Surfacing - Part Nine

By Paul Seely and Jennifer Garza

See Disclaimers in Part One
 

Sixteen

"You are drifting back, back through the hours and times of your own life, back through the years of innocence and beyond. You are drifting, light, ethereal. Floating above this shell, floating into the light above. Can you see the light, mija?"

"Yes. It's all around me. I'm... flying."

Move toward it. Move through it, let it move through you. Can you feel the warmth of the light?

"Yes. It's like summertime. I feel warm, safe."

"Good. Now I want you to focus your mind, Charlie. Focus on the questions you cannot answer. Repeat them not to me, but to the light. Ask your questions of the light."

*What is the meaning of my dream? Why do I think she might need me?*

"Keep repeating your questions, and soon you will be met by the one who can answer. Focus on your questions as I count down from one-hundred. When I reach zero, you will return from the light, and you will remember your answers. You will feel refreshed and revived, and you will know that you have heard the truth. One-hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight..."

The words Maribel Falcon spoke seemed awfully simple and vague to Diana, and she did not understand how this could possibly work. Still, she listened carefully and watched the crystal sway like a glittering metronome. She watched as Charlotte's eyes closed - and she felt her own eyelids grow heavy. Although Maribel's words were intended for someone else, Diana Starrett's conditioned mind was silently responding as well. Ignoring the warnings Mrs. Falcon had issued, the dark woman's questions related to mysteries from her own life, those things lurking in the black corners of her memory. Specifically, the year she came to the agency.

*What happened to bring me here? What happened when I was nineteen? I need the truth.*

While Charlotte aimed her consciousness toward enlightenment, Diana's own path led in another direction, and she drifted stealthily away to a quiet, dark place to await her own answers.

Charlotte repeated her inquiries over and over in her head, whispering her thoughts. *What is the meaning of my dream? Why do I think she might need me?*

Before the fourth repetition, Charlotte Browning felt solid earth beneath her feet. She was no longer floating in the light, but standing on rock-studded sand. The breath in her lungs sang with clean, salty notes, and her ears delighted to find the lapping rhythm of the ocean. As the sound of waves drowned out Maribel's voice, Charlotte slowly opened her eyes.

*The beach. The same beach from my dream. God, it's so beautiful!*

She spun in a circle, taking in the brilliant white sands stretching to an infinite distance, the rolling water, pristine in its clarity, and the sky doused with colors from a child's purest wish. With her mouth agape and eyes goggling like some awestruck traveler on a Cook's tour of paradise, Charlotte's 20th century heart wished idly for a camera, then sincerely for Diana Starrett to be at her side.

"You'd love this place, I know you would..."

"From what I'm told, she did enjoy the view."

The words sounded both inside her head and outside her body, alarming Charlotte tremendously. She was certain that she was having a repeat of the 'voices in the Volvo' episode, until a figure began to take shape against the shimmering sand - a hyaline human, approaching at a steady clip. At first the form shook and warped like a heat distortion, then steadied and became quite solid, taking on color and depth and texture. The final result was breathtaking - and very, very familiar.

From booted foot to burnished gold crown, tanned leather skirt to ragged green top, the woman now standing before the Californian was a sight she had never expected to see.

"You... you look just like m-me," Charlotte stammered.

"Or you look just like me. Either way, we could both do worse." The vision spoke with an easy humor, her voice now projecting solely from her body to give her presence a sense of normalcy. "You're Charlotte Browning. I'm Gabrielle - bard, Amazon, and dead chick," she announced, extending one hand in greeting. "It's okay. I'm here to help you."

A blinding flash of irrational jealousy caught Charlotte by surprise as soon as she registered that name. *Gabrielle - the name Diana called out in her sleep. She's real. Dead, but real.* Calming herself, Charlotte haltingly reached out and grasped the offered hand, finding it warm and supple as flesh. Moments before, it was what? *Ectoplasm?*

"Are you a ghost, Gabrielle?"

"Sort of. Spirit is my designation of choice," Gabrielle explained. "I've been trying to talk to you for days now, but you're difficult to reach. Harder than Diana, if you can believe that. You catch bits and pieces of everything, but direct communication with you is a real challenge. You're sort of cut off."

Charlotte displayed a delaying palm as she tried to catch up. "Waitasecondhere. You've been trying to talk to me? And Diana?"

"Diana is not my area, someone else is taking on that challenge. I have made attempts to reach you, though."

As the bard spoke, a small flicker of recognition crossed the attorney's features. "Were you the voice I heard in my car today? Please tell me that was you. This is weird enough without dragging potential insanity into it."

"Yeah, that was me. That was the first time I was able to get through to you in person - you're not very open in your dreams anymore," the spirit observed without reproach. "We need to talk, Charlie. Have a seat, this could take a while." The bard plopped down instantly, folding her legs Indian-style.

"But I only have, like, ninety seconds left before..."

Waving a dismissive hand, Gabrielle interrupted. "Time is different here, so we have as long as we need. Don't worry about it, just focus on accepting. Everything I say will be the truth, and if I can't answer, I won't. Okay?"

Charlotte nodded dumbly and lowered herself carefully onto the sand, trying to spare her ludicrously expensive frock any damage. This seemed to amuse her new companion, for the bard smiled at her brightly as she fussed with sugary sand clinging to the fabric.

"Don't worry about the dress. You're not really here, remember?"

Recognition dawned on Charlotte, and she stopped immediately. "Oh. Right. Where is 'here', by the way?"

"Home. It's just where I live now," Gabrielle began. "Some people call this place Valhalla, others say Heaven. I'm not sure who's right, but where I come from, it's called Elysia."

"Jesus Christ! How old are you?"

"Older than him - although I'm not sure by how much." The bard smirked at Charlotte's stunned expression. "I was born in a little Greek village called Potadeia, long, long ago - at least two millennia, I believe. I think I'm holding up pretty well for someone who's been eating like an ox for thousands of years," she joked, patting her flat stomach. "They have the best food here. Nutbread that would float off your plate if you let it. And the fruits! I never knew so many fruits existed! There's this one little thing called a tangelo..."

"Did you always talk so much, Gabrielle?" Charlotte finally interrupted, prompting a self-conscious blush from the bard.

"Yeah, actually. Sorry, I just get carried away. There are things you need to know, and I wanted to be the one to talk to you. Xena can be a little brusque sometimes, although a few thousand years of peace and quiet has mellowed her somewhat."

"So there is a Xena, too? That sounds like a good place to start. I had a very strange dream about me and Diana, but when I spoke her name, it came out 'Xena.' Your name came up in one of Diana's dreams as well. Can you explain that to me?"

"I can try," the bard offered gamely. "I should start by telling you that our physical resemblance is no coincidence - you are part of my family line. Diana is part of Xena's. Sometimes, when similarities between members of a line are deep enough, memories get crossed up and the borders between your life and the past get a little blurry. Dreams are the area where this happens most often, and it can leave you with a weird sense of deja vu. Situations seem so familiar, it feels like you've done it all before."

"No kidding," Charlotte replied, flashing a knowing smile. "I only met her two days ago, and I already feel like I've known Diana all my life."

"That's it exactly - that feeling of instant kinship. I've known Xena forever, and I've come to accept that, in one form or another, she will always be there - both for me and for those of my line. There's a very old, very strong connection, and it kind of defies explanation. Not one generation has passed without at least one re-joining. Sometimes as family, sometimes as friends..."

"Sometimes more," Charlotte interjected.

Gabrielle smiled, understanding. "I see you already know that part. But the connection is often more than a physical one, in some people it reaches an almost empathic level. You can sense things about each other, sometimes consciously, sometimes underneath the surface. Your dream was shaped when you tapped into Diana's distress. She's in trouble. You could feel it, and you want to help her."

"Trouble? What do you mean by that?" the attorney demanded suddenly, sans politeness.

"Take it easy, now," the bard urged. "I'm afraid I can't offer you many details, but I can try to prepare you. In a way, you already know about this, don't you? That something's not quite right."

"If you mean that nagging little whisper in the back of my head telling me that she needs me, then yes. I get that feeling a lot, but it just fades away," Charlotte confessed. "I talk myself out of it, try to build up a hedge against believing it."

An expression which could have read as empathy softened the spirit's lovely face. "And why do you do that?"

"Because it's probably just wishful thinking on my part. If she needed me for something, she'd be less likely to leave," the young woman answered with disarming candor, surprising her questioner. "But that's above and beyond the point, Gabrielle. Tell me more about this trouble you spoke of."
 
"Diana Starrett is not merely who she appears to be," the bard opened, "she is both less and more than you know. She is an incomplete person, and yet she carries another life within her."

"Another life?" Charlotte was understandably puzzled. "So she's what, pregnant or something?"

"No. The life inside her is her own, but she has been made to live apart from it - this is something you have in common. You burned bridges in your own heart because you were afraid of being hurt by those you love. Diana's bridges were destroyed by others. I don't think she had a choice in the matter," Gabrielle explained, her grave expression keeping questions at bay.

"She has been manipulated and used by those who separated her from herself, and when she tries to look back and own her memories, they block her view. They've taken part of her away. Just how they do that is a mystery to me, but their methods seem to work."

"She says she can't remember her dreams. You're telling me it goes further than that?"

"A lot further," the bard agreed. "Now you both want to go back and rebuild those bridges, but she will face great danger in doing so. You may confront your fear of emotional pain without flinching, because you know that she loves you. She will need that same assurance to a much greater degree, and you will have to either forgive her deceptions and tresspasses - or lose her forever."

"Are you saying that she's been lying to me?" Charlotte asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

"Only about what she could not tell you, what circumstances prevent her from revealing. Her past deeds are somewhat of a mystery to her, but she has not lied about the contents of her heart, of that I am certain," Gabrielle stated, noting the relief which fell over her companion. "The trial she must endure to reclaim herself could overwhelm her and force her under - if she has nothing to fight for. She would rather drown alone than drag you down with her, so you'll just have to convince her that you're a strong swimmer."

As the connection was made in her mind, Charlotte's face grew tight with worry and her eyes drifted out of focus. "The beach... she was drowning. Then all the blood, covering her, covering me. Oh, God. These things she hasn't told me - can't tell me - are they that bad? All that blood..."

"That was an image I hoped I'd never see again," the bard solemnly revealed. "The bloodied warrior, torn between washing away her past and drowning in it. I feared that dream for a long time, Charlotte. It's what binds us together, the four of us. Xena and Diana have lived that dream, you and I play a part in it because we love them. How big of a part depends on you - how much you are willing to fight for what you want, and how much you can forgive."

"You make it sound like a lot of this is on my shoulders," the younger woman observed. "What about Diana, and what she wants? Isn't this a choice she has to make for herself, whether she wants me enough to take that risk?"

"Her decision has already been made." Gabrielle smiled warmly, the unearthly sunlight seeming to shine right through her face. "She chose you, without so much as a second thought. Her intentions are more honorable that her methods, as has been the case for a great while. Diana has made mistakes because she was hurt very badly, and those mistakes were used against her by evil men. They led her into a life that she would have never chosen, but she's ready to change all that now - because of you."

Charlotte was quiet as she let that sink in. "Maybe I'm just thick, but some of these allusions you're making are confusing the hell out of me," she said. "I know this isn't like calling information for a phone number, but could you please be more specific? I still don't know what she's done, or how I'm supposed to help her."

Gabrielle shook her head and gave a sympathetic smile. "You're right, I know. This is really complicated stuff, and I don't mean to confuse you with all this cryptic vagary - I hate talking like this. I wish I could just tell you everything straight out, but Diana has to do that herself. When she's ready, she will. At first, you can help by being patient and trying to understand... and forgive. After that, just follow your instincts."

The attorney stared blankly ahead, certain of her own feelings on the matter of forgiveness, but unsure if a verbal confirmation was required. She knew that someone could offer her incontrovertible proof that Diana clubbed baby harp seals for fun while dumping barrels of nuclear waste from her leaking oil tanker, and none of it would change her feelings for the woman. Charlotte couldn't think of anything that would.
 
"If she wants my help, she'll have it. If she wants to talk to me, I'll listen," the lawyer firmly stated. "And if I can't figure out what to do after that, I'll wing it. That I can promise. I've had a little practice at flying blind, and I get the distinct impression that I may be doing just that."

"You may indeed, Charlie. I wish you luck - and love," Gabrielle said sincerely. "You're certainly going to need a lot of both."

"That's very encouraging. Thank you so much," Charlotte replied, her tone oozing sarcasm. She got to her feet, sensing without being told that Gabrielle's informative limits had been reached. "Any words of wisdom before I blow this pop stand?"

The bard smiled and reached up for Charlotte's hand, hauling herself off the sand. Not letting go, she looked her descendant in the eye and spoke as succinctly as she ever had.

"She will need you. Don't judge her, just listen - and follow your heart. You're stronger than you know, and you might have to be strong enough for both of you. Trust and accept her... or lose her."

Gabrielle shone like a diamond, light filtering through her body to cast prisms on the sand. Then she dissolved into thin air, leaving Charlotte Browning alone in Elysia with no clue how to get home.

"Guess Maribel will call me when dinner's ready," she mused, then set off walking down the beach.

Seventeen

As Maribel Falcon's voice faded away, the first thing Diana noticed was cold concrete under her bare feet. Chill air against skin and a confirming sweep of hands told her that she was naked. Darkness surrounded her, silence smothering all sound except her own labored breathing.

Moments dragged long until a man's voice, calm and hard, called from the center of the darkness.

"You want the truth about yourself. This is where you ended. This is where you began. "

"WHERE Am i?" Diana cried unevenly, fear blocking her throat. She knew his voice, could never forget the sound of his laughter. The speaker elected by her subconscious was Joshua Riggins.

"Home, sweetheart. Where it all started. Don't you recognize this old haunt?"

Slowly, filthy gray light began to filter through the air, strung like dusty ropes up to high windows mounted in cinder block walls. The room took on an identity, revealing length and breadth and content. Enormous empty crates, concrete pipes, rusty chains. Tattered paper, scattered bottles and cans, mattresses stained and bare.

*Warehouse. Abandoned. Looks like people have been here, maybe lived here...*

"Not just any people, doll. Those people. You stayed here with them for a little while. Don't you remember all the fun you had?"

"I've never been here before. I don't know what you're talking -"

Diana ceased her objections as her eyes suddenly began to deceive her. Bright light beamed from nowhere, forming a spotlight on something she was meant to see. Across ten feet of dusty floor, on a filthy single mattress, she saw a hand. A woman's hand, with long, tapered fingers and blunt, unpainted nails. Disembodied and alone, it waved and fluttered fingers to catch her attention, and Diana perversely thought of "Thing" from The Addams Family.

She stood perfectly still, breath caught in her throat as the hand stopped waving and latched on to the side of the mattress, gripping tightly enough to rip the rotten fabric. Another hand appeared, an opposite and a twin. A pair of hands now tore frantically at the bedding, obviously in a panic.

"Go on. Touch them. You say you want to... or are you afraid? Maybe you don't really want to know after all," the voice mocked, adding a sharp, staccato laugh. "You can still go back, Diana. It's not too late to just forget about all this and play by the rules."

"NO! I need to know! I need to know everything. You can't stop me, you bastard."

Summoning her courage, Diana took careful steps across the floor littered with glass from small, broken pipes, snapped needles and discarded syringes. She stood by the mattress, looking down at the lonesome right hand. Stretching her own down to meet it, she noticed a pale ribbon of scar tissue across the knuckles of that struggling hand - it matched the lines crossing her own fingers. She noticed this too late.

As she tried to jerk her hand back, it was captured by lunging fingers and held fast. On contact, she felt her legs weaken and buckle, and she collapsed to the floor, gashing her knee on a jagged shard of glass. Diana barely noticed the pain as her head swam and a wave of nausea crashed over her, causing her to vomit convulsively on the floor. She pulled weakly at the restraining hand as she caught her breath, but it held strong and kept her still.

"You asked for it, kid. Don't say you I didn't warn you."

The air surrounding her shook and warped as figures took shape and solidified. At least twelve men, dressed in shabby clothing, their skin black, white and brown. Dirty, all of them. Two clutched small, glowing pipes which they slipped between their cracked lips and sucked greedily. Wild eyes lit their faces, and although they did not seem to notice her, they made her feel incredible fear and loosed a trickle of adrenaline through her battered system. She was trying to stand when a call from the darkness stopped her efforts cold.

"STOP!! LEAVE HER ALONE! DON'T TOUCH MY SISTER!"

A desperate cry from a voice she knew. Then she remembered the real reason she came here, ten years ago.

"Ethan?" she whispered. "Ethan? I was looking for you. Mama told me to bring you home."

"He was a junkie, sick with a disease sent straight from God Almighty! Isn't that what she told you, dearie?"

"He was her son. She forgave him, wanted him to come home. The police wouldn't help, so I went looking for... you. Ethan."

A thin young man stepped into the circle of light, shouldering his way through the throng. He barely looked old enough to claim his sixteen years. Dark, wavy hair fell to his shoulders. Bright blue eyes swirled with terror and anger. He looked not at Diana, but at the bare mattress. Diana followed his gaze, and saw white lines shimmering, drawing a body. Flesh slid over the gridwork of light, and a young woman appeared before her. A young woman with her face. Soft featured, unlined. Barely more than a child. She wore a red sweater and faded jeans, scuffed sneakers on her feet.

"Me... I was here. I am here," Diana muttered, not even hearing herself speak the words.

Diana's hand inexplicably slipped free, and she watched as the young woman tried to rise to her feet only to be pushed down by two men. Ethan stepped forward to help her, but was caught by the hair and jerked back by one of the onlookers. The scraggly man produced a hunting knife and pressed the blade against the boy's throat. Fury screamed through Diana's veins as she found her feet and lunged at the men hovering over the defenseless young girl, but to her great astonishment, she passed right through them and landed on the floor. She tucked and rolled through the impact and sprang to her feet, preparing to rush them again as that damnable voice rang out once more.

"It already happened, hon. You can't change anything now. They did what they did..."

>> A rash of images and sounds broke out, covering all her senses with a raw, evil pain. She saw herself beaten to near unconsciousness as she fought her attackers. Stripped of her clothing, naked and delirious. A vein tapped awake on her arm, a needle inserted. White fire burning away all thought and sensation as she was drugged and raped, over and over. A lit crack pipe burning the smooth skin of her back, peeling away dots of flesh as she was taken again. 

Flashes of her little brother, struggling against knife-man, screaming her name until he was hoarse, his face dripping with tears and snot. Knife-man wearying of his cries, punching the knife into Ethan's side. Her brother sliding to the filthy floor, his blood pooling beneath him. A dozen men sated by a docile girl's body, scattering through the warehouse like rats, leaving her for dead. Leaving her brother for dead. <<

"And then you did what you did. You want to know so bad? Live with it..."

>> A young woman rising from a bed of violence, feeling it soak into her soul, taking power from it, needing it to survive. A glacial strength builds within her, numbingly cold and epically powerful. Walking quietly behind knife-man, clutching a shard of glass. Cutting his throat, warm blood on her hands. His blood. Taking his long knife and slipping it between the ribs of one sleeping rapist, then another. And another. Some are awake, some see her coming. Oh, she wants some more, they think. They have no idea. Ten men die within ten minutes. She is efficient, she knows where the arteries lurk, even beneath their grime. Pre-med, Columbia University.

She finds eleven, and he fights. He loses. He dies badly, his head nearly taken off in four deep strokes. Blood covers her from head to foot. She seeks twelve. She will not stop. She does not feel the terrible aches of her own body, she feels nothing at all. She is blind, deaf and speechless. A creature with one mission.

Sirens wail. Men rush in. Four men, policemen. They see her and two come to help her, only to find swift slashes flying across their throats, her bloody fingers fumbling to take their guns. Shots are fired and two more policemen die, bullets in thighs, hearts and heads. She seeks twelve, and no one will stop her. Scratching sounds on the floor behind her, she spins and fires, hitting two men. One is twelve, he dies with a pipe in his hand, coming to finish her. The other is Ethan, trying to stop him.

She looks into his face as he sinks to the floor. He bleeds from a ragged hole near his eye. He is dead before she recognizes him. She returns to the mattress and dresses in her torn clothes, slipping shoes on bleeding feet. The young woman returns to her brother and lifts him into her arms as more sirens sound outside. She slips through a hole in the back of the building, where seven was trying to escape, and she carries her brother home to mama. <<

Diana Starrett knelt on the warehouse floor, holding her face in her hands. Anguish ripped her heart out, leaving her bloodless and dying, clutching memories which dragged at her limbs like lead weights. She reached out wildly, flailing her arms like a drowning woman, sinking onto the concrete. Grief and guilt settled heavily on her chest, crushing her into the ground as she murmured the only words which came to mind.

"Charlie? I need you..."

Examining shells and wetting her toes in the sea, Charlotte was deep in the ethos of 'beach' when a whispered plea crept up her spine. This time she knew the voice, and her heart raced at the words.

"Charlie? I need you..."

Her head jerked around as she tried to find the source. "Diana? Where are you?"

Turning to the tide, the attorney saw something which struck her dumb and froze her movements. A dark cloud rose from the water and swept over the sand, settling in front of her like black fog. The voice called again, shaky and faint through the dark smoke.

"Please, Charlie. I can't do this alone."

Chilling laughter rang through the warehouse as Riggins' voice returned to torment the broken woman who lay twisting on the floor.

"I told you so. Dummy. You don't know what you're asking for. You can't even handle this one day, let alone ten years worth of them! And believe me, baby - you've done worse. Quit now, go back to HQ and let them fix everything. No more pain, Diana..."

She called forth the strength to interrupt his speech. "Shut the fuck up."

"You aren't strong enough to deal - "

"Yes, I am. I just need... I just need her."

Charlotte stepped into the fog and felt her feet leave the ground. She was frightened out of her wits, but did not hesitate as she recalled the desperation in her lover's voice. Cold air swirled around her and she tightened her grip on her shoes, pointing the sharp heels out like weapons - just in case. Seconds later, her feet touched gritty stone and the fog dispelled, leaving her standing in the doorway of a rotting, darkened building.

She piped up immediately, hoping that she was in the right place. "Diana? Are you in here?"

Across the wide expanse of concrete, Diana Starrett heard her voice and nearly cried out in relief.

"Charlie! Here! I'm over here."

Slipping into her shoes, Charlotte dashed across the littered floor, dodging the flotsam like a slalom skier. The first thing she noticed was that Diana was nude. The second was that she looked like death warmed over. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her love, squeezing as tight as she dared.

"Christ almighty. What happened to you? What is this place?" she asked nervously, heartened as Diana's arms snaked around her back to return the embrace.

"Can we go, Charlie? I just want to get out of here," Diana said softly. "I'll explain later. Please?"

Moving back to look in her eyes, Charlotte saw blue deepened and cracked by dark emotions, shaded now like depression glass. She stood and helped Diana to her feet.

"Yes, we can go now," the younger woman agreed. "You tell me whenever you're ready."

They started slowly picking their way to the door, pausing as Charlotte kicked bits of sharp debris out of Diana's path. No sooner had they reached the patch of sunlight pouring through the door than they heard Maribel Falcon's soothing cadence, counting down from five...

"Four, three, two, one. You will awake now with your new knowledge, and you will feel safe and well, refreshed and revived." The old woman snapped her fingers, and two sets of eyes blinked open, desperate to find each other.

Diana was up first, but Charlotte met her halfway, and they collided in a crash of arms at the end of the table. Bodies pressed so close nothing could pass between, the two stood, encircled and inseparable, nearly weeping with relief.

Long moments passed in this fashion, and Mrs. Falcon busied herself with the final preparations for dinner. She had expected a strong reaction, but did not realize just how right she was. When Diana's eyes had closed, she had considered waking her, since she could tell that the woman would go unguided. At that thought, muscles in her neck clenched hard - involuntarily - and she took that as a sign to stay out of it. Maribel Falcon could be called many names, but 'dense' was not one of them.

Finally, each was satisfied that the other was actually here and intact, and they moved to a looser embrace. Eyes scanned head to toe, checking for signs of damage and finding none.

"It seemed so real," Charlotte said at last. "I thought I'd have sand in my shoes."

Diana chuckled nervously, unsure where to start. "Were you really there with me? Where I was?"

Charlotte nodded and was silent. She smiled and raised onto her toes, kissing scarlet lips with a light, reassuring touch.

"Thank you. I don't think I could have made it out without you."

"Oh, Pish," Charlotte said dismissively. "Nothin' to it, stretch. I love you. You call, I come running."

"Lucky me." Diana lowered her mouth and captured Charlie in a deep, wondrous kiss, parting only when she heard Mrs. Falcon clear her throat.

"We got rooms upstairs, you know. My kitchen ain't built for speed, mija," she teased, causing Charlotte to blush to her roots.

"Sorry," she said to their grinning hostess, then turned back to Diana. "Maybe we should leave. We've got a lot of stuff to talk about."

"No," Diana said, a little too firmly. She softened her tone and continued her objection in a calm, rational manner. "I mean, we have plenty of time to talk. Tomorrow. This evening is supposed to be a celebration, right? Of Marco's being found innocent?" She noticed that Maribel snorted at the mention of the word 'innocent,' leading her to believe that even his mother knew the score on the little scumbag. "And isn't your boss expecting you to be here? Not to mention all this amazing food Mrs. Falcon has prepared."

"Okay, geez. You win. But we will discuss this further - don't think I'm gonna let you slide on that," Charlotte warned. "I think there are some things you need to tell me. Am I right?"

Quirking her eyebrows, crossed up between worry and wonderment at what Charlotte might have learned on her little 'spirit quest,' Diana finally nodded in agreement. "There are many, many things I should tell you. And I will - just please wait until this evening is over and we have some time to ourselves. I'll tell you whatever you want to know, Charlie. I promise."

"You better." Charlotte rested her arms lightly on the taller woman's hips, and she had just begun to relax again when Marco Falcon strode through the door. His dark eyes lit immediately on Diana, and he seemed quite put out at both her presence in his home, and her proximity to his attorney.

"What the hell is going on in here? Who the fuck are you?"
 

Part Ten

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