DISCLAIMER: You should know it by now.

RED SOX: The boys have gathered again in Florida . April 6th they'll be back running around the bases at Fenway!

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AYER IS HUMAN

by phair

Chapter 14

Tristan tried to appear relaxed sitting on a work bench cross legged, leaning back against the wall for support. The trembling in her hand was only betrayed by the rippling of coco in the large Styrofoam cup she held. She kept her eyes fixed on Sage in an effort to maintain a cool exterior in spite of the pain pulsating through her body.

Sage was circling the stone block Tristan smuggled into the gutted penthouse the previous day. The hammer in Sage's right hand tapped a steady rhythm against her thigh. Tristan idly wondered if the hammer was attempting to communicate its eagerness to get back to work to its owner.

"Okay," Sage finally spoke as she holstered the hammer in the tab of her carpenter pants "your turn."

Tristan was confused but didn't resist as Sage took the cup from her. "What should I do?"

"Get on your feet. Get over to the stone. Get the beast inside to reveal itself to you."

Tristan got up but didn't move any closer to the stone. Sage took the now vacant perch and settled in. A stolen sip of coco resulted in a satisfied grin. Tristan's sudden call to duty caused her to miss the rare moment of pure joy spread across Sage's lips. Tristan stared blankly at the rock while maintaining a safe distance. She didn't make a move to approach the stone willingly. It took Sage's bare foot on her ass to push her into action.

"Okay, okay, don't rush me," Tristan said as she stepped an inch or two forward before stopping again. "Wait a minute; you said you couldn't see the shape inside until you released it. How do you expect me to be able to do what you can't?"

Sage sat up a bit straighter at the somewhat foggy memory more than the question itself. "You remember me saying that?"

"Of course, I'm a journalist. Remembering quotes is one of the more important parts of my profession."

"Really? I thought rifling through dumpsters for other people's personal information was the most important part of your profession," Sage flashed a nasty smirk when she saw Tristan wince at the remark.

Tristan, however, refused to be baited into a fight. She remained silent and held her ground until Sage reluctantly helped her.

"Just try to get a feel for a basic geometric shape. We need to practice on simple things first. I need to figure out if you and I are looking at the same stone."

Tristan nodded her head but did not speak. She turned her back on Sage and approached the cold, hulking stone block. She circled the rock in much the same way Sage did but really didn't see any shape beyond the square before her.

"No, that's not quite right. It's not really a perfect square, now is it?" She thought to herself.

Her hand reached out and found the edge to be rough, almost jagged. It was begging to be smoothed down to a sharp corner. Tristan let her fingers trace the outer surface and found subtle dents and bulges and crevasses. Each imperfection needed honing to make the block a right angled square.

Tristan smiled triumphantly as she announced, "It's a square."

"Uggh, this is never gonna work," Sage grimaced and shook her head in defeat.

"Why? What did you see?" Tristan questioned with her hand on her hip and indignation evident in her tone.

"It is obviously a pyramid. Any first year high school art class could tell you that," Sage stated before taking a long drink of coco.

Tristan refocused her attention on the stone. She circled it several more times. Her hand searched the surface and edges in vain. There was no hint of a pyramid hidden inside the rock.

Frustration got the better of her and she blurted out, "How would you teach a first year high school art class to find the pyramid within? There has to be some kind of starting point."

"There is," Sage was smug, "talent."

"Fine, you're the smartest, best artist ever and I'm just a hack writer." Tristan taunted, "Oh wait; I used the wrong verb tense. You were the smartest best artist ever. But, not anymore. Now you're just another spoiled rich girl who, sadly, is not ambidextrous."

Any hint of humor left Sage's face. Her eyes narrowed on the woman mocking her.

"I think we're done," Sage ground out the words.

"Oh, is that how it goes? You know, this is why everybody hates you rich people. You get to say any mean, hurtful thing you want then cry foul when confronted with the truth." Tristan lectured with a wagging finger.

Sage looked wide eyed as she tried to defend herself, "What you said isn't the truth."

"So, you're really ambidextrous?"

"I'm not spoiled," Sage struggled to get the words out without sounding like she was sulking. Her effort was of limited success.

It was Tristan's turn to be smug. She had a good rebuttal ready to fire at the woman. However, she lost her will to continue when she saw Sage's first tear fall. Sage quickly ducked her head and wiped at her face with her upper arm.

Tristan moved faster this time. She took the cup from Sage's hand to give her a chance to wipe her tears dry. Tristan stayed close, brushing her thigh against Sage's knee in an effort to provide some small amount of emotional support. It was quite unexpected when Sage leaned forward wrapping her arm around the reporter's waist and buried her face in the soft cotton of Tristan's t-shirt. Her heavy sob was muffled but Tristan felt the depth of Sage's suffering vibrating against her skin.

"Come on, don't cry. You're not really the crying type," Tristan tried to remind the weeping woman.

Sage rested her forehead against Tristan's hip when she asked between sobs, "What do you mean, I'm not the crying type? How would you know if I'm the crying type or not?"

Tristan rolled her eyes and answered honestly.

"I'm a reporter. I have my sources. So, I know; you didn't cry at your grandmother's funeral or when J. Granville had his first heart attack or when your piece, Hungry Children, was rejected by the Institute for Modern Arts or when I wrote that you did not qualify as a starving artist because a) you're leaching off your parents and b) your skill is marginal at best or," Tristan was certain she'd regret the next statement for a very long time, "when your girlfriend left you for some guy."

Sage was very still. Her tears slowed and her breathing steadied. Still, she kept her hold on Tristan.

"She left me for Cade, not some guy." Sage pulled away and looked up at Tristan, "If you know I'm a lesbian then why haven't you outed me in one of your vicious articles?"

"Because, that wouldn't be fair. You can't help who you love. You're discreet but you don't try to hide it. You're not a hypocrite. It is one of the few redeeming qualities about you," Tristan stated it as a matter of fact. "It might be the only thing you're honest about."

Sage released her grip before asking, "You think I'm dishonest? Now, that's a pot and kettle moment it I've ever heard one but this is about me. So, what do you think I'm not being honest about?"

Tristan opened her mouth to speak but came up short with a direct answer. Her venom for Sage was rooted in their brief early meeting so many lifetimes ago on the police booking bench. She had based her character assessment of Sage on the frightened but angry runaway teenager Tristan had been unable to manipulate for her own benefit. It took Sage asking the right question for Tristan to realize she knew details about Sage's life but she didn't really know anything of substance about Sage.

"You pretend you're poor," Tristan scrambled for an answer to justify her contempt and years of relentless verbal persecution of the woman.

Sage looked around her loft for effect. "Tristan, I live in one of the most desirable properties in Boston . Just how does that make me appear to be faking poverty?"

"Well, you," Tristan stepped away from Sage but the woman got up and followed her. "You trashed the place. You keep it like some kind of empty warehouse. It should be a palace and you keep it like a hovel."

"This is my studio. I need the open space for my pieces. My bedroom is upstairs. It, I promise you, is very posh." Sage grinned even though her eyes were still watery, "I also promise you'll never see the inside of it."

Tristan stammered at the seductive tone in Sage's voice, "What would make you think I want to see your bedroom? You're assuming I'd be interested in you. Hell, you're assuming I'm gay."

Sage didn't answer. Instead, she rushed the reporter and grabbed her by the shirt front. Sage delivered a searing kiss to startled but parting lips. The deeper she delved into Tristan's mouth the more willing the woman became. Without any warning, Sage broke off the contact and walked away.

"Yep, you're gay."

"That doesn't…you just…you…you grabbed…I wouldn't have let…you forced…doesn't mean, I want…would ever want…you…" Tristan was babbling and breathless.

Sage shook her head in amusement.

"You don't even know me!" Tristan was finally able to form a full sentence of self defense.

"That might be true but I do know straight women never let me put my tongue in their mouths. And," Sage smiled broadly, "only Dykes enjoy it as much as you did. But, trust me, I won't do it again.

"Good 'cause I don't want you to touch me again," Tristan sounded a little less than convincing.

Sage promised, "I won't touch you. I won't kiss you. And, I certainly wouldn't ever fuck you, Tristan. Even if I got a free bar of soap with it to wash your stink off me after deed. So, why don't you just leave because you got nothing I want and I got nothing you can have?"

Tristan steadied herself, "You're wrong. I need your good arm and you need mine. So, why not cut the bullshit and teach me what to do so we can sculpt a pyramid? Then I'll teach you how to write a sentence in your native tongue." Tristan cleared her throat and willed herself to anger, "And, you can trust me, language is the only tongue you'll ever get from me you rich, selfish, spoiled, one armed bitch."

"If you're dumb enough to want to keep this farce up then who am I to stop you?" Sage tried to appear reluctant in her surrender but her heart was still racing from the stolen kiss.

Chapter 15

Sage ambled over to front door. Her bare feet were silent as she traveled across the highly polished, hard wood floor. The journey was marked by tiny squeaks from the appliance holding her left arm together. Just as she reached for the door knob, the buzzer buzzed, again. Then again.

"Patience is a virtue, Ms. Ayer," Sage announced while swinging the door open.

Tristan look slightly confused, "How'd you know it was me?"

"Perhaps, it's my uncanny sense of smell detecting the subtle hint of Samsara behind each of your earlobes. Or, it might be my new found ESP abilities alerting me to trouble on my doorstep. Some might say, a witch foretold your coming but I ignored the warning until it was too late." Sage smiled brightly, "I, however, believe it's the fact that security called to tell me you were on your way up."

Tristan stepped past the chuckling Sage. "Nice to see you're so cheerful this morning. Maybe your good humor will keep you from molesting me today."

"No, I'm in a particularly randy mood. Predawn sex is best," Sage gave a wink. "So, you'll have to rely on your own personality to keep you safe from my nefarious advances. I'm sure you'll be 110% safe."

Tristan rolled her eyes but didn't voice the snarling come back waiting on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she began to unzip her jacket. Half way down it snagged the bib of her overalls.

"Fuckin' A!" She shouted in frustration when her tug upward to free the zipper resulted in effectively jamming it.

Tristan's pent up anger at the physical and emotion trap she was currently caged in finally snapped. Her fury was unleashed on the unmoving metal closure. Tears and swears fell in equal parts as her struggle threatened to rend the jacket's seams. Her one armed wrestling match was ended when her hand was captured by a larger, stronger hand.

"Hey, easy," Sage hushed while she pried Tristan's fingers free of the maddening fastener. "Fury will get you nowhere. Trust me; I've learned that much for sure."

Tristan hung her head and let Sage help her. With delicate and gentle advances and retreats, Sage was able to pull the zipper loose. She lifted the lapel and let Tristan shrug it off. Once free of the jacket, Tristan trudged away leaving Sage holding the coat. Sage watched as the other woman seemed to melt before her eyes. Tristan slid down the length of the windowed wall and huddled on the floor sobbing.

Sage felt the weight of her guilt lodge in her throat. She wanted to run away like she had always done. But, she knew it would be wrong to turn her back on this moment. Beside, Sage was weary of running away.

Today was different than all those times before. Today she was in her own home confronting a hurt she alone had caused. Her next actions would prove out if she was a good woman or a bad woman. As she moved toward Tristan, she was still not sure which kind of person she would be when she finished talking but she, at least, was willing to try.

Morning was breaking over the ocean. Streams of sunlight poured into the loft chasing back the shadows of darkness which had ruled the space all night long. Tristan was haloed in the glow of sun's radiance. Sage was acutely aware it was herself emerging from the darkness and entering into Tristan's daylight.

She knelt down before Tristan and said the first thing she could think of, "Stop crying."

"Please," Tristan begged. "Just give me a couple of minutes. Let me pull myself together before I try to walk out of here. Don't shame me more than I've already shamed myself. You were right all along. This was a stupid idea. All my ideas are stupid. I'm just a shit sensationalist blogger pretending to be a hotshot reporter."

"My brother said you wrote the best article on wine he's ever read," Sage offered quietly.

"Cade?" Tristan asked suspiciously as she glanced up.

Sage gave half a grin, "No. Child-Hassam. And, he should know, he owns a winery. Although, Cade has drunk his way thru more than one winery."

Tristan actually laughed.

Sage allowed a bigger smile.

"Look, why don't we try to do some chiseling?" Sage began. "I'll let you hammer if you want."

"Um, no. I already broke one of your arms. I'm not about to start on the other," Tristan shook her head grimly.

Sage puckered her lips in distaste. "I almost got both of us killed. We should never have been out on the scaffold. It was too windy. The foreman told me to wait until late April or early May but I had to get my way. You were right; I'm a spoiled rich kid."

There was silence between them.

"Ah…you know…you could disagree with me…," Sage said with some hesitation.

Tristan laughed again.

"Okay, let's do some chiseling. You do the hammer part. Only one of us should have fingers this bruised," Tristan stated as she held up the black and blue finger tips.

Sage nodded as they both got to their feet.

"Wait," Sage called as Tristan walked over to the slab of stone awaiting them, "you haven't disagreed with me yet about being spoiled."

Tristan laughed again.

* * *

Sage was awe struck as Tristan moved the chisel head exactly where Sage wanted it to be. Over the course of the week since their sunrise truce, the pair had gotten better at anticipating each others subtle movements. The rock before them was slowly chipping away revealing the pyramid below.

"Wait a second," Tristan's whispered command stopped Sage in mid swing. "I felt something."

"Huh?"

"No, don't pull away," Tristan pleaded when she felt Sage begin to back up. "In my shoulder, I felt a muscle twitch."

"I'm no physical therapist but I think that's how arms move," Sage teased but stayed firmly behind Tristan.

A light shake of her head indicated Tristan's disagreement. "Not my shoulder. Your shoulder."

Sage swallowed hard to keep from weeping.

"Give me a second," Tristan ducked out from between Sage and the stone.

"What, what are you doing?" Sage sounded panicked even to her own ears when Tristan started to pull her t-shirt off. "Wait, wait, oh God, you're not even wearing a bra."

Tristan stood topless with a small frown, "Don't be lame! I know for a fact you've seen hundreds of women naked. One more isn't going to make a difference."

"No, no, no, no, I've always been a serial monogamist. Four, maybe five, girlfriends at the most. No way hundreds," Sage defended as her blush deepened.

"Porno, kid. You've watch hours and hours of that crap. Ten girls every ninety minutes means hundreds over the course of year," Tristan smirked as she repositioned herself in front of Sage.

Sage allowed Tristan to back firmly up against her chest. "I wasn't watching it actually. It was foreplay. You know, trying to keep it fresh. Spice up the bedroom scene a little."

Tristan chuckled hard but stopped when she felt Sage's nipples harden to points.

"You must have been with the wrong women if they needed movies to warm up for you," Tristan muttered.

"What?" Sage almost dropped her hammer at the come on line.

"Nothing. Let's try this again. See if I get the same results."

Sage waited while Tristan placed her chisel against the stone. Sage leaned in to tap the well warn head.

"I can feel you," Tristan hushed. "Right here," Tristan continued as she turned around to face Sage and traced her index finger along Sage's wounded shoulder.

Sage did indeed drop her hammer then. Her hand moved as if under its own will. She cupped Tristan's cheek. Holding her steady, Sage moved in for a kiss which was greeted with much more enthusiasm than the first one so many days ago.

"Can you feel me here?" Sage asked as she trailed her hand down to cover Tristan's heart.

Tristan bit her lip and nodded as she took Sage's hand and guided it down, "But, I really want to feel you here."

Sage sighed as her fingers cradled Tristan's jean clad sex, "I'm willing but I might be a bit awkward."

"Virgin?" Tristan teased as she popped her button fly open.

Sage accepted the invitation and stroked the newly exposed shaved skin.

"We might find being in bed easier than leaning against the pyramid," Tristan said before capturing Sage's mouth.

Tristan's tongue was forceful as it pushed its way in. Her desire was so strong Sage could almost taste the need.

Sage responded by shoving two fingers inside Tristan's soaking center, "Nah, you're already ready to come. Here will have to do." Sage snickered, "Pyramid building must be better foreplay than porno."

Tristan wrapped her good arm around Sage's neck as her body road the fingers impaling her, "Works for me."

Chapter 16

The rumbling vibration from the cell phone on the nightstand got Tristan moving before she even opened her eyes. She stifled a groan as her shoulder was jarred when she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Ignoring the flash of pain, her left hand grabbed for the disruptive device. Its rattle was immediately stilled by her thumb. There was no need to check the display screen. She knew who was sending her a message.

"Oh, come on," Sage grumbled when Tristan got up to gather her clothes. "Get back to bed, woman. Stop sneaking out in the middle of the night. People will start to think I'm a slut."

Tristan finished tugging up her jeans before responding, "It's not the middle of the night. It's two in the morning. Go back to sleep, I've got to get moving."

"Why?" Sage asked then sat up after a minor struggle. She gingerly re-tucked the pillows supporting her arm to accommodate her new position.

Tristan didn't answer. She was battling to get her shirt on over her head and injured arm. After several grunts, her tussled hair emerged followed by her scowling brow.

"I hate that part," Tristan muttered before beginning her search for shoes in the starlit room.

Sage settled back against the headboard. It took her a few minutes to readjust her pillowed arm again. She tried to think of something to say which would get Tristan back to bed. Nothing sprang to mind. She became completely distracted when her eyes settled on the rise in the sheet across her lap. Only a few hours before, Tristan wildly rode the strap on shaft driving both women to complete ecstasy.

"You could at least offer to help me put my penis back in the toy box," Sage muttered.

She pulled the sheet back revealing the firm dildo still strapped to her hips. Moonlight glinted off the hard polished surface. Sage writhed a bit to make it look like it was throbbing.

"You can do it yourself," Tristan ignored the request. "I've got to hurry or I'll be late."

"It's two in the morning! What could you possibly be late for?" Sage asked but no reply was forthcoming.

She finally gave up on trying to convince Tristan to stay. Sage pulled the straps loose with nimble, well practiced fingers. Even single handed, she was quickly free of the harness. Getting the devise on took a little more coordination but, then, Tristan was always eager to lend a helping hand at the beginning of their romps. It wasn't until after they had their fill of fucking, followed by a short nap, that Tristan turned away from Sage and rushed out into the darkness before dawn. Her flights were always triggered by a message quaking into her cell phone.

"Will I see you at nine?" Sage asked as she had asked each morning for the last week of their new born affair.

"Sure," Tristan mumbled automatically as she pushed her foot into her shoe.

Sage watched Tristan exit the bedroom without a backward glance. She closed her eyes and listened to the fading foot steps. Her guest's departure was completed with a faint metallic click in the distance. A soft melodic ping from the phone on the nightstand told Sage, Tristan was safely away in the elevator.

Reaching across her chest, Sage grabbed the phone. She wiped a tear from her eye with the back of her hand before hitting the preprogrammed number.

"Morning, Sage," Gareth sounded wide awake in spite of the ridiculously early hour. "My guy already has Tristan in sight. He'll keep her on visual until the parking garage. The street team will pick her up from there and stay on her bumper until she returns to the garage. Hotel security will buzz you when she's back in the elevator to your loft. I have yesterday's surveillance reports in hand if you're interested."

Sage had to clear her throat to speak, "Yah, I'm interested. Thanks for doing this Gareth. Are you going to come up here with the info or should I meet you down your office?"

"Sit tight, sweetheart. I'll be up to you as soon as they finish putting our breakfast together. Steak and eggs sound good?"

"I don't really have much of an appetite," Sage thought she might actually get sick.

"Sage," Gareth sounded fatherly, "you can't be skipping meals and losing sleep over this woman. Your body is too weak to take another hit. If you think you can't handle this, I'll take care of everything for you. I've got so much shit to dump on that little punk; she'll wish we just put her ass in prison. I promise you, you'll never have to think about Tristan Ayer again. Just say the word and she's toast and you never need to know the details."

"I'm glad you're on my side," Sage tried to will the gnawing pain in her belly away. "Bring the info and breakfast up. I think I can handle it…as long as you're with me."

Light laughter filter over the phone line, "Nobody could keep me away from your side, little sis."

* * *

"Tristy, you are a bad girlie keeping me waiting so long," the text message read.

"Fucking twit," Tristan hissed under her breath as she hit the redial button.

"Such a naughty little tramp with a mouth like a sailor," the shrill voice greeted immediately.

Tristan slowed her pace to glance around the deathly still parking garage. She wished she had taken her keys out of her pocket before dialing the phone. Her left shoulder gave a sharp twinge to remind her not to even think about trying to reach down with that particular appendage.

"Are you here somewhere or are you just trying to scare me, Mr. Arnold?" She asked.

The snickering reply made her skin crawl, "Both. I can see you but you can't see me. Isn't this a nice new twist to our daily updates?"

"Actually, I don't like it much," Tristan answered honestly. "Are you here to hurt me?"

"How pedestrian of you! No worries. I'm only going to inflicted psychological harm. Believe you me, I wouldn't touch you with latex gloves, whore. Especially now, when you're covered with Sage's slimy cunt juice. Tell me do you have Dyke breath?"

Tristan slammed the phone closed. She shoved it in her pocket and pulled out her keys. Still seeing nobody nearby, she darted for her car. She was two or three feet from the door when childish laughter echoed through the manmade, concrete cavern. She backed up to her car door. He was close but she couldn't tell exactly where he was hiding because of the echo.

"Really Tristy, running away? Leave if you like; I won't try to stop you. But remember, you can run but you can't escape me. I made you and I'll destroy you. And, I won't stop with you. There's that little cretin of yours to play with as well. Can you imagine how his eyes will light up seeing pictures of Mommy taking it up the ass with a broom handle?"

Tristan shivered at the threat and then the memory but pushed her bravado forward, "It was a police baton, idiot. If you're gonna report a story you better get the facts straight."

His laughter boomed around her. He sounded like every maniacal killer form every slasher flick she ever saw. She also knew him well enough to know he was moving back from the brink of madness he constantly tested. Now he would be ready to lay out the rules for today's game, as soon as he composed himself again.

"Excellent banter! I think you're getting your writer's voice back. Oh, you're so lucky to have me to take dictation. Now, hop in your car and put me on speaker phone. While you drive home, I want to know every moment of the past nineteen hours you spent with Sage." He breathed in deeply, "I want every hammer swing, every dumb joke, every snack, every bathroom break, and every smooth, seductive move. I want every corrupt thing she did to you and every pervert act you committed on her. Give me graphic details and lots of descriptive prose. And, if you even think of lying to me then you will be the most unhappy woman in the world. Understood?"

"Same old, same old," Tristan grumbled as she dragged the car door open and crawled inside to relative safety behind the locked door.

* * *

Sage couldn't take her eyes off the boy sitting across from her in the ancient dining hall of Mount Hope . His large, almond shaped, blue eyes were the most expressive she'd ever seen. They twinkled in wonder at some nuance or other to his well practiced routine which had previously escaped his notice.

Of course, his little discoveries were dragging out breakfast beyond the usual hour the special needs school allotted for breakfast. It was for exactly that reason his education plan included two hours for meals with one to one supervision. A school aid would sit with him the first hour and Tristan Ayer would sit with him the second. Today, Sage arrived to volunteer for the first hour. The staff was not surprised to see one of Simone Sydney-Sebastian's children. The family had been one of the school's most generous patrons over the years with both their money and time.

Gareth had provided Sage with pages of damning evidence of Tristan's dirty schemes and nearly criminal activity over their magnificent but completely untouched breakfast. Yet, it was just one piece of information which captured Sage's complete attention; Max, Tristan's son. Well, biological son. Tristan lost her parental rights to the boy while she was in juvenile lock up.

Still, Tristan's first venture as a newly paroled adult was to find the boy who was languishing in an understaffed state group home. She used every trick and favor she could gather to get Max into the private special education facility. Even more amazing to Sage was Tristan's ability to scrape up the money to pay the nearly one hundred thousand dollar tuition. It took a bit of the edge off all the horrible columns Tristan had written about her.

Max interrupted Sage's thoughts by holding his empty spoon up for her to see. His one to one assistant had already told her what the next step in the morning ritual would be.

"Hot…," he stated.

"…cereal," she replied.

Max dug the spoon deep into the bowl and lifted out a dripping helping. He gave a giggle before shoving the spoon in his mouth.

"You've got a sweet little giggle there, kid," Sage muttered while Max became lost again in his reflection in the spoon. "You also have a beautiful little face."

Sage wasn't sure what possessed her to grab the sugar bowl. She slowly emptied the contents in a pile in front of her. Using her right hand, she leveled the mound until a thin white layer covered the black topped table surface.

Max dropped his spoon and covered his mouth with both hands, "Uh oh."

Sage ignored his warning as she lifted her left hand above the sugar palate. With a wince, she pointed her index finger and then her right hand guided the left's work. A reflection of Max's vibrant eyes appeared as lines of black surrounded by the white powder.

"Look it's you," she whispered to the riveted boy.

Max leaned up and squinted. Then he smiled broadly, "Yeah."

"Yah, yeah," Sage repeated as she gazed at the image she had created with her ruined hand. "Very yeah."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tristan nearly knocked a chair over in an effort to grab Max to her.

"Don't upset the boy," Sage stated evenly. "Sit down and act like an adult."

"Tris mad," the boy wailed, "Tris mad."

Sage saw one of the instructors approaching them but waved him off with a glare. "Everything is fine, Mr. Almeda. The three of us are sitting down to finish breakfast. Right, Tristan?"

Tristan closed her eyes but stayed on her knees clinging to the boy. She rubbed his back in big, slow soothing circles. She was quite unsure who it calmed more, him or her.

"Come on, Tristan. Sit down and talk to me," Sage realized she was begging.

Tristan eased her hold on Max and he straightened up in his seat. He stared at Tristan with a furrowed brow and worried eyes. His small hand snuck over and patted her cheek.

"Hot…," he whispered reverently.

Tristan stood and moved his chair back to the table. She pulled one over for herself to sit beside him before responding, "…cereal."

Max grabbed his spoon and dove back into his breakfast.

"Why are you here?" Tristan asked again but in a softer voice.

"Maybe I was hoping we'd have some kind of future and wanted to meet the only important person in your life," Sage reluctantly shifted her gaze from the boy to her lover. "Maybe my Mom asked me to come down help out and this is merely a coincidence. Or, maybe Gareth found out that you're writing a book about my…" she groped for a bland word, "…evening activities with you. That somebody is paying you a thousand dollars a day to spill your guts on what I thought was private. That arrangements are being made for the book to drop the same day my retrospective opens at the ICA . A charity even, by the way, where all the profits were due to go to the Mount Hope scholarship account…,"

"I didn't know that…," Tristan looked truly horrified. "I didn't even know you were having a showing at the ICA ."

Sage shook her head, "Not now, I'm not. It would have been embarrassing enough to be there when I likely will never sculpt again. There is no way I'm going to stand up in front of all those people when I know they spent the afternoon downloading my smoothest moves."

"Sage, it's not what you think."

"Then what is it?"

"Hot…," a tiny voice reminded them.

"…cereal," both women answered.

Tristan took a deep breath to begin her confession. "I'll tell you everything I can. If I don't know something or think telling you will get people hurt then…"

"You'll lie," Sage nearly growled.

"No. I'll tell you I can't tell you. You can believe me or not. I've got no way to prove I'm not a liar because, well, I am a liar." Tristan reached out and rubbed Max's back again making the boy squirm and giggle. "I needed to snitch you out all those years ago because I was pregnant. I needed to get out for a couple of days to get things taken care. But, as you know, I was held over. The state figured out my situation and informed my Mom. She was thrilled because she'd get more aid by taking in my kid. I couldn't let that happen," Tristan shook her head. "So, I agreed to an open adoption. As you might have guessed, the well to do, liberal, aging hippie couple backed out as soon as they saw him. My Mom was ready to swoop back in. I couldn't let that happen, couldn't let him down again." Tristan looked away, consumed by shame, "I signed my parental rights over to the state. It took me three years to find him shuttered away in that piss hole in JP. It took almost another two years for me to get him in here. That's when I saw you again. Some craft fair or other. I was working two jobs and writing a blogg that was starting to catch on and make some advertising money. I was broke and exhausted and angry. I wrote an awful post about you that night."

Tristan paused to focus on Max. "Another spoonful."

"Nawh," the boy said and stuck out his generous sized tongue out.

"Yawh," Tristan said in return with a gentle smile.

Max gave a big belly laugh and took hold of his spoon again. The scene was sweet. Sage was humbled in the presence of such love but her heart was broken in almost as many places as her arm by Tristan's betrayal.

"The next day, Mr. Arnold contacted me. He had a lot of seedy stories about the Sebastian family. And, he made me an offer that was impossible to refuse." Tristan grimaced at the memory. "He'd pay me a dollar for every word I wrote about the Sebastians and two dollars for every word about you. The deal continued even when I got picked up as a regular columnist by the Boston Hub."

"Is he still paying by word for the book?" Sage was surprised she could ask in such a civil manner.

"Two dollars a word, one thousand words a day."

"At least you're not interested in me for my money," Sage grumbled. "Gareth wants a deposition from you to use against Mr. Arnold…"

"I can't help you find him. I don't know what he looks like," Tristan interrupted.

Sage shook her head. "Gareth found him already. Arnold Neal was in security for the Hotel and interfered with family business. He got sacked and blames me."

"Unfairly blames you?" Tristan questioned.

Sage sneered, "Oh no, he should blame me. He was only doing his job and because I got arrested, Dad fired him. But, that doesn't mean you get a free payback card. So, today he's being served with a restraining order. The order protects my family and yours."

Tristan sat in stunned silence.

"We know he's been threatening you. Your cell calls got picked up 'accidentally' on our security radios. We," Sage paused, "I don't want anything to happen to you, Tristan. I was starting to care about you which makes this next part so much harder. You are going to sign an agreement to stay away form me and not write so much as my name. In exchange, Max's tuition will be fully funded."

"I'm not taking charity money. I'll pay his way," Tristan's anger flared.

Sage sighed, "It's not charity money. It's my money. I've already written the check to cover him until his twenty second birthday."

"You didn't do that," Tristan was stunned.

Sage gave a small, sad smile, "I did do that. Think of it as a scholarship, a well earned scholarship. After all, very few mothers would go to the lengths you have to get the very best opportunities for Max. The personal costs have been enormous." Sage's brow creased and her voice dropped into a deadly register, "You've put your physical safety at risk and lost all your integrity and nobody likes you, Tristan. Including me."

Tristan refused to cry. She swallowed hard once then twice. She had lost everything her life had revolved around for the past nine years but Max's future was insured.

"A bargain," she thought to herself as she watched Sage walk out of the dining hall and her life.

Chapter 17

It dawned on Sage, as she moved the flower arrangement closer to the edge of the table; she really hadn't ever set a table before. As a child, there were people who did that in all of the Sebastian homes. Then as an angry young adult living alone in the loft, she didn't have company. She'd bring dates home but not for formal dining.

"Darling, there's no need to be so fussy, it's just us," Simone greeted from the doorway.

Sage turned in time to watch both Simone and Brook enter the loft. They appeared momentarily stunned by the furniture Sage had added to the space. It was probably better they be a little off guard. It would give her a slight advantage in what was bound to be a difficult afternoon. Sage sucked in a small breath to steel her resolve. The three of them were going to talk about the one subject they never discussed. And, when the conversation was finished they would all still be friends. In Fact, they would be much more than friends. They would be grandmother, mother, and daughter.

"I'm glad both of you could make it on short notice," Sage tried to sound cheery as she approached them. "I made chicken, penne, and broccoli and our salads are chilling in the crisper."

Simone placed her hand over her heart in mock surprise, "Sounds delightful and impressive."

"Is it safe?" Brook teased before bestowing a kiss on Sage's cheek.

Brook leaned in for a gentle embrace, wary of bumping Sage's injured arm. Sage was not going to allow kid glove treatment. She pulled Brook to her and gave a healthy hug.

"Poison control's number is on the fridge so we're safe enough," Sage reassured.

"You cooked so I'll serve," Simone announced and the look flashed at each girl warned there would be no squabbling.

"Excellent plan! I'll pour the beverages," Brook offered then raised a questioning eyebrow to Sage.

"There's wine, beer, water in the fridge. Shoot, I forgot about coffee and tea," Sage had a flush of embarrassment at her lack of skill for entertaining.

Simone laughed as she embraced Sage, "You live in a hotel that I own, I'm sure we can get room service."

The two guests went to the make shift kitchen area to retrieve the food items. Sage walked back to the table to make last minute primps to the silverware and napkins. The table didn't look half bad, if Sage said so herself.

"So, what's this get together about?" Brook asked as she poured the wine. "Is there somebody special you want us to meet?"

"You're not much for subtlety, Brook." Simone observed while passing out the salads.

Sage decided to jump right in, "Here sit, and lets talk." Sage waited a moment as her guests took their seats, "I love you both very much. I know I haven't been good about demonstrating my affections but it's true. And, I'm trying harder change for both of you, for the whole family. Growing up, I was such an ass…"

"Don't be silly," Brook jumped in to defend her. "Any part of what you did that wasn't typical teenage mood swings was because of a situation beyond your control."

Sage smiled a bit but it wasn't happy, "The situation beyond my control is exactly what I want to talk about."

"Why?" Simone questioned with a ching of a dropped folk in her salad.

Sage sighed seeing the instant anger in Simone's eyes and flash of pain ghost across Brook's face. "I want to know the truth about me. It is as simple as that."

"The truth," Simone hissed, "is I'm your mother and J. Granville is your father. No truth exists beyond what is written on your birth certificate."

Brook's chin quivered. She stared directly at Sage but could not utter a sound.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Brook," Sage reassured with a soft voice and steady eye contact. "I'm not trying to hurt anybody. I just need to know who I am."

"You are my daughter…" Simone was working up a good head of steam when Sage interrupted.

"No Simone, as much as I wish I was your daughter, I'm not. We all know Brook is my mother and you are my grandmother. I can see why all of you conspired to keep it quiet and protect Brook. It's admirable. But, the time for shame is over. It's a different world today. Nobody cares about illegitimate children anymore. Besides, I'm an adult and deserve to be told the whole truth…"

"You want the whole truth?" Brook hushed and the conversation fell silent. "Be careful what you wish for, baby, you just might get it. My sweet baby girl," Brook grimaced, "it's an ugly story. You won't like it."

Sage reached over and took Brook's hand. She kissed the palm and was rewarded when Brook cupped her cheek to stare deeply into her eyes.

"I always knew someday we'd have to have this conversation," Brook breathed and a tear fell blazing a trail down her cheek.

"I know it's futile to beg but I'm begging," Simone's anger was quickly being replaced with resignation. "Please Sage, don't ask this of Brook."

"It's okay Mom. I'll be okay. Although, Sage might need a couple of appointments with my shrink…," Brook laughed but it was humorless. "I was raped, Sage."

The suddenness and depth of the short statement sucked the air out of Sage's lungs. Her mouth hung open as she tried to drag in a breath. The room momentarily spun before her.

"Mom and Dad use to host an amazing Christmas party each year. Everybody who was anybody was on the guest list. It was the height of the annual social register events. I particularly loved the preparations because Endi came to stay for the whole week before and a whole week after."

Sage thought for a moment. "You mean Endicott Wystan Sebastian, Dad's son in the mental hospital?"

"Yes. Endi use to come home for short visits. He was always so sweet to me. Treated me like an adult when everybody around me acted like I was a spoiled brat. Never once did I see the explosive anger disorder that kept him institutionalized." Brook closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, "Well, not until he attacked me."

Sage was feeling physically ill. What she had expected to be a confession of teenage sexual exploration was, instead, a tale of the violent violation of a woman she held dear. Her level of horror only increased when she processed the culmination of the assault; her life was the result of a brutal act of savagery inflicted by a brother on a sister.

"Oh God," Sage gasped.

"Darling," Simone asked dryly, "where do you keep the Jack Daniels?"

"Cabinet," Sage sputtered. "Over the sink."

Simone pushed herself up from her chair. Her usual grace had fled her with the emotional turmoil of the last few minutes. Still, she was able to quickly retrieve the bottle and poured a shot for the three of them.

"Slainte!" Simone was listless when she raised the toast and the girls responded in kind.

"Happy you asked?" Brook questioned with a hint of anger.

"No," Sage answered honestly. "But, I'm happy I know. It makes me that much more grateful to you, Brook. You didn't have to keep me. Most women wouldn't have."

Simone sighed, "Where were you when I was trying to convince her of that very same thing back in '85?"

Sage felt a lump form in her belly. It was the painful realization Simone, at some point, wanted the pregnancy terminated.

"Then why didn't you make sure she got an abortion?" Sage sounded accusatory.

Brook laughed as she offered by way of explanation, "You don't get your strong will from Endicott, my sweet. There was no way I was going to lose you. I had already lost so much. They couldn't take my baby from me too. I wouldn't let them."

"Another round, ladies?" Simone held up the bottle of amber pain killer.

"It's gonna take a lot more than booze to get beyond this," Sage stated flatly.

Simone poured another healthy dose in each glass as she replied, "Nonsense darling, we'll drown our sorrows today and tomorrow we begin fresh. I'm sure Brook's dear Dr. Goldman will be able to clear his morning schedule for us all to come in and have a good cry."

By the time J. Granville arrived, Greg had already retrieved a legless Brook. He was considering carrying her until Sage suggested a wheelchair from the lobby. The concierge was more than discreet in helping the couple to their waiting car.

"Well, at least you three didn't fight," J. Granville muttered at the sight before him.

The meal sat on the table untouched. However, a mini bar from room service appeared to have been raided and drained. Simone was draped across the dilapidated couch and snoring like a company of soldiers. Across the room, Sage sat with her back to the wall and forehead resting against the full length window. The old man shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled over to the young woman with tears streaming down her face.

"I'm…I'm sorry…I let Mom get drunk…and Brook…," Sage slurred on the words.

"I'll just bet," J. Granville took off his top coat and folded it over once before tossing it on the floor next to Sage, "it was your mother who got both of you wasted. That's the word for intoxicated now a days, isn't it?"

In an age defying move, J. Granville lowered himself down onto his jacket. Sage stared at him in mute amazement.

"What? I go to yoga three times a week just so I can do shit like this," he gave her a generous smile.

Sage nodded before turning back to look out the window being pelted by April rains. She didn't shrug off his arm when he wrapped it around her shoulders. And, she didn't even think about pulling away as he drew her to his own broad shoulder.

"Why?" Sage sobbed. "Why did it have to be so horrible? Why couldn't I be normal? Why can't any fucking thing about me be normal?"

"It's so horrible because it's the only way it could be you."

Sage pulled back a bit to face him. "What?"

"Sweetie, the only possible way for you to be you was that hideous attack. If the attack didn't happen or if Brook had chosen to take a different route then there'd be no Sage. I wouldn't have liked not having you." J. Granville shook his head, "And, I don't say that lightly. I saw how destroyed Brook was immediately after. It broke my heart a hundred times over. Still, I'm grateful you're with us." He gave Sage a gentle squeeze. "Brook withdrew completely after the attack. She'd only talk to your mother…err grandmother. Then we found out she was pregnant. Simone wanted desperately to protect Brook and was working on getting her to terminate the pregnancy." J. Granville sounded rueful, "As you might imagine, home was very tense. I tried to spend a lot of time at work. It seemed better. Simone blamed me for my evil son and Brook couldn't look at me without crying. She was three months along when she raced into my office one afternoon. Crying, hysterical, begging to keep her baby. It was the first time she talked to me since the rape."

"What did you tell her?" Sage snuggled in closer feeling very sleepy from all the alcohol and comforted by J. Granville's steady, richly deep voice.

"I told her she could do whatever she wanted and I would pay for everything. But, the one thing she wanted, the only thing she'd ask of me was to get Simone off her back. That, my little girl, was a very expensive task. Oh, Sage, we may have been wrong forging the birth certificates and claiming you as our own but we were trying to save both of you. We did what we thought was the best worst option in the worst, worst situation of our lives."

The old man sighed heavily. He was weary from the truth or perhaps the effort to shrug off the old lie. Sage didn't know which.

"What happens now?"

"Whatever you want. You're right, it is your life. If you want to amend your birth certificate, go to counseling, family therapy, trip to Europe, whatever you want, I'll support you hundred percent."

"Why?"

J. Granville smiled and tweaked Sage's nose, "You think it matters that Simone and I aren't your biological parents. But, you're wrong. I'm your Papa. You sneezed on me, threw up on me, and whacked me in the head with your toys. I'm the guy that put that stupid tricycle together…,"

"You didn't…you hired somebody…"

"Nope, I did it myself. Sixteen hours of sweat and a broken thumb but I did it myself. Sage, you were my last chance to be a hands on Father. I loved raising you. I missed so much with the others because of empire building. I almost lost out on the only real lasting empires a man can create; his children. Then the stupid teen years come along and ruin everything. Damn Hormones!" He grumbled. "We use to have fun. Don't you remember any of the fun times we had?"

"I do," Sage buried her face in his chest. "I remember. And, I do love you, Papa. I'm just so confused."

"I know, so am I, Kiddo, so am I."

July 2008

Tristan wandered out of her bathroom still tugging up her jeans. July in Boston was hot and sticky. Today was exceptionally so. Fresh from the shower, it was almost impossible to get the denim material up over her already sweating thighs even with two well functioning arms. She stood directly in front of a sputtering fan and bounced on the balls of her feet a few times to shake herself into her clothes.

A long absent and nearly forgotten tone sounded on her cell phone. Tristan let out an audible gasp. Her fingers stopped fidgeting with the top button of her pants and her hands flexed into fists. She forced herself into a kitchen chair and stared warily at the gadget on the table which now held so much menace for her.

The tune ceased on the tenth ring only to restart immediately. Within moments, her kitchen phone began to ring as well. Both devices were steady in their auditory assault on her. Her nerves became more jangled with each passing chime.

"You're not supposed to be fucking call me! There's a restraining order asshole!" She screamed when she finally answered the cell.

There was merciful silence for a heart beat.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Tristy, I've spoken to you about phone courtesy before. I don't like having to repeat my lessons," his voice was far too serene.

"Look, Mr. Arnold, oh wait, it's really Mr. Neal isn't it? You've been served the papers. You'll do time if you continue to bother me so do both of us a favor and forget my number. Okay, good…,"

Before she could hang the phone up, he interrupted, "And you, an investigative reporter? I should hardly think so. Do you really believe Arnold Neal could get the information I got about Sage? The security guard who didn't know she was living for months and months under the hotel. Ha, he didn't even know she was missing." He breathed deep, dragging out the minutes, enjoying his sudden control over the call. "No, Neal is no more than my Reinfield. He runs errands like delivering your cash to your door step, keeps the cell phone number in his name, and accepted the restraining orders without contest. Don't worry about him though, he was well paid."

A shiver raced down Tristan's back at the cold calculated truth, "What do you want? It's been months without any contact. What could you possibly want now?"

"To hurt you," he took a deep, savoring breath, "and to kill Sage."

"Why?" Tristan was terrified but kept doing the one thing she knew how to do well; digging for answers.

He laughed that shrill laugh she hated most. "Does why matter, really? I don't think so. It is enough I want that bitch cunt licker dead! Don't worry though, I won't kill you. I like watching you squirm too much. We are going to have years and years of good times together. I promise."

"I'm calling the police…,"

"The boy dies if you hang up before I let you," he cautioned with calm serenity.

Tristan stood and knocked her chair over backwards, "NO! NO! Leave him alone. Oh God, I promise you if you go anywhere near him I'll rip your nuts off and feed them to you cold!"

"Excellent Banter! Very colorful language and imagery too, your verbiage appears to be back in full vigor. But, let's be honest. You are in no position to make any threats never mind to try to carry out actual harm to my person. Just isn't gonna happen, girl friend."

Tristan could hear how pleased he was with himself. She tried to steady her breathing because she knew from experience what would come next; the rules.

"It is exactly 1:05 pm. Simone, Brook, and Sage have just finished a scrumptious lunch with some local Katie Couric type. They're going public with the dirty family incest secret. Oh boo fucking who, drama queens! They'll be in the Grand Ballroom at exactly 1:25 pm to begin the photo shoot. How fast do you think you can get to the Harbor Bostonian Hotel from Dorchester ? Fifteen minutes? Twenty minutes? Might even take forty minutes with lunch time traffic. Would you take 93 or Morrissey Boulevard ? Once you get up to South Station, you're gonna hit construction delays…,"

"Why do I need to get to the Harbor Bostonian Hotel so fast, Mr. Arnold?" Tristan asked and grabbed her keys.

"Oh that. Yes, you'll want to get there by 1:36 at the latest. You really do, Tristan. Because, at exactly 1:37 pm the center chandelier will crash to the floor killing everybody underneath it! Remember to buckle up."

And, the line went dead.

Tristan ran out of her apartment. She didn't stop to put shoes on before dashing down the three flights of stairs. Her thumb was working the phone's speed dial as she jumped from the second landing to mid stairs on the final flight down, barely keeping her footing. She was at the front door when a voice answered her frantically dialed call.

"The office of Gareth Revere Sebastian, Esquire, how can I help you?"

"Put him on," Tristan huffed for breath. "It's an emergency."

"Who is this?" The receptionist questioned.

"Tristan Ayer. Sage is in danger. Put Gareth on the phone," Tristan blabbered as she dumped herself into her car.

The engine fired on the first crank. She slammed on the gas and clipped the bumper of the car parked in front of her as she rocketed out of her parking spot. She left a trail of smoking tires and irate neighbors.

"Ms. Ayer," Gareth sounded infuriated.

"Listen, it's not Arnold Neal. It's somebody else. He wants Sage dead. He knows they're all at the hotel, dirty family incest interview, pictures, ballroom…,"

"Who, what are you talking about?"

"Don't know who," Tristan let out a small cry when she hit the curb at the Neponset on ramp. "Do know chandelier, grand ballroom, crashes down at 1:37, dead bodies underneath."

"I'm calling the police," Gareth didn't sound like he believed her.

"You gotta listen to me, man. They're gonna die. Call her; tell her not to go…,"

"Ms. Ayer, you need help. If you contact any of my family again, then I'll have you arrested…,"

Tristan interrupted his warning, "Shut up and listen, you idiot! She's gonna get killed! Do something!"

Tristan tossed the phone away in order to grab the steering wheel with both hands. A tractor trailer pulled in front of her and she had to switch lanes fast or she'd ride right under his back end. A blaring horn let her know she cut somebody off.

The Andrew Square exit was approaching fast. She needed to decide to stay on the grossly inappropriately named expressway or come off and dodge local traffic. The short cut through the meat packing district might save her a few minutes.

"No way, I'll hit somebody on those side streets," she muttered as she passed the exit.

She drove like a lunatic but nobody seemed to notice. Such is the chronic state Boston afternoon traffic. Cars and trucks jockeying for better positions to edge up another foot closer to the thick cluster of skyscrapers looming over the harbor. Tristan was keeping a good pace bobbing and weaving through the clutch of cars until she took the South Station exit. As Mr. Neal had predicted, there was construction causing the traffic to stop.

Tristan didn't wait. She abandoned her car and ran. Mindless of her bare feet and honking horns and loud protests from the construction crew, Tristan raced up Atlantic Avenue . Much as she had done driving, Tristan bobbed and threaded her way through the lunch time chaos. Cars jammed on brakes at the last minute to avoid hitting her. Drivers screamed at her but she ran on. When one car slammed to a stop blocking her forward momentum, she jumped on the hood and scrambled across the top.

"Crazy bitch!" The incensed owner shrieked in her wake.

The spinning doors of the elegant hotel were in full view when she risked a glance at the Customs House clock tower. While not a digital display, it was accurate enough to tell her she was almost out of time. The hands spread slightly off from fully vertical at 1:30.

Tristan body checked a doorman who tried to block her entrance. It was all adrenalin now. She didn't even think her heart was beating anymore. Patrons scattered as she tore across the lobby screaming.

"CALL 911…CALL 911…CALL 911…CALL 911…"

The hotel staff was in hot pursuit as she pounded down the main hall. They were close but she was almost to the ballroom's main door. Fainting left and then jacking to the right caught them off guard and they lost a step of momentum. Tristan was able to burst into the Grand Ballroom well out of reach of hotel security.

"MOVE…MOVE…MOVE…," she called weakly, completely breathless as she made a bee line for Simone who was standing directly below the elaborate chandelier.

The look of abject terror on Simone's usually stoic face would have been somewhat humorous at any other time. But, with a hundred pounds of bat out of Hell closing in on her, nobody was laughing. Tristan made a solid connection with Simone, driving her backward. They fell together in a tangle of clothes, jewelry, and curses. It took two or three extra rolls until Tristan was sure they were out of the crash zone.

"If you broke my hip," Simone gasped in pain.

"Sorry…sorry…," was all Tristan could get out before security pulled her free.

Brook raced to Simone's side. However, Sage was unable to move. Her focus was fixed on her former lover being dragged out of the ballroom. Trails of blood streaming from her torn feet were staining the pale hard wood floor. Tristan stared back at her mutely, heaving in deep breaths of air. Sage's cell phone rang breaking her eye contact.

"Hello? Gareth? You're never gonna believe…,"

Tristan struggled against her captors to yell; "Now he calls!"

* * *

"You have made my week. No, that doesn't give this moment justice. You, Tristan, have made my year!" Ines grinned from ear to ear while the patrolman chained Tristan's wrists to the booking bench. "I always knew you'd be back but I never guessed it would be with such an elaborate con! Was it going to be blackmail or just random vengeance against the rich or maybe revenge…no, no, wait, don't tell me yet. Let me go get a cup of coffee and hmm, maybe a muffin, then you and I can have a long talk about what you've done and how much time I'm gonna throw at you."

Tristan didn't answer. She kept her head down and shoulders slumped. Ines was not about to let the punk cheat her out of her gloating. She took two strides forward and grabbed a fistful of sweaty, yellow hair.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you little fucker!" Ines hissed into Tristan's flinching face. A small smile edged around the corners of the detective's mouth when she noticed Tristan's bloody nose and black eye. "Did that old lady smack you upside the head?"

Tristan swallowed hard and forced out an answer, "No, your boys took care of my beating."

"I wouldn't lie like that, Tristan. You won't like what happens to liars after lock up." Ines warned before letting go of Tristan's hair. The battered face quickly dipped out of view again. " Denton , get over here and shackle this prisoner's ankles to the floor. She's very, very dangerous. I'm gonna go get some coffee…down the street. Nice day for a long, leisurely walk, I think. You just wait right here for me Tristan. I'll get back as soon as I feel like it." Ines was almost out the door when she stopped and turned to the police officer at the booking desk. " Alice , remember this area is public access. If members of the press come in and want to take pictures they have an absolute right to snap away. Don't want to offend the first amendment, now do we, Tristan?"

Tristan ignored the laughter which followed. Some other officers continued to mock her as well but she kept her eyes down. Even if she was on public display there were still ways to hide. Tristan had learned that years ago. She tried to remember how to pull into herself like used to do when she was young and new to police stations and being a prisoner. An extra click of the ankle cuff made her flinch but she stayed still and silent.

"Not so funny now, is it Tristan?" Denton leaned over her reeking of garlic and onions. "I promise you, your night is going to busy in the cells. There are a lot of guys down there who are just dying to meet a celebrity gone bad. I'm gonna make some cash tonight for sure."

Tristan shivered at her helplessness. Denton laughed mistaking the action for bristling. But, her silence endured. He grew tired of waiting for a mouthy response and finally slapped her cheek lightly before walking away.

The one thing she didn't want to do was cry. As much as her body hurt, Tristan did not want to give in to the sweet comfort of tears. Frustration ate at her threatening to break her will but she tried to hold it back with thoughts of worse traps she'd been caught in. A tear crested once she realized she had never been this locked down before; physically and figuratively.

"So, what's your story?" A familiar voice resonated next to her on the bench. "What did you allegedly do?"

"You're safe," Tristan whispered in relief.

Sage gave a grin when Tristan raised her eyes to look at her. With infinite care, Sage wiped a stray tear from Tristan's cheek. She couldn't stop herself from leaning in and kissing the woman.

"HEY! No touching." Alice admonished them from her seat at the booking desk.

Sage lifted her hands in surrender as she shifted back an inch or two. Tristan gave a whimpering protest at her withdrawal.

"I don't care if they shoot me, kiss me again," Tristan begged.

Sage shook her head, "I care if they shoot you. After all, I might get caught in the crossfire."

It occurred to Tristan then that the visit might not be a friendly one. Tristan worried Sage may have come only to taunt her. She hung her head again and tried to prepare herself for whatever abuse she'd earned.

"I swear I wasn't trying to hurt anybody…,"

Sage cleared her throat to interrupt, "Right, crashing chandelier at 1:30…"

"…1:37…"

"Right, 1:37 pm. By the way, the chandelier is fine. It's not going to fall today or any day in your lifetime."

Tristan looked up in shock. "He said, he swore…"

"Right, Gareth told me about your whole crazy phone call and the alleged Mr. Arnold's threats. Gareth thinks you've gone over the edge, by the way. The police think you're running a scam. But, I don't know. None of the scenarios they come up with make much sense to me." Sage shrugged, "I mean I took care of your big ticket money issue. So that can't be motive. If you hate me then you did a great job of hiding it while we were screwing. And, if this is some kind of vendetta against the wealth then there are so many families more deserving of your attention. A clan in Hyannis springs to mind."

"It's none of those things, Sage. I promise you…,"

"I believe you."

Tristan was stopped cold by the statement. She tried to work her mouth around to say something but nothing more meaningful would come than, "thank you."

"I do believe you but not on trust, Tristan, sorry. I believe you because less than a dozen people knew what the interview was about. All of those people are my immediate family members. Only somebody in my family can be your source. Even the reporter and her station thought we were giving a tour of newly completed restorations."

Tristan chewed her lip in deep thought, "Have you told anybody else about your insider theory?"

"Dad and Mr. Matthews were already thinking the same thing. Everybody else appears to be too shocked to look beyond you; the kook who tackled our mother."

"How is she?" Tristan grimaced as she asked.

"She's tougher than she looks. Nothing broken. Can't say the same thing about you if she sees you anytime soon," Sage gave a little chuckle but sobered quickly noting Tristan's frown. "Okay, this is the plan. Mr. Matthews is working on the DA to drop any charges and get you released to my custody. Then you are coming with me."

Tristan nodded obediently and asked, "Where?"

Sage gave a big smirk, "Nobody gets to know that except me, Dad, and Mr. Matthews. We've got to catch this shithead, Tristan, before he gets somebody killed."

To be continued...

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