DISCLAIMER: Now I'm definitely sure nobody is reading this. I could write just about anything here and nobody would notice. Too bad I don't know how to make faces with iconsÉmaybe I should give it a tryÉ :0|- oooh, somebody sticking their tongue outÉ =(:0-(= the Easter BunnyÉ I wonder what else I know how to do but didn't know until nowÉ

RED SOX: It's been so tough this year and there so close but it is too much to believeÉyet.

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AYER IS HUMAN

Chapter 7

Sage watched Brook wince with tear stained eyes when she lowered the ice pack from her cheek. Brook immediately pushed the hand holding the cold first aid to its previous position.

"That bad?" Sage asked.

Brook shrugged, "Black and blue, swollen, it'll healÉWhy?" Brook suddenly broke her medical update to question Sage. "Why would you do something so dangerous? You could've got really hurt?"

"Our girl lives for adventure, Brook. You should know that by now," Cade interrupted the pair with the observation and two very cold drinks.

Brook accepted the amber beverage gratefully. Sage sullenly declined the offer with a negative shake of her head. Cade looked disappointed but didn't push the issue. He quietly returned to his cocktail waiting on the bar while gulping down the rejected drink.

"Go ease there," Child-Hassam warned his twin from his own perch at the bar.

J. Granville exited the master bedroom mopping his brow. His cheeks were flushed a ruddy red. Sweat was dripping down from his hairline in several single streams.

"She got herself released from the hospital before Matthews could get her name," J. Granville's voice and temper were rising with each passing word. "She didn't even sign the medical waiver. Just scratched an X and walked away from the ambulance. DAMN IT!"

Sage swallowed down a distant memory.

"Then it's a very good thing you have me to depend on," the usually silent Gareth announced as he entered the Emperor's Suite located one floor below Sage's gutted penthouse.

"Did you find out anything?" Brook asked as her grip on Sage's thigh tightened.

"Hey," Sage whispered softly to get Brook's attention. Once the woman met her gaze, Sage gave a hesitant grin, "Everything is gonna be okay. Gareth will take care of this. He takes care of everything."

Gareth blushed slightly at Sage's confident statement, "Actually, take care is a bit premature. I did find out the basics and tomorrow I hope to have substantial information to bargain with. Dad, come on and sit down and, Cade, get Dad a screwdriver, would you?"

Gareth guided his father to an overstuffed chair across from Brook and Sage. Cade wasted no time in filling a glass tumbler with vodka and then coloring it with a hint of orange juice. He rushed the potent concoction to J. Granville and waited for the man to sip and nod his approval.

"The woman at the press conference," Gareth sat next to J. Granville and opened his leather binder to review his notes, "is a reporter named Tristan Ayer. She was a freelance blogger for a couple of years before the Boston Hub hired her full time."

"The Boston Hound is more like it. That rag will do anything to sell one more paper," J. Granville seethed.

"Yes, well, with Tristan Ayer working for them they've sold more than one more paper. It might be closer to one hundred thousand more papers. It seems her celebrity obituaries are as popular as they are degrading."

"Oh God, is she the one that wrote Richard Pryor: 'Dead and Rottin'?" Brook asked with a gasp.

Gareth nodded wearily.

Cade snapped to attention, "She wrote the, 'Bye Bye LadyBird' bit. And, the 'Apparently, God's sick of him too," article when Falwell died."

"What are you? Some kind of death hag?" Sage hurled her ice pack across the room to emphasize her displeasure with Cade's enthusiasm.

Child-Hassam picked up the intended missile that fell a few feet short of its mark parked, as always, at the bar. He strolled over and handed it back to Sage.

"Don't be testy with us," he quietly advised. "Cade is only trying to be helpful in a terrible situation. Besides, Ayer's article on Ernest Gallo, while tasteless as an obituary, was one of the best articles on wine I've ever read." He gave a gentle smile, "And, I should know. I own a winery."

Gareth cautioned, "It's true she's talented but she's also vicious and vindictive andÉ"

"She hates us," Brooke finished the sentence.

"So it would seem," Gareth agreed.

Sage shook her head, "You're both wrong. She hates me and she's willing to take down the whole family to hurt me."

J. Granville's anger was growing as the conversation dragged on and on until he could no longer contain himself, "Then why don't you just tell her what you really think of your family, Sage? Maybe she'll back down because you couldn't care less if she hurt us!"

"Dad!" Brook was about to admonish him when Sage stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

In an emotionless voice, Sage said, "Let him say his piece. He has a right to his opinion. Let him tell me just what he really thinks about me."

J. Granville sighed heavily in the now silent room. He appeared completely exhausted from the day's events. At the moment, he looked every minute of his 81 years.

"You still don't get it. None of this is what any of us thinks about you, Sage. It's always been what you think about us." He threw his hands up in the air and turned back to Gareth, "This is pointless. I want to go home for the night. I'm tired of it all. Where's your mother?"

Gareth paled a bit as he looked around the room. "She's not here? She said she would meet me back here."

* * *

Tristan let out a weak whimper as she sized up the final flight of stairs to her attic apartment. Her head was pounding, her ribs were aching, and her lungs were screaming for a breath of fresh air in the fetid stairwell of the dilapidated triple decker. She knew there was no relief coming to find her so she had to make her own way, yet again. Forcing her exhausted body forward, she grabbed the grimy banister and pulled herself up the squeaky platform.

"Twelve more and I get to lie down," she promised herself in a hoarse voice.

Never in her life had she been so happy to be home. Even if the cramped, dirty space with filthy windows was the most depressing apartment ever rented. Tristan closed the door behind and leaned back to catch her breath.

"You know," the rich, cultured voice startled Tristan into a yelp but Simone continued her observation, "you should think about cleaning this mess up. One never knows when company will drop by unexpectedly."

Tristan recovered from her fright to hiss back at her, "I don't care how rich you are, this is breaking and entering. I'm calling the cops."

"Yes, please do that." Simone encouraged, "I'm dying to see what the police will find hidden in your home."

Tristan stopped in her tracks heading for the phone. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Mrs. Sebastian was not gathering herself up to make an escape.

"I got nothing to hide."

Simone smiled, "Let's say you didn't when you left this morning. You might want to search around to be sure nothing was added to your impressive pile of, pardon the expression, shit."

"You wouldn'tÉ"

Simone's brow creased in restrained anger as she replied, "My dear, I most definitely would to protect my family."

Fatigue and pain got the better of her; Tristan crumbled into a nearby chair. A small cloud of dust rose from the impact and then fluttered back down. Tristan rubbed her aching forehead but immediately regretted it as her fingers came into contact with the six new stitches above her eye.

"A gift from your granddaughter," Tristan sneered.

Simone issued a warning, "Make no mistake. Sage is my daughter; legally, morallyÉ,"

"HA HA HA!" Tristan interrupted to mock. "What would any of you know about morals?" She began to list off the litany of sins, "Forgotten, insane first wife, lunatic eldest son, alcoholic twin, faggot other twin, bad girl daughter spreading them for any joker with semen until the inevitable bastard is spawned; sorry but I don't think you have the moral turpitude to make any judgments, lady."

Simone settled back in her chair and began an even toned questioning the pompous young woman, "And, you do? Have the morale turpitude, I mean. There must be some error in my research. Let me make sure I have the right Tristan Ayer. You are the one with the thirty page rap sheet before they put you in juvie for the last time, right? You are THE Tristan Ayer whose mother had her own lengthy rap sheet before she was murdered? Didn't they investigate you for that? Was it ever solved? But, I'm getting side tracked. Back to you, aren't you the Tristan Ayer tossed out of community college for altering students' records for a fee?" Simone gave the breath of a smile, "I'm sure you're the same Tristan Ayer convicted of possession with intent to distribute. Served two years in State prison for that, didn't you?" Simone tisked as she shook her hear head, "Yes, I'm certain you're Tristan Ayer, self appointed judge and jury of the Boston Brahman's, who gave up her little boy when things got a tad to tough."

Tristan stared at Simone trying to regain focus of her pounding head. She nodded very slowly her features drained of color.

"How did you find out about my son?" She tried to sort it out even as she asked, "The rest is public record. I expected, prepared for it to come out. Turn it around into a story of escape from poverty to respectability. But, nobody knows about my son. I covered my tracks too wellÉ"

Simone chuckled at the young woman, "You've go a lot to learn, young woman. You're trying to play in the big league now so you need to prepare for any rotten little trick to be played. Everybody with half a brain knows a little money in the right hands won't help you when a lot of money is offered to those very same hands. Sister Mary Margaret may have promised you your privacy but the Cardinal was more than happy to be helpful with my inquiry."

Tristan lurked forward. She was willing to throttle the woman across from her even if it meant another round in the criminal justice system. But, Simone waved her back in her chair.

"Don't do anything foolish. Just sit back, shut up, and listen. The feelings you have right now are the same as what I felt during your show at the press conference." Simone stood as she readied to leave, "We are both mothers desperate to protect our young. In order to achieve that aim, I have a non-negotiable offer for you."

Tristan remained silently rooted in her chair.

"You end your relentless pursuit of my family's private matters and I'll give you thirty days of unlimited access to the final phase of the restoration project. You'll have interviews with any member of Sebastian/America you want. I'll even let you rummage around in our homes."

Tristan stared mutely at the woman who'd beaten her so early in her own game.

"If you refuse my generous offer and continue to plague my family, I'll make sure your son's name and location is splashed across every newspaper in the state. I won't even need to pull strings to get that particularly nasty job done. Nobody likes you, Ms. Ayer, especially your colleagues. They will be happy to crucify you. My card is stuck to your refrigerator. Call me and let me know what you're going to do next."

Simone leaned down and placed a whispering kiss on Tristan's bruised forehead, "Don't worry, I'll see myself out."

Tristan allowed herself to cry after the door slammed shut.

Chapter 8

Sage took the stairs to the roof two at a time. The jangle of her harness' attachment rings sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. She quickened her steps the closer she drew to the door. After waiting weeks for clear skies, she did not want to delay her exterior inspection of the corner stone another moment.

It had been days of wind and rain. March's weather was staying true to its New England reputation. Cold fronts fed the wind and swirling storm clouds supplied freezing rain by inches in hours. The ever cautious construction foreman initially stopped her plan to examine the stone from the harbor side suspended over the edge by climbing ropes. He insisted on an elevating platform and harness. Then he refused to let the work progress until the weather improved.

"Be on the roof at dawn," he groused into the phone a little before midnight. "Channel 4 says we got a couple of hours before the next front hits us. If you're not ready to go then forget about this month and set yourself to waiting until April."

Sage wasn't about to wait any longer.

She pushed open the heavy steel door. The wind whistled by her ears like a racing freight train. It was still gray with another hour or a little less til dawn. Sage was able to catch fleeting fragments of an argument just beneath the howling wind. She followed the chattering to a huddle of workmen near the edge of the east side of the building.

"Morning, Mr. Lee," Sage heard the faint hint of a long absent joy in her own voice.

The bulky man looked over his shoulder at her, "At least you're ready to rock."

Sage inched forward to get a better view of what he meant. There, standing in the middle of the group of weary workers, was Tristan Ayer. She had her hands on her hips and a curse ready to drop from her lips. Once she saw Sage, her foul mood lightened with a wicked grin.

"Figures you let them truss you up in belts and leashes. I thought you liked being chained to that bench a little too much."

Sage was ready to fire back a lengthy list of profanities at the smug little blonde.

"How wonderful! Both of you have gotten done with the formal introductions without bloodshed," Simone interrupted as she approached Sage from behind.

"What is going on?" Sage nearly spat out as she turned her anger on the older woman.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Mr. Lee all but shouted. "If you don't get your ass onto the platform in five minutes I'm hauling it in. You can fight on your own time, girlie."

"Yes Dear, Mr. Lee is right. Go ahead; get on with your inspection. We can discuss everything else later," Simone smiled warmly at the barely suppressed fury in Sage's eyes. "It's time to decide what you want more from life; your fight or your art. You can't have both."

Sage shoved down her angry reply with the realization her moments with the stone were fleeting. She glared at Simone but the woman just shook her head slightly as if Sage had so much to learn still.

"Okay, Mr. Lee, I'm ready to go," Sage announced but never took her eyes off Simone.

"Great," he gave a sarcastic sigh. "Now if your passenger will just suit up we'll get you two over the side."

Sage spun around in disbelief. "No way!"

"Yes," Simone patted Sage on the back as she passed her, "way. Ms. Ayer has been given an exclusive to the completion of the renovations. That includes a bird's eye view of your work. But, only if she follows ALL the safety rules."

"Fine," Tristan relented. "Tie me up if you must."

Mr. Lee went about fastening the harness around the visibly stiff body. Sage noticed the slight flush in Tristan's face and her averted gaze. A workman distracted Sage from the appraisal when he began to clip her to the rigging. She was startled by a soft kiss on the cheek. It was all Sage could do not to pull away from Simone's affection. In spite of Simone's well crafted expression, Sage could see her reaction hurt the woman she once called mother. Sage had grace enough to be embarrassed by her own behavior.

"I'm sorry. You know, I can'tÉ," Sage couldn't even manage to whisper the words.

Simone nodded, "I understand. I always have. And," she leaned in and kissed the other cheek, "I always will. Now, hurry up and get to work so we can get back inside and warm before the next storm blows us all off the roof and into the sea."

Sage just nodded. She stepped slowly over to the platform in order to give the workman time to lay out her lines. As anxious as she was to touch the stone, she was not going to risk dropping ten stories to certain death because of a twisted rope.

"This is absolutely suffocating," Tristan complained as she tugged on the harness. "Does it have to be so snug?"

"Only if you want to live," Mr. Lee replied. "Okay Sage, step on to the dead center and wait until I get this one right next to you."

Sage did exactly as she was told. The platform shook slightly beneath her feet. Each gust of wind tugged at its cables connected to the roof. It was still in the locked position and had not begun the descent down the stone's face. She could only imagine what the wind would have done to her body if she had, in fact, tried to repel the face of the stone with just climbing gear. Sage was silently grateful Mr. Lee had insisted on the platform.

Tristan placed a tentative foot next to Sage's while holding tight to Mr. Lee's arm. She lingered a moment straddling between the roof and the platform. With a deep breath, she released her grip on the man and made a clutching grab for Sage. Her fingers dug deeply into Sage's arm.

"Look, if you're gonna stay on here with me then you've got to let go. I can't do what I need to with you dragging on me," Sage stated flatly.

"Give me a minute, will you," Tristan answered even though her eyes were squeezed shut. "I just need to get the feel of É,"

Her words turned to a scream as the platform began its measured drop down the stone face.

"You're afraid of heights, aren't you?" Sage teased as she peeled Tristan's bone crunching grip off her bicep.

Tristan rewrapped her fingers higher up the arm. "No, I'm not afraid of heights per se. I'm afraid of falling. Dying, to be more exact, is what I'm afraid of."

"Well let go or I'll make sure you get to face your fear today," Sage warned as she yanked free of Tristan's grasp.

Tristan staggered a bit before grabbing hold of the rail for dear life. Her skin had gone ghost white and her lips were nearly blue. Sage was sure she could hear her teeth chattering.

"Relax," Sage grinned with more confidence than she felt. "You'll have a better chance of landing feet first instead of head first."

"From this high up, it doesn't matter how you land, does it?" Tristan asked with a fragment of innocent hope.

Sage broke into a laugh, "Sure it does, if you want an open casket."

Tristan shot her a vicious look but held her tongue as a wave of nausea hit her. White features went almost green in a heart beat. Her attempt to mute her gagging abruptly ended Sage's good humor.

"If you puke, so help me God, I dump you over the edge myself!"

Tristan took several gulps of air before answering, "Threats? Excellent approach to a crisis, Sage. Isn't that what you did way back when? Threaten my life?"

"Naw," Sage smirked when she saw the color returning to Tristan's cheeks. "We were just kids. I only promised to do you serious bodily injury. Now, I'm more mature and ready to guarantee murder."

"Bitch," Tristan hissed as the platform bounced to a halt midway down the corner stone.

Sage, happy that she frustrated the woman enough to forget about being sick, allowed a smirk. She then turned her full attention to the massive stone before her. She let her fingers caress the hard, cold surface. The gleaming polish was heavily pockmarked from decades of wind and salt sea air. Goosebumps raced up her arms as she traced the stress fracture in the rock sentinel. She reverently tapped along the crevasse feeling for strength and weakness. Her fingers, as always, searched for the hidden shape waiting to surface with the help of her chisel.

"What do you feel?" Tristan was at her elbow when she finally asked Sage the right question.

Sage opened her eyes to meet Tristan's upturned face. "The beast within is trying to break free."

"Can you see it?"

"No," Sage answered as if in a trance, "not yet, only when I release it. Then everybody else gets to see what I feel."

A whooshing sound from the roof rang loud in Sage's ears. Out of instinct or fear, she grabbed Tristan into a bear hug and held on. The platform below their feet fell away and they plunged together into thin air.

"MOTHER OF GOD!" Sage screamed as her anchor ropes snapped her to an abrupt stop.

The pain in her chest and shoulders nearly caused her to black out. But, something clung to her, holding her in the moment, begging her back from the bliss of unconsciousness.

"Please, God, don't drop me."

Tristan's pathetic plea was breaking through the fog surrounding Sage's mind. She shifted trying to get a better grip but Tristan wrapped her legs around her own setting them spinning in the breeze.

"Relax," Sage finally managed babble. "The harness, you're fine."

"No, no, no," Tristan sounded like she was losing her battle with hysteria. "My rope came loose. It passed us on the way down."

Sage shuddered herself fully awake at the news. She tightened her grip on Tristan before looking to see what state they were currently swaying in. Her own arms were locked together under Tristan's. Tristan's legs were securely wrapped around her thighs. Tristan had a strangle hold on her throat with one arm over her shoulder and the other under. Only three of their lifelines still connected to the roof; two of Sage's and one of Tristan's. Sage looked down and saw Tristan's second rope dangling like a tail below them.

"Aw Shit!" Sage muttered.

Tristan increased the pressure of her grip.

"Okay, you need to lighten up a little," Sage advised.

Tristan vehemently shook her head, "Not a fucking chance of that happening."

"I gotta keep breathing if I'm gonna keep holding onto you," Sage warned.

The strangle hold eased a bit.

"Why aren't they getting us down or back up? What are they waiting for?"

Sage could hear the panic rising in Tristan's voice. "Let them do their job. We have more than enough to do."

"Like what? I think I can safely say the interview is over. I can pretty much make up the rest on my own. Thank you very much. I've had more than my fill of the idle rich. So, if you can just get me safely back to the roof or the groundÉ,"

"SHUT UP!" So many years since her first attempt, Sage finally succeeded in silencing Tristan. "First thing you need to do is get that rope up in your hands."

Silence and trembling were Tristan's only response.

"Come on, just grab it. You gonna feel a whole lot safer with a line tying you to me instead of trying to hold on to me for God knows how long."

"I'll fall. I'll lose my grip and fall. You'll let me fall when I try to get the rope," Tristan blathered as she buried her face in Sage's shoulder.

"I won't. I promise. I won't drop you."

The calm sincerity in her statement caught Tristan's attention. She eased back a bit to be able to look Sage in the eye. Cool gray eyes stared back at her unflinching from her declaration.

Tristan let go with her left hand but increased the tension in her right fist. She brought her fingers back to the harness at her shoulder and trailed down the length until she found the rope. Gently, she tugged it up with a sparse economy of movement.

"Loop it thru the free rings at my chest and waist," Sage quietly encouraged but tried not to rush her in spite of their sickening swinging.

Tristan was being dutiful following the directions. She kept her eyes focused on the ring midway down Sage's chest. But, her fingers were trembling too much. She fumbled the rope's end and it dropped out of her reach as a forceful gust spun them around and back again.

"Oh God," Tristan once more clutched Sage with both hands.

"It's okay, you're doing great." Sage hushed in her ear. "Now, try again. I know you can do it this time."

"I can't."

"Sure you can."

Silence ensued. Sage wanted to be patient but the winds were starting to pick up speed.

"Alright, then I'll do it."

"No don't, don't let go of me. Please. You promised. I really don't want to die today."

"Then don't give up," Sage demanded. "Grab that rope and loop thru the rings before we get into real trouble here."

Tristan again relaxed her hold on Sage. Her movements quickened their pace with the increased force of the wind. She snagged the rope on the second try. She got it clean through both loops on the first try. Then she looked at Sage expectantly.

"Can you knot it?"

"I think I need both hands for that."

"Go ahead, I got you," Sage reassured.

When she released her grip, Tristan's full weight came to bare on Sage's wrists. Each small movement threatened to break the hold or snap a bone. A particularly painful tug let her know the first knot was done. She bit her lip and hoped the second would follow as quickly.

"Done?" She was losing her burden.

"Almost," Tristan was so focused on her task she was oblivious to the growing danger.

"Hold on," Sage warned as her wrist shattered.

Tristan dropped out of her reach. The crack of the rope pulling taunt masked Sage's pain filled shriek. Tristan was left dangling from two lopsided lifelines. One connected still to the roof and held her right shoulder at an unnatural angle. The other tethering her to Sage held her left shoulder at the woman's knees.

For her part, Sage blacked out when she lost her grip. She never heard Tristan's whimpering thanks or felt the lurching tug of the winch dragging them back from outer space.

TBC

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