the two naked in the shower together. Then he winced as the dull ache from his bruised testicles quelled it. For a brief instant, it was relieving to know that things still responded down there.

“ ... has their own concept of love, devotion ... intimacy. I will tell you how I explained it to Peter...”

He quietly rolled his chair around the table, moving closer to the bathroom as he assembled the computer.

“To my people, love simply means making yourself vulnerable,” he heard her explain. He smiled, remembering their endless hours of pillow talk. “It means giving your heart and soul to another and forever trusting them never to hurt you.”

The shower stopped, and he heard them shuffle about before a hairdryer turned on and drowned all conversation.

---

After finishing the new computer, Peter logged onto the Internet, downloaded essential programs, and prepared a Spreadsheet for his work on Jeremiah’s cipher. He emailed Alan to send him their updated coding engine. He began recreating the 104 Sanskrit characters from memory and building a translation database to assign attributes.

Kathy and Maggy spent nearly an hour in the bathroom, and when they reappeared, he was relieved to see some of Maggy’s old spark return. She was dressed sharply in a form-fitting knit shirt that accentuated her bust and tight leggings that hugged her legs, hip, and butt. She wore black suede ankle-high boots with modest heels, and her damp hair was styled in its former spikey fashion. He got up from his desk and embraced her in a warm hug.

“Welcome back,” he smiled.

She glanced down, embarrassed, and joined Kathy on the nearby couch. A housekeeper had come by while they were cleaning up and made Peter’s bed with fresh linen. On her way out, he asked for a light meal tray and coffee service for them.

“I need a favor whenever you’re free,” he said as he returned to the PC and continued typing rapidly. “I need that ledger and my notes.”

“I’ll have it for you today,” Maggy replied promptly. “Ian put it in my office safe.”

“How did Qualcomm’s IPO go?”

She made a plate and began eating voraciously. “Last month, I bought 400,000 shares on the 20th. They opened at $18, but after the auctions, we bought lots for up to $26,” she replied. “We were restricted to no more than 10% of the offering. Since then, I got 100,000 preferred shares and another 50,000 common.”

Peter minimized his window and pulled up a financial page. “They are trading at $47, so we’ve doubled our investment,” he mused. “That’ll be chump change compared to the next decade.” He returned to his previous work screen. “Have you contacted Brad and Sue regarding the KC venture?” He intentionally omitted Kathy’s name on the construction project, and she didn’t notice as she made a plate for herself. Because of his inability to chew, the kitchen prepared him smoothies and thick liquid meals.

Maggy nodded, taking a moment to swallow. “They have an open-ended expense account through Wells Fargo. Last I checked, they used a small part to rent storage pods.”

He nodded absently, “They’ll do great things with that plot. Help them with whatever they need—zoning, permits, civil engineering, architects, whatever.”

She nodded, looking more and more like her old self as they talked.

“What about the Netter Island venture with Monty and Alistair?”

She set down her cup. “They’re taking complete charge of it,” she replied. “I just wired them $90 million and a promissory note.”

“I feel good about that one, too,” he replied confidently while typing and making notes.

“Since you got your soothsayer glasses on,” Kathy mused over the USA Today Ian left behind. “Who’s gonna win the Kentucky Derby this May?” She ran her finger down the list of Triple Crown contenders.

Peter stopped typing and sat back, staring into space. “I don’t remember,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Or at least ‘old Pete’ doesn’t.” He continued staring into space. “It was an upset though ... Read me the spreads.”

Kathy glanced at Maggy, and they gazed at each other with wide eyes. Then she held up the paper and began reading the names of each horse and jockey and their odds. Suddenly, he held up his hand and stopped her.

“It was seventeen to one. That horse will win.”

Maggy scooted next to her and read the list. “Lil E. Tee,” she read. “Are you sure about that?”

He shrugged and nodded, returning to his data entry. “Pretty sure.”

“Like, $10,000 sure, or $1 million sure?” she pushed.

“$10 million, sure,” he muttered absently.

Kathy whistled. “What does that mean? How much do we make if you bet ten million and he wins?”

“$170 million,” Maggy breathed, “Before taxes.”

Their conversation dwindled, and they sat silently, each in their own thoughts. Then Peter looked up and found the slight Euro-African female staring at him with tears.

“What’s the matter?”

She sniffed. “I just can’t stop thinking about how...” her voice caught, and she swallowed, “I can’t even describe how awful it was when we lost track of you,” she said softly, “I now know what it’s like to lose your mind literally.”

“How did you find where they kept me?” he murmured, trying not to remember the depravity and wickedness that they inflicted upon him.

She breathed and shook off her emotions, “Turns out that roaring over people’s homes in a Blackhawk leaves an impression.” She stared into space as she spoke, “Tracking its flight from A to B was simple enough. They landed in a field less than a mile from where they took you. The helicopter was stolen, and when it was clear they were headed to Mexico, an Air Alert went out, and they had to abandon it or risk interception—not very smart on their part.”

“Ian said I was being held in some townhouse near Tucson?”

He could see the distaste in her expression at the mention of the Englishman’s name. “A new housing complex that was being built. They broke into an unfinished unit and hid out while they...” she swallowed. “I had six teams out scouring the area, along with law enforcement and DEA who were partial to their stolen chopper.” She sat forward and pulled her feet beneath her, hugging her knees. “I was listening in on every radio transmission and cell phone intercept I could find. The little things clued me in and narrowed the search.”

He waited patiently for her to put her jumbled thoughts into words.

“There were complaints about excessive barking from neighborhood dogs. One man who lived behind and adjacent to the home they hid in complained about the strong smell of ‘burning cloves.’”

He stiffened as he recalled the cloying stench of the cigarettes that his assailant burned him with.

“When I overheard a dispatch about some ‘foreign ass-hole neighbor’ threatening to shoot a woman’s dog, I directed Parson and his team to check it out. The Police were too caught up in the manhunt to concern themselves with a domestic dispute over a dog,” she muttered. “When Parson contacted me next, he was racing toward Banner’s Level I Trauma Center with you in the back seat.”

---

Later, Peter worked alone on the code from memory. It was clear early on that it was not written in English. There were just too many character sets for the 26 letters in the alphabet. So, he needed to assign attributes and create quick strokes on his 104-key keyboard. As Alan predicted, it required pen, paper, and lots of trial and error. With billions of possible combinations from 26 letters—creating a new programming language with 104 characters seemed impossible. It’ll take a genius to figure this out. He thought. Kathy and Maggy stepped out and had yet to return with the ledger and the volumes of handwritten notes he made.

After hours of frustration, he suddenly had an idea and asked an aide for a small bottle of white-out. He painted over the keyboard keys and carefully drew Sanskrit characters in their place. He made a mental note to slave a standard keyboard to the new computer as well. On a whim, he decided to add a second monitor as well.

A knock on his door interrupted his concentration. He turned and saw Sue peering in. “Is this a good time?” she asked.

He grinned and got up to meet her. She opened the door to admit herself, her husband, his cousin, and...

“Oof!” he gasped as a brightly dressed figure dashed into the room and launched herself into his arms. “Hi, Char!” he exclaimed as she engulfed him—her arms and legs wrapped tightly around his trunk. He held her back. She wore a backpack over her warm winter coat.

She made no sound as she clung to him, and he glanced back at the three adults who entered with her. Lenna and Sue gazed on tearfully while her father removed his Stetson and dusted it awkwardly.

“You alright, kiddo?” he whispered to her. She remained silent, but he felt her tears soaking his neck.

“She hasn’t said much lately,” Lenna commented after clearing her throat. She carried a large sack of things and set it on the table while Sue and Brad removed their coats and took seats on the couch. Lenna came over and stood on her toes to kiss him softly. “It’s been hard for everyone.”

Determined not to relinquish her grip, Peter moved to his bed and sat on the edge facing his guests. She clung tighter to him and pressed her damp face against his neck.

“It’s going to be alright now,” he assured them. “I can’t go into it much, but bigger things are happening. And it will affect all of us in time.”

“A group of men showed up at the house over a week ago,” Lenna replied, trying to see his face behind her niece’s bulky figure. “They came in a black van and said some stuff. They asked to go through your room and took a few things.”

“Did one have a nasty scar on his face?”

She nodded. “They were polite and genuinely concerned for me, Char, and the babies,” she added. “They walked all over the property and commended me for keeping a lovely home. A ground crew had dug a ditch along the road and buried several cables.”

“Len has a landline now,” Sue replied happily.

“We got cable, too,” Charity’s muffled voice sounded against his shoulder.

Peter grinned and squeezed her. “Cable, huh? Too bad you don’t have a TV.”

Lenna rolled her eyes sheepishly, and her cheeks colored.

“Do too,” the adolescent claimed, hiding her face in his shirt.

Tears came unbidden to his eyes, and he pressed his lips against her head. “God, I love you!” he murmured. Her response was unintelligible, but he needed no translation.

“The Englishman said they would provide a permanent ‘security team’ and wanted to know if they could park an RV next to the Fleetwood out back,” Lenna continued. “He said it was for our protection and seemed pleased with the location of my ... our home.”

Charity sat back suddenly and stared blankly at his Adam’s apple. Her face was damp and streaked with tears, and she sniffed deeply. “Those people who hurt you,” she mumbled. “Are they dead?”

He nodded grimly at her with a tight smile, “Every fucking one of them, sweetheart.”

She nodded once before pushing back against him. “Good. Wish I could have killed them myself.”

Sue was about to speak when the door opened to admit Kathy and Maggy. Each of them carried a cardboard tray of fast food. “Hey, everyone!” Kathy greeted brightly. “I hope you’re hungry. We stopped at KFC and Burger King.” They set the boxes on the table before the couch and loveseat.

Charity suddenly extricated herself from Peter and hopped to her feet. She wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve and trotted over to the women. Kathy looked startled and delighted when the girl stepped past her and hugged Maggy first.

Everyone watched in amazement as the Mulato woman stiffened uncertainly before hugging the girl back.

“Thank you for killing those fuckers,” Charity murmured.

Maggy’s reaction was almost comical as her expression shifted from startled disbelief to grim acceptance. She lowered her face into the girl’s neck and hugged her fiercely. “You’re welcome, Cheri. I wish I could do it again.” When she lifted her face, a familiar fire smoldered in her eyes. All traces of her pain and insecurity were gone.

After releasing the woman and hugging Kathy, the girl turned and began rummaging through the boxes, grabbing a giant milkshake, a burger, and several pieces of chicken. She plopped herself down on the couch, claiming Sue’s place when the Navajo woman got up to make plates for her and her husband.

Kathy bit back her laughter as she grabbed a chocolate shake and handed it to Peter. “Here, babe, I got you mashed potatoes and gravy, too.” He beamed brightly, revealing the wires that kept his jaw secure.

While everyone ate, Maggy pulled a thin metal box from her coat and put it next to Peter’s computer. She handed him the onyx ring, and he nodded appreciatively before placing it back on his finger. Next to the box, she put a stack of well-worn notebooks.

“When do the witch doctors say you can leave and return to the Rez?” Bradly asked between bites as he made room for Sue to join them on the couch with his daughter. They appeared to be at war over whose French fries were whose.

“A week at most,” he replied. “I need to handle a few things before I head back.”

“You’re like a celebrity now,” he scoffed. Charity nodded and mumbled animatedly as she sucked on her straw. Instead of stopping, she reached into her coat and took out a decorative broach with two white feathers tied together at their quills with a leather thong and tiny beads. She shook it to show everyone before swallowing and gasping for breath.

“What is that?” Peter asked.

“It’s your talisman,” she replied, snatching fries from her father’s plate. “I designed it. Everyone’s got one, too. They’re all over the school, RC and Whiteriver.” She was quite smug as she got up and handed it to him.

He studied it for a moment, then handed it to Kathy. “I don’t understand.”

The fifteen-year-old rolled her eyes and kept eating. “That’s cause you’re a paleface, tenderfoot.”

Maggy snorted, causing Sue and Kathy to giggle.

“You’re Peter Two-Spirit,” the girl explained with her mouth full. “Each feather is one of your spirits. Get it now?”

“Why don’t you slow down before you choke to death,” Lenna told her sternly. “Nobody’s going to take your drumstick.”

To her credit, Charity considered the idea for a moment before deciding not to risk it, stuffing her face again. Her aunt rolled her eyes and strode over with her ‘mom’ posture.

“At least take off your backpack and coat,” she demanded.

The girl reluctantly gave up her thick coat and pack, relinquishing one arm at a time to guard her fries. She wore her favorite tribal dress.

Peter noticed a small woven pouch around her neck, decorated with microbeads and turquoise buttons. “What is that?” he asked.

Charity drank her shake, belched, and showed it to him. “It’s my ‘jish,’” she replied, using the Navajo term for medicine pouch.

“Oh,” Kathy smiled. “Like Old Begay’s?”

She nodded. “Yup, he helped me make it last week when Max and I visited him.” She took it from around her neck and handed it to Peter.

“What’s in it?” he asked, glancing at Sue, who was hiding her smile with her napkin.

The girl casually described it: “Some pollen, sage, grass, seeds, and herbs,” she replied. “I asked Nana for some corpse powder, but she freaked out and smacked me.” She rubbed her right ear subconsciously.

Sue gasped and shook her head. “Nuh-uh, child,” she said gravely. “Don’t mess with Witch medicine,” she gave the girl a severe look, “That’s for shamans and singers.”

“That’s what Nana said,” Charity grumbled, “Right after she rang my bell!”

Peter felt around the pouch and frowned. “What’s this?” He opened the flap, looked inside, and removed an old military medal.

“OB gave it to me,” she said eagerly. “Along with this,” she pulled out a worn brass button, once black, featuring a globe with a bird and a naval anchor. “Aren’t they cool?”

Peter handled the medal and button reverently as he studied them. “This looks like a campaign ribbon,” he glanced at Kathy. “Your dad had a bunch from Vietnam.”

She took it and pursed her lips. “I think this is much older,” she replied.

“Let me see that,” Bradly said, getting up from the couch. He took it and nodded. “This is from WW2, Pacific Theater, see the submarine sinking?” He took the button and grunted. “Old Begay was a Jarhead. This is the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor device from a dress cover.”

Sue leaned in, gazing at the items eagerly.

“No fucking way!” Peter gasped as he stood abruptly. “A Marine? During the War in the Pacific?” His eyes were like saucers.

“What, babe?” Kathy asked.

He asked Bradly’s wife, “Sue, do the Navajo keep historical records on the Code Talkers of World War Two?”

Her eyes widened, and she gazed at him in shock. “You think old Begay was a Code Talker?”

“No way!” Charity snorted. “World War Two was like a hundred years ago.”

“There is a historical archive in Shiprock, New Mexico,” the Navajo woman added. “It’s part of the heritage museum. That is an excellent place to start.”

Maggy quietly approached Peter’s computer and frowned at his keyboard. “What on earth...?” she mumbled as she regarded the Sanskrit characters on it. Fortunately, she was beyond proficient and typed with her eyes on the monitor.

A moment later, she pulled up several articles on AOL regarding the famous Navajo Code Talkers. “He would’ve had to be 17 to 35 years old to meet the age and physical requirements for duty in the Marine Corps,” she remarked. She pulled up black and white group photos of young Indigenous men in their uniforms holding rifles. “Any idea what his name is? Tribal or whatever the white man called him?”

Sue shook her head as they gathered around the woman at the computer. “He either doesn’t know, or it’s unimportant to him,” she said. “I’ve spoken with him for hours but haven’t learned anything of his past.” She nodded at the medal, “I had no idea he served.”

Lenna pointed at a photo. “It’s telling that he left the Navajo reservation and settled on my land.”

“I’ll start making phone calls tomorrow morning,” Peter said, poking the teenager in her ribs, causing her to jump off his knee.

She scowled at him, remembered something and her expression became excited again. She dashed toward her backpack. “You gotta check this out!” she blurted, rummaging in her bag. She pulled out her CD Player and a blank disc in a clear case. “Kathy and I made you a CD!”

Kathy gasped delightedly. “You put it on CD?” she asked, smiling. “How?”

“At school,” Charity replied smugly. “Stinky Feathers is a pro at mixing and stuff. I made him help me.”

Peter looked mystified. “What did you make?”

“Lay down on your bed,” the girl ordered, following him to ensure he was reclined comfortably. “Good,” she muttered, exchanging the CDs in her player and handing him the headphones.

He looked at Kathy expectantly, and she smiled encouragingly. “It’s really cool, babe,” she explained, “The Thursday before last—while they operated on you all day, I returned to Rainbow City.” She sat on the bed’s edge. “There was an incredible thunderstorm over the valley. Not a drop of rain, but the wind, lightning, and thunder were spectacular.” She smiled distantly, recalling it.

Lenna said, “She took her recording stuff onto the deck and made a soundtrack.”

“And she played her flute along with it!” Charity blurted, “And I made a hoot owl, a Loon call, and a howling wolf! And she recorded it all!” She demonstrated by cupping her hands with her thumbs side by side. She blew into them and waved her fingers, creating a haunting call that made his skin tingle. “And this is the hoot owl,” she added, making a completely different but equally eloquent sound.

“Wow! That was good!” he told her.

She laughed maniacally and placed her loose fists end to end. Shivers ran up his spine when she called through them as he pictured a lonely, majestic wolf calling out for its mate.

“Pretty good, huh?” she grinned. “We put it together and called it “Wind Spirit crying to Storm Father.” She placed the earphones gently over his head and gazed at him nose to nose. “Ready? Close your eyes.”

The soundtrack was masterfully recorded. The first thing he felt was his body jolt from the crash of thunder, followed by a long, rumbling echo, which he envisioned overlooking the wide valley. As it faded, he heard the Loon’s call and a sharp emotional trill from Kathy’s recorder. He felt chills as he pictured the scene from their recording spot. She played softer notes that evoked a lonely and frightened emotion. There was another thundering crash and high-pitched trills like a flock of cormorants scattering. A heavy presence rooted in his mind as the thunder and flute byplay continued, interspersed with Owl or Loon calls. The hospital room faded from his view, and he collapsed inwardly.

“PETER!” Kathy nearly screamed as she shook him violently.

He sat up quickly and blinked away the images lancing through his brain.

“Jesus! Are you okay?” she gasped, her frightened eyes tossing the headphones aside and holding his face in her hands.

He shuddered and took a deep breath as the present settled around him. “Yeah,” he replied hesitantly.

“God, what happened to you?” Lenna exclaimed from across his bed. “You went stiff as a board, and your eyes rolled back like you were having a seizure.”

The door to his room burst open, and two nurses raced in. “Everything okay?” one asked anxiously. “There was shouting.” Maggy and Bradly stood at the foot of his bed, gazing at him intently, while Charity knelt beside him on the covers, her knees drawn beneath her and her hands to her mouth.

He nodded to them and raised his hand. “It’s okay, I’m good.”

Surprisingly, the Navajo woman remained calm throughout the episode. She met his eyes and tilted her head slightly. “What did you see?”

“I...” he stammered, trying to wrap his head around the images. “I had a vision.”

Chapter 3: Breakthrough

“His government name was Glenn Chet,” Peter stated excitedly, holding a photocopy of a weathered birth certificate. “He was born on February 18^th, 1909—between Window Rock and Gallup. He grew up as ‘Yellowhorse.’”

“We have the same birthday!” Kathy exclaimed happily, clapping her hands.

“Military records were a bitch, because everything was on microfiche,” he griped, referring to another sheet of paper. “The best I could uncover was that he enlisted in the Marine Corps at thirty-two, on February 15^th, 1942—three days before his thirty-third birthday.”

“Son of a bitch!” Bradly grunted as he sipped his beer. “I’m thirty-six and thought Army Bootcamp was hell at 17!”

Peter nodded as Sue patted her husband’s arm. “He was the oldest Code Talker of the original 29 who served in the Pacific Theater from Guadalcanal to Okinawa. After the war, he was retained for a year to teach at what became the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California, before he was discharged in August 1946.” He selected a third paper. “He won three purple hearts, the Navy/Marine Corps service medal, and a Congressional Gold Medal, among others.” He stacked the papers. “This dude is a hero and a national treasure. And the Navajo Nation has no clue what happened to him.”

“We have to notify them,” Sue declared. “He deserves recognition for his service and sacrifice.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be recognized,” Bradly replied. “Think about it. He left the Rez for a reason.”

“Why don’t we ask him?” Kathy suggested.

“I’ll ask him,” Lenna replied from the kitchen. “I’ll take him fresh bread and a few other things soon.” None dared to mock her definition of ‘a few’ being several bags of groceries, including fresh vegetables, milk, cheese, and butter, plus at least one warm meal. When Kathy or Charity accompanied her, they found themselves recruited into at least an hour of labor, cleaning the hogan, refreshing his water, tending the animals, and scurrying about for eggs from the dozen chickens.

Kathy got up from the table to kiss her husband. “I will go with her so she’s not stuck out there all morning.”

Sue rose to accompany them. She glanced at her daughter-in-law, but Charity was engrossed in cartoons. She smiled and pointed, “Make sure she does ... something while we are gone,” she told Bradly.

He looked across the living room at the prostrate girl surrounded by white and grey furry bodies. “Looks like she’s doing something to me,” he replied gruffly.

“You know what I mean, fool,” she growled mockingly.

“What do I care?” he replied, finishing his coffee. “Why do you think I pawned her off on my cousin?”

“Because if I had to spend one more night sharing a bed with Nana, I would have run away,” the flippant teenager retorted.

“Yeah, we’ll go with that,” he smirked, refilling his cup.

Peter returned home on Monday, January 20th. He was discharged the day before but opted to stay the night for an early start. That plan was ruined by Maggy, who showed up with the immediate clan, minus Nana Shima—who was home with a cold. She presented Kathy and Peter with their completed marriage license application for signatures, then took them to the courthouse to obtain said license before herding them in front of a Justice of the Peace.

---

The family took up the banquet room at a nearby Shoney’s to celebrate their unexpected nuptials with a breakfast feast before hitting the road.

“That seemed rather anticlimactic,” Peter grumbled as he fingered the heavy gold band on his wedding finger. Magdelaine had provided them with extravagant wedding bands and Kathy with a bouquet that Charity stole after the vows. “I didn’t even get to pick your ring,” he complained, ignoring the woman scowling at him from across the table.

“Baby,” Kathy crooned soothingly, still flushed from the excitement and reality. “I absolutely love the ring you didn’t pick out!” She had been fingering it all morning with an incredulous expression.

“Still don’t understand the rush...” he retorted sourly as he picked at his omelet.

“Because...” Maggy snarled, squaring off with him. “The next time you decide to go out and kill yourself,” he was taken aback by her emotion. “There won’t be nearly as much paperwork when I have to settle your estate!”

He felt his cheeks burning from her harsh rebuke.

Bradly leaned over to offer some timeless Apache wisdom: “This might be a good time to sit back and enjoy a nice hot cup of shut-the-hell-up.”

Peter blinked and nodded.

---

Working on Jeremiah’s cipher was redundant and frustrating. Solving the mystery of the coded book became his highest priority after being captured. It galled him that he knew even less about their adversaries than the organization he belonged to. After the vision, his patience wore thin. His highly organized and partitioned mind was his greatest asset when he was able to bring it to bear on a problem and remain focused. Now, it seemed as if the spirit dream intruded on his thoughts every waking moment.

Whenever he worked on the ledger, his mind wandered, reliving the spirit eagle’s flight. It was midweek, and the three women had left to help Sue with the pending Four Corners project. Ripley, the African American security member on duty, went with them, leaving him alone with Abigail, Jacali, and the dogs.

He sighed, lost in his wool-gathering instead of decoding the book. He got up for more coffee and stepped onto the south deck, where the dogs were sunbathing. Standing at the rail, he sipped his drink, replaying the vision in his mind as he gazed at the expansive valley below. On a whim, he went inside Charity’s (surprisingly tidy) room, found her art supplies, and admired some of her impressive sketches. Her most recent sketch depicted Old Begay carving wood on the porch of his hogan. He gathered some chalk, pencils, and watercolors, took her easel and sketch pad, and returned to the deck. He contemplated the scene with the Valley as his backdrop as he finished his coffee.

Having never drawn before, he approached it impassively. How hard can it be? He started with a graphite pencil and chalk, roughly outlining shapes and experimenting with shading for depth. As it developed into a reasonable facsimile of the valley below, he added imagined features, allowing the intrusive visions to guide his hands. Time slowed as he worked, tuning out everything else, only stopping for necessities. At some point, he set up a collapsible playpen for the sisters to nap and enjoy the fresh air. He didn’t recall switching from chalks and pencils to watercolors, but with no one to object, he continued through the warm Winter morning.

“Chadoin?”

He jerked in surprise at Charity’s voice beside him. He whirled and found her scrutinizing the sketch pad. “Uh? When did you guys get back?” he stammered.

“Whoa!” she breathed as she stepped close enough to touch the drawing with her nose. “That’s—”

“I know, right?” he nodded. His arms were covered with different shades of watercolor and chalk.

“Hi, baby!” Kathy chirped as she stepped out and leaned over the pen to pick up Jac, sitting quietly. “What have you been up to?”

He smiled at her and stepped back from the easel.

“Check this out!” Charity breathed.

“I’ve been painting,” he replied as she approached. She licked her fingers and wiped his cheek.

“I see that,” she mused. “Did you get any on the ... Whoa!”

“Why is my baby lying in the sun without sunscreen?” Lenna demanded as she stormed onto the deck.

“Was this your vision?” Kathy asked quietly, marveling at the incredible image on the pad before her. She slipped her free arm around his waist.

He nodded and turned to the other woman, who reached into the playpen and picked up Abigail. She glared at him as she stepped over to look at the painting.

“Isn’t it cool?” Charity cooed.

“It’s incredible!” Kathy agreed.

Lenna pointed at the shadowy shape soaring above the green and blue valley. “Is that the spirit-eagle in your vision?”

He nodded. “That’s me. Looking down on everything out there,” he waved his arm to indicate the plateau and valley. He looked sheepishly at his wife. “I couldn’t concentrate on anything until I got this out of my head.”

“So, what now?” the teenager asked.

He shrugged. “I dedicate my life to making that a reality,” he replied dismissively. “According to the vision, I am the Steward of Destiny.”

Lenna scoffed, “You realize that valley is over thirty thousand acres, right?” The painting showed a vast blue lake filling the basin with living blue green hills surrounding it.

He chewed his lip and shrugged, “Never said it would be easy.”

“Well, Captain Destiny,” she retorted, turning back to the house, “Next time, at least put a sheet over the playpen so the girls don’t get sunburnt.”

“Indians don’t burn,” he snorted, “They brown.”

She turned back to give him a withering stink eye.

“Look at Old Begay!” he exclaimed. Kathy poked him in the ribs.

“You’re an idiot,” Lenna muttered before going inside.

---

That afternoon, Kathy entered the bedroom where Peter was finishing the initial phase of assigning unique characters. Before he could start programming the few apparent sequences he could discern, he had to completely revise the alpha-numeric code writing engine, which proved more problematic than building a new bot from scratch.

“ ... Hold on, hun, let me get Peter and put you on speaker, okay? Just a sec,” she said into her phone. She cupped her hand over the microphone and whispered, “It’s Ronnie ... and she is pissed!”

“About what?” he grumbled as he sat back. She sat on the bed by his desk.

“Peter’s here too.”

“How come I’m just finding out you were badly assaulted and almost died?” his sister yelled angrily through the phone. “Why couldn’t you call me?”

He snorted silently and said, “Maybe because I was ‘almost dying’?”

“Oh, fuck off, jackass! You know what I mean! What’s your excuse, girl?”

“Look, Ronnie,” she began in a conciliatory tone. “I don’t have one, okay? When we knew he would be okay, it didn’t seem important anymore. Everything was just ... insane. I’m sorry.”

“And the wedding? How could you NOT tell me you were getting married? Didn’t either of you want me there? Am I that despicable to you?” she complained dramatically.

“Yeah, to be honest, Sis. Kat and I were the last to find out,” he grimaced.

“Kit-Kat?”

Kathy shrugged, “Sorry, Ronnie-kins, buddy boy is right. That spicy little harpy had us in front of a JP before our morning coffee.”

“And you let her dictate your lives?” Veronica screeched over the phone. “Marriage is a big deal, you know?”

“She hasn’t met the spicy harpy yet,” he smirked.

“You can bet I’ll have a few words with her when I do!” Ronnie snarled.

“Oh, I’d pay to be a fly on that wall,” he sniggered.

“Laugh it up fucker! See if I invite you to my wedding!” She hung up before they could reply.

“I think she’s taking it hard,” Kathy said softly. “I’m serious, babe. Cut her some slack. She lost her mom, too.”

Peter felt guilty and instantly regretted teasing her.

---

Many elders were gathered in the old Tribal Center when Peter was admitted with Sue, Bradly, and Kathy. Nana Shima was still bedridden from her cold, and nobody wanted to tax her strength by asking her to join them.

His reception was cool at best, and he felt animosity and scorn from several of the council, especially Bradly’s father. “How can we honor the rich white man on this auspicious occasion?” Doug Littlewolf asked derisively.

This is a waste of time. Peter stood quietly as Kathy and Sue carried the poster-sized sketch around the chamber for all to see.

“When I was attacked and hospitalized, I had a vision,” he stated calmly. Many council members snickered at his words, but a few kept their peace. “I was an eagle.” He gestured at the ghostly figure soaring over the valley. “I heard spirit voices, and they called me a ‘Steward of Destiny’.” The snickers grew louder while a select few sat straighter and frowned at their peers.

“A white man with a vision quest,” Doug snorted. “A broken man with no legs,” he chuckled arrogantly. Peter sensed Bradley’s anger at his father as he stood behind him in solidarity. “Tell us, Two-Spirit—how may we help you?”

Peter gritted his teeth behind closed eyes before relaxing and continuing, “In my vision, I made this Valley green and fertile again. I filled the basin and formed a lake where a river once flowed,” he explained. “You call it the Catskill Wash.” The two women slipped a large color photograph from behind the sketch and held it up, showing the valley and dry basin as it appeared a week ago from Lenna’s front deck. “Lenna Uglyhorse’s land, Eagle Ridge, overlooks this valley.”

Some of the churlish derision faded as the group studied the two portraits.

“I want to see the valley, basin, and plateau returned to its previous state, long before your ancestors were torn from their lands and dumped here to strive and die in this dusty, arid land.”

“A noble dream,” an old woman stated, silencing everyone. “A dream worthy of the Indé.” She was unknown to Peter, but her icy expression indicated her comment wasn’t in support of his claim. “And how would you bring such a miracle about?”

Color rose in his neck and cheeks, and he felt foolish for being there. “Give me that valley, and I will make it happen,” he replied without pretense.

The room devolved into a blend of voices echoing disbelief, amusement, and scorn.

Bradly’s father stepped around the wide table separating them. “Are you out of your mind, white boy?” he scoffed. “You would have us just ... give you...” he waved his arms at the two portraits held by two shamefaced women, “Thousands of acres of our land so you can play the pompous, arrogant bilagàana.” He nodded at Sue as he adopted the Navajo term.

That’s a big nope. He sighed and glanced around the room, studying the faces gazing back at him. Their different expressions gave him a nagging sense of something amiss.

---

Inside the trading post, he put a friendly hand on Sue and Kathy’s shoulders. “Thank you for supporting me,” he said. I’m sorry for the awkwardness and shame I caused you.”

“Fuck them!” Bradly growled as he tossed his hat onto a post, where it caught. “Wait ‘til they see the finished Crossroads!” The intersection looked like a war zone as heavy equipment dug up the earth and resurfaced the road, dividing the four quadrants.

Sue turned and hugged him, “For what it’s worth, I believed in your dream,” she said sadly.

He smiled back at her with a determined glint in his eye. “The dream is not dead,” he replied. “Not by a long shot.”

---

“I need you two to come to Mesa to review some paperwork,” the spicy harpy said that evening over Peter’s cell phone.

He made a face at Kathy. “Why?” he demanded. “I just got home from Tucson this week?”

He heard a fake gasp, “Oooh, should I send an air ambulance?”

Kathy giggled beside him, earning a glare.

“What do you need us for?”

A heavy sigh, “Cher, you think maybe I have my hands full? Between managing your investments, estate, safety, and trying to understand this Consortium business? Could you find it in your heart to give a crap and maybe help me out a little instead of sitting around playing with your computer and eating frybread?”

Before he could blow up, Kathy snatched the phone from him and stepped away from the bed. “Hey! Maggy. When do you need us there?” Peter stormed out with his empty cup.

After a pause, Magdelaine sounded more like her elegant self. “Sorry, I’d like to see you around lunchtime to handle some power of attorney stuff, review your security details, and discuss how much to share with your sister-in-law.”

Kathy smiled upon hearing the title, and then she sighed. “Yeah, um ... just so you know, Ronnie is pretty pissed with you for not inviting her to the wedding.”

“It wasn’t a wedding, Cher. It was a marriage ceremony. You two can still go off and dance naked in the moonlight and burn sagebrush or whatever you savage dirt-dwellers do.”

“Nothing racist about that,” Kathy muttered.

“Girl, I’m half Creole. That doesn’t work with me.”

“Creole ain’t a tribe,” Peter snorted as he returned with a fresh cup of coffee.

“Say that to a Creole, pale face,” she replied primly. “Besides, whatever beef your sister has with me, she can air it tomorrow.”

Peter blinked. “Ronnie is coming?”

“I’ll send the Citation first thing in the morning.”

“But why?” he asked. “What does she have to do with this?”

“It’s a Saturday, so it won’t impact her schedule. Second, she is a legal heir to your estate, and third, I don’t want her caught up in...” Her voice broke suddenly, and Peter felt his heart shrivel.

“Got it,” he replied softly, “Can we protect her too?”

“I’m doing everything I can,” Maggy replied softly. “There are a few things I don’t want to discuss on the phone because we can’t be sure about anything these days, can we?”

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Au Revoir.”

Chapter 4: Eagle Flight

“Fancy digs,” Kathy mused as she pulled the Maserati up to the curb in front of the high-rise. She lifted her shades and craned her neck to look up at the glass façade of the gleaming structure. A man in a double-breasted coat opened her door as Peter climbed out of the passenger side. She handed him her keys and thanked him as he took her hand to help her out. “A girl could get used to this,” she cooed as she joined her husband at the entrance.

Maggy was waiting in the Lobby. She wore a short suede skirt, a matching blouse, and knee-high boots with 4-inch heels. Her black hair was freshly trimmed and styled with spiky curls that Kathy gushed over after they hugged. “Oh my God! You could totally rock a Super-Saiyan at Comic-Con!”

“I prefer Forte, myself,” the mulatto woman replied as she kissed Peter’s cheek in greeting.

Kathy squeaked and bounced excitedly as she hooked the girl’s arm possessively. “I LOVE HER!” she burst at the empty lobby.

“Come, I’ll take you to our offices.” She led them to a bronze-finished elevator bank and pushed a button. When the car arrived, she inserted a badge into a reader and pushed the button for the top floor.

After a brief ride, she led them into a posh business suite with a main lobby and a dozen offices visible from their vantage point. Everything was quiet and serene as she walked them to a corner office with smoked glass walls.

Peter could sense the woman’s relaxed demeanor with their presence, and he felt relieved that the old Maggy was back. He smiled, recalling their last night in the private clinic when Kathy insisted the woman join them. She lay between them nervously and fell more at ease as Kathy held her close and spoke to her at length about the relationship she and Peter shared and their comfort with sharing intimacy with Lenna. After a time, she asked Maggy pointedly, “Are you a virgin?”

Peter felt her stiffness from the question and shared in her discomfort. Kathy giggled warmly and snuggled closer. “Oh, sweetheart!” she murmured. “It’d be best if I were there the first time.” She kissed the other girl in the dark and murmured to her. Peter missed her words as he turned to relieve the growing pressure in his groin, wincing at the discomfort. His body didn’t seem to care.

---

“Fancy-schmancy,” Peter muttered as he looked around.

“The best money can buy,” she replied casually, leading them into the spacious room with huge picture windows overlooking the city. She offered them posh seats and moved to get coffee from a silver service.

“You bought this?” he marveled.

She smirked at him as she bent low to hand him a fine porcelain cup, revealing her olive-toned breasts. His face grew warm as he stared. “You did,” she smiled.

He blinked in confusion while Kathy laughed. Maggy turned to hand her a cup and was caught by a long, slender finger hooked into her blouse. “Oh no, sweetheart!” Kathy grinned, pulling her down, “Not without showing me the goods!” She gazed lecherously at the girl’s chest and licked her lips. “Unh, unh, unh,” she murmured.

“I ... bought this ... office?” he stammered.

Maggy turned and sat behind her desk, “Baby, you bought the whole building.”

Peter coughed and sprayed coffee as he gawked at her in disbelief. “You bought the fucking building?”

She chuckled as she sat back and sipped her cup. “You sure did, Cher. Lock, stock, and barrel.” She winked at Kathy, “This from a guy who’s buying an island—”

He grabbed a napkin and wiped his face as he glared at her.

She blinked back at him with big eyes and a pert smile. “You didn’t think I’d spend MY money on this thing, did you?” Suddenly her tone went from eloquent Cajun queen to ‘Ghetto Betty’.

He sat forward with his mouth open, shaking his head incredulously. “Seriously?” he exclaimed, “How much did I spend on this...?” he waved his arm around.

Kathy gazed back and forth between them with a delighted grin.

“About forty-three million ... give or take,” the financier replied casually.

Fortunately, he set his coffee down before she answered. He shot to his feet, crying, “What?” He gaped at her. “Why?”

“Why what, sweetheart?” she asked with an innocent smile on her glossy lips.

“I don’t know!” he grumbled, looking around uncertainly. He collapsed back into his seat and grabbed his cup. “Why couldn’t we have just leased this part ... or something?”

She regarded him as a kindergartner, asking his teacher what ‘bum’ meant. “At the rates we’re charging? Ah, hell no!”

He set his cup back down. “Come again?”

She sighed patiently and winked at his grinning wife. “Darling, this building is full of clients, companies, groups, and special interests. You have architects, realtors, doctors, psychologists, dermatologists, law firms, venture capitalists—like yourself, beauticians, counselors, corporate headquarters, employment agencies, union offices, two fund managers, Edward Jones, a regional bank manager, six state and federal government offices, and many more, that I can’t think of at the moment.” she stated confidently, “And they each pay us, or rather ... you, extortion-level lease rates.”

“So, it’s a business venture and an office?” he asked, suddenly interested.

She nodded, “This building earns $1.2 million monthly. It will pay for itself in three years.”

“I see why Jeremiah picked you,” Kathy replied proudly.

“I see why he always drank Vermouth,” Peter muttered.

“Absinthe, Cher,” she smiled back. “Vermouth is for Godfathers and stevedores.”

“Shaken, not stirred,” Kathy quipped in her best Sean Connery voice.

“My investment spreadsheet is sorely out of date,” he retorted. “Soon, we will sit down so you can explain where my money is going.”

She sniffed disdainfully and opened a drawer, removing a thick folder that she slid across the desk to him. “Up to the minute—down to the penny,” she smiled. You’re doing very well, I might add.”

“I really love her!” Kathy chortled as she leaned into Peter in a warm nudge.

He picked up the folder and began scanning through it. The first section reflected all the stocks he owned in various sectors and companies. His eyes widened at the figures. Last September, he owned roughly $7 million worth of stock in less than ten companies. He whistled, seeing that the 30,000 shares of MSFT had grown to over 100,000. And there were dozens more companies, some unfamiliar. Asterisks led him to pages of options contracts he held with the underlying companies.

A buzzing alerted them to a pager, which Maggy removed from her pocket and glanced at. “Your sister just landed at Sky Harbor,” she said, standing up. She opened a cabinet, revealing a large wall safe. “Since she will be here shortly, let’s get this paperwork out of the way.”

Peter was caught up in his stock portfolio, so after removing several bound files, she began speaking to Kathy, “My primary job is helping your husband manage his money by handling his investments, properties, and capital ventures.”

Kathy scooted closer to the desk, listening attentively.

“Now that you’re married, it simplifies things for me,” the other woman said as she opened the files. “I’d like you to sign the same affidavits that he did when Jeremiah took him on.” She set several forms on the desk facing Kathy. “Since you share his interests, I need you to give me limited power of attorney to act in your best interests as I do for Peter.” She indicated where she required signatures and initials.

Kathy made a scrunchy face as she began signing. “What do you mean, ‘interests?”

“Like this building,” the woman replied, sipping her coffee.

Kathy looked up. “What about it?”

“Well, you now own half of it.”

Kathy gazed back at her with wide eyes, “This building? That we are sitting in?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I own half of it?”

“Yup.”

Kathy finished signing and held the pen in her hand, thoughtfully tapping it against her bright teeth. “Which half?”

Maggy paused mid-sip and looked up at the Native girl, staring back at her with wide doe eyes, “Pardon?”

Kathy dropped the pen on the table and bounced out of her seat, turning around the office. “The front half? The back half?” She stepped over to run her fingers through Peter’s short hair. “The Top half?” she peered around and tapped her teeth as she sat down. “Which half has the best view?”

Maggy dipped her chin, swallowed, and looked back at her with her head tilted sideways, “Um...”

Her confused expression faded when she saw Peter quivering with the financial statement against his face. He glanced over at her and laughed at her shrewd gaze.

“What’s so funny?”

“Dang it, Honey!” Kathy giggled, slapping his arm. “You ruined it! I had her going.”

Maggy sat stiffly in her chair and collected the forms mechanically while the two giggled across from her. She sniffed again, “I thought you said you loved me!” she sulked, throwing them into another fit of laughter.

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled as she opened another file. She dumped a thick pile of legal forms before Peter and slapped her pen on top. “Here you go, chucklehead. Start signing. Those are for your Castle; those acknowledge the proposed merger of PSAS with Schroeder Industries—a Fortune 500 robotics and prosthetics giant. That affidavit acknowledges your stake in the company as a future SCI shareholder. Those are the SEC Filings dealing with your updated financials and ... oh yeah ... since you’re turning 18 in a month ... you can start doing your own taxes!” She smiled at his stricken face as she stepped from behind her desk and refilled her coffee.

Peter gaped at the stack of papers in disbelief as he began signing where she indicated with a tap of her lacquered nail. Kathy sat back and grinned as he muttered about the injustice. It took him 20 minutes to complete the stack before he sat back with a drawn expression. “What’s with all the SEC Filings?”

“Just trying to stave off the wolves for another year,” she replied.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She gave him a pitiful look and nodded toward the folder listing his financial assets in his lap. “Did you read any of that?”

He nodded. “Yeah, and I can tell you are way better at watching my back than I am.”

Her gaze softened at the compliment, but then she sighed, “Cher, there are many wealthy people in the world.” She rearranged the forms to her liking and continued, “There is only one seventeen-year-old, self-made Billionaire among them. A teenager who started with half a million dollars at fifteen and doubled it a thousand times in two years.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “Nothing wrong with that, right?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. But in the eyes of agencies like the SEC—things like that don’t happen when you are on the straight and narrow.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything illegal!”

“I know,” she replied calmly. “And I’m doing my best to make them believe it.” She scoffed and nodded at the folder. “Half of your money is safely tucked away in undisclosed offshore accounts they know nothing about,” she smirked. “Well ... they know about them but can’t touch them. And they have no idea how much is in them.” She gazed at him patiently. “That is a big part of my job,” she said. “To help you grow, protect your wealth, and hide many of your assets from greedy government eyes. They only know about half of what’s in that binder ... So don’t leave it out.”

He handed it back to her. “Shred it,” he said, having memorized its contents.

She nodded and slipped it back into her desk.

“Look,” he stammered. “You were kidding about the taxes thing, right?”

“Is that the best apology you’ve got?” she simpered as she tidied her desk and put the affidavits back in her safe.

“Would it help if I kissed your feet?” he replied, half joking.

Kathy giggled, “Baby, you better crawl under her desk and start kissing her where it counts!”

Maggy’s pocket buzzed, and she studied the message, returning to her chair. “As appealing as that sounds ... your sister just arrived,” she replied. “Courtney is bringing her up.” Then she smiled at him with a slow wink, “Raincheck?”

A musical ding sounded before he could reply, and they all got up to watch as an elegant black woman with severely cropped hair and a flashy pantsuit led a curious blue-haired, pixie-cut woman into the lobby towards the corner office. Veronica gasped when she spotted her brother and hugged him tearfully. She wore a short-sleeved, soft blue, pleated cotton dress that fell to her knees and Birkenstocks with warm wool socks. A Burlington winter coat hung open around her shoulders. He hugged her back while Maggy nodded appreciatively to the black woman before she turned and left.

“Oh my God!” she sniffed as she stepped back and looked him over. “What happened to you? Your hair...” She touched the pink scar on his scalp.

“It’s okay, sis. I’m fine.”

She hugged Kathy tightly, then turned and gazed coolly at the olive-skinned woman standing apart. “And you must be the saucy wench who couldn’t invite me to my brother’s wedding!” she growled.

“Technically, it wasn’t a wedding,” Peter replied earnestly, holding up quotation fingers.

“It was a marriage ceremony,” Kathy agreed innocently.

Peter’s sister gawked at her in disbelief. “I don’t care what the fuck it was!” she snapped. “I wasn’t there! And I should’ve been!” She took Kathy’s hands and gasped at her wedding band. “Oh my gosh, how pretty!”

“Thank you,” Kathy tittered eagerly. “Peter didn’t pick it out.”

He snorted behind Veronica’s back, and she bristled, “Why are you being so flippant? You almost died!” she blurted, looking back at him. She turned back to Kathy, who continued smiling warmly. “And you—”

Kathy cut her off by pulling her into another hug. “It’s okay,” she whispered, kissing her cheek. “We’re all good.” She took a cleansing breath and spun her to face the pretty financier. “Ronnie, this is the spicy harpy, Magdelaine Desormeaux, or Maggy. She is Peter’s financial assistant and ... business partner. And she’s one of my best friends.” She smiled as the two women regarded each other. “Maggy, this is my favorite sister-in-law, Veronica.” Her voice caught, and she squeezed her tightly. “Oh God, I can’t believe you’re finally my REAL sister!”

“I love you,” Veronica sniffed emotionally before they separated. She glanced sheepishly back at the Mulatto woman.

“May I take your coat?” Maggy offered softly, reaching for it with one hand.

Ronnie nodded with a sniff, allowing her to help her out of it. “I love your hair,” she claimed softly.

“I love your hair!” Maggy replied brightly, taking the jacket to the door and hanging it on an elegant coat rack. “Can I offer you a coffee or tea?”

“Got anything stronger?” the oldest Shipley scoffed.

Maggy smiled furtively as she returned to the desk. “Perhaps a measure of absinthe?”

Veronica blinked in surprise. “Isn’t that illegal?”

Peter and Kathy struggled to keep straight faces.

“Not as illegal as murder or grand theft auto,” Maggy replied while fetching two glasses and a crystal decanter. After setting them on her desk, she poured them four fingers each. Smiling, she handed one to Veronica and saluted her with her own, “À votre santé,” she cheered before tossing her drink back in a single swallow.

“Merci,” Ronnie replied hesitantly, pausing to sniff the glass. “Smells funny,” she remarked with a wrinkled nose.

“No, it’s good,” Peter assured her quickly.

Kathy nodded encouragingly, “Very smooth.”

They watched wide-eyed as she shrugged, tossed the drink back, and swallowed it like a college kid at a frat party. Half a second later, Kathy reached for the glass while Peter steadied his wide-eyed sister. Her eyes watered as she struggled to breathe. “Whoa!” she gasped soundlessly as she staggered back against him. “Sacré bleu!”

Kathy collapsed in her seat laughing while Maggy set down her glass and fetched another chair. Peter helped Ronnie sit in it and grinned as he returned to his seat.

“All better now?” Maggy asked innocently as she returned to her desk.

His sister tucked her chin to the side, giving a thumbs up as she shuddered, “Je vais bien,” she gasped.

Her breath was once more taken away when Maggy revealed the purpose of summoning her. “I knew he got rich from those video games,” she frowned. “He gives me freakin’ ten grand a month to live on!” She squeezed his hand appreciatively. “He’s such a good baby brother,” she cooed, feeling tipsy.

Maggy nodded with her fingers laced together. She glanced from Kathy to Peter and seemed to resolve a thought. “Veronica,” she began softly, “May I call you Veronica?”

Ronnie blinked at her and smiled coquettishly, “Mmmhmm. Just Ronnie,” she purred. “Can I call you ‘gorgeous’?”

Peter snorted beside her, and Kathy giggled.

“Ronnie, then,” the financier began, “Because you are family, I can’t force you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. However, what I’m about to share is very sensitive and ... well, you know what they say about loose lips.”

“You have nice lips.”

“Thank you. While your brother excelled in the computer gaming market, that pales compared to his other ... accomplishments.” She paused to see if she was getting through to the befuddled woman. Ronnie sat straight and seemed focused. “We have ventures and investments worldwide and partnered with others to grow these financial vehicles.”

“Making money,” she crooned, imitating the SNL photocopier skit.

“We’re headquartered here,” Maggy continued, tapping a nail on her desk. “I’m trying to consolidate things to protect us from external threats.” She pointed, “And by us, I mean you.”

Ronnie looked around the suite for the first time. “This is your office?” she gawked at her brother.

“This is his building.”

Once her words sank in, Veronica sobered quickly. “Say what?”

“Half is mine,” Kathy interjected, dusting her nails. “We’re still negotiating which half.” She smirked at Maggy’s neutral expression and stuck her tongue out.

“Wait? Are you fucking serious right now?” the blue-haired girl exclaimed.

Maggy nodded, choosing her words carefully, “There’s more to it than high-rises, Scottish castles, and mergers,” she said. “With our benefactor’s passing...” she paused, glancing at a picture of Jeremiah Tobias Whitaker III on the wall above her desk. Peter blinked, noticing it for the first time. “We both inherited a sizable foundation to further our goals.” She looked at Peter, and they communicated silently. “We also inherited a heavy burden, which I’m not prepared to discuss now.” She paused, then looked back at the astounded girl. Peter noticed she no longer seemed as young and vibrant; her posture showed subtle maturity.

“I won’t share details because you have enough on your plate with your studies,” she continued. “But we look after financial interests beyond our own.” She pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow at her partner, “We’d do it more efficiently if your brother would hurry up and decode a certain ledger—”

Peter rolled his eyes, “You can take over anytime.”

His sister crossed her arms. “Sounds murky and dodgy. What does this have to do with me?”

Maggy looked at Peter, who cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Um, Ronnie, what she isn’t saying is that—aside from everything else ... we have enemies.”

His words registered half a second later, and she choked back a cry of dismay. “That’s what happened to you?” she gasped.

He nodded. “We’ve barely begun to understand this and our responsibilities.” He nodded to the woman behind the desk. “Maggy is trying to be subtle, but the bottom line is these adversaries are wicked, evil people who want to thwart us. I hadn’t been back from the funeral a month before they grabbed me.”

That was a preview of Deja Vu Part Three: Soaring. To read the rest purchase the book.

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