Let me take you to the waterfront
The mist will wash away those tears
And if you say it's OK
I'll hold your hand till this clears
     Marian Bradfield


Tressa Katherine Morgan walked out of the cold of her Sanibel, Florida condo into the heat of the shaded, screened in porch that overlooked the white sand beach. She flipped on the overhead fan, sat down in the cushioned chair and took a sip of Jublum, the expensive Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee she'd fallen in love with after buying some on a cruise to Jamaica several years before. The steamy waves of coffee floated up from the cup and tickled her nose just as the steamy waves of heat floated above the sand in the already hot early morning. She looked beyond the beach grasses and saw the white tops of the waves as they rolled in. Looking straight and to the right she saw nothing but ocean, to the left off in the distance she could barely make out Estero Island where Fort Myers Beach was located. The only movements on the beach in front of her besides waves were several walkers and one lone solitary woman in a tan baseball cap and sunglasses who was sitting in the sand looking out at the water.

It was going to be another hot, dry day and the only relief would be a dip in the pool or ocean. It was early but she could hear the vacationers waking up and getting ready for the day. That meant the beach and pool would be full of the visiting condo renters. She decided that maybe it would be a good day to stay in until some of the crowd left then go down to the beach after the tide went out, besides it was better shell hunting then.

She loved Sanibel, an island off the coast of Fort Myers, Florida and its sister island Captiva and loved the condo she owned on the southeastern end of the island near what was known as Old Town Sanibel. It was a small island, only 17 miles long and 1/2 mile wide and had its own police department, two libraries, two grocery stores, two health clinics, pharmacies, churches, a fitness center, an elementary school, art galleries, fine restaurants, cafes, boutiques, shops, a museum, a wildlife sanctuary and preserve, not counting the condos and hotels that lined the beach and even with all this commercialism the number one priority of the three preservation and conservation societies on the islands was to preserve it's natural beauty and protect it's natural resources.

There were no buildings, including hotels or condos, more than two stories tall, no stoplights, horns, or billboards. It is quiet and clean, being connected to the mainland by a toll causeway that costs $3.00 per day to enter making the islands somewhat secluded and keeping the daily visitors away from the condos and near the restroom facilities that are located at the public beaches by the lighthouse on the southern end of Sanibel and at the entrance to Captiva. The waters are blue and warm and you can walk out for a half-mile and still be waist deep. There are no drive-throughs with the exception of one Dairy Queen which is located near the causeway entrance and jam packed every night with vacationers attempting to cool down. Most businesses are closed by 10:00 which means most of the visitors are settled in for the night by 11:00.

It's one of the best shelling spots in the northern hemisphere and one of the few places in Florida you can see otters, manatee, dolphins, raccoons, bobcats, alligators and many unique species of fish and birds too numerous to mention and each summer becomes home to thousands of loggerhead turtle hatchlings. Bright lights at night are banned for they'd disturb the nesting turtles, so the sky becomes a backdrop of millions of glistening stars.

It was a place perfectly designed for relaxation, star gazing and water watching which was Tress' main hobby while on Sanibel, it was a place that settled her like no other and it was only here that she found true peace and contentment. Her parents had taken them to Sanibel every summer as a child and she had decided that she wanted to have a house there. Seven years ago she bought the condo on the eastern end of the island and although she owned her own business she hadn't quite accumulated the wealth that was required to buy an ocean front house. She couldn't write it off as a business expense because this was her retreat, her island in the middle of a storm. She came here when she needed time alone, for seclusion and relaxation, her time to catch up on reading, her TV shows and movies and if she wanted to lie in bed all day and watch a succession of Jerry Springer clones, that was what she would do. Tress was very generous to a fault with friends and family with the exception of this condo, it was her private sanctuary and off limits to everyone.

The only people that had this number were her parents and Karen, her friend and executive assistant of her company, Morgan Investigations, a successful criminal investigative business headquartered in Naples, about 60 miles south of Sanibel. Tress had offices in Boston, Dallas, Chicago, Orlando and Los Angeles, and employed over 100 people, investigators and office personnel.

She was raised in Naples by parents that never had to worry about money due to a rather large inheritance from her grandparents on her mother's side. Seems her grandfather for some incomprehensible reason bought quite a bit of marshland along the ocean on a beach now called Marco Island. When the hotels wanted to build there it added enough income to the family and although she never had to work her parents made sure she had jobs during summer breaks and instilled in their children a strong work ethic, telling them it was their 'opportunity to contribute.' Her father, Patrick, a doctor, kept a free clinic in Naples and Fort Myers and worked there two to three days a week, Tress even worked there during her school breaks. Her mother, Gillian, had written several best selling children's books and still taught a creative writing course at the local community college with the stipulation that she could take off for travel when she wanted. Her father an avid Florida Seminole fan said that he'd pay for their education as long at they went to Florida State University. Her older sister by two years, Lauren, a graduate of Florida State's medical school, was a neurologist and married for the last eight years to Mike Harris, the prosecuting attorney for Naples, and also helped out at the free clinic. They had two children, a boy, Mike Jr. and a girl, Lisa, whom their aunt doted on. Her twin brothers Neil and Sean were the youngest and broke the pattern of going to Florida State opting instead to both go to the University of Florida at Gainesville and by that time their father relented and paid as long as they were on the Dean's list. Neil was majoring in business administration and Sean in computer technology and they both worked for Tress on their vacations. When the Gators and Seminoles played it seemed like an explosion hit the Morgan household.

When Tress was ready to graduate from Florida State with a degree in criminal psychology she talked to her dad about joining the FBI's Behavioral Science Division. They had sent a recruiting representative to the school and she was excited about the program they offered. Patrick Morgan sat her down and told her under no uncertain terms would she be a good candidate. She was crushed and asked why, her grades were all A's and she'd been on the Dean's list for the last four years. He said it wasn't her knowledge it was her personality. The FBI was a para-military organization and if her office referrals during middle and high school were any indication, she'd never conform to the strict guidelines and rigid rules of the Academy. Tress began to argue, but her father stopped her, then proceeded to describe her as having a force of will stronger than any hurricane, stubborn, impatient, headstrong, someone who insisted rules were meant to be broken and who refused to follow orders she didn't agree with. But, he held her hand as tears filled her eyes and his voice softened, he told her she was compassionate, honorable, loyal, passionate about her beliefs and had not only the courage to stand up and speak out for what she believed in but the courage to sit and listen and above all she cared about others. He told her to get some credits in business administration and start her own consulting firm after graduation.

Tressa took the conversation grimily but deep down knew he was right. In middle school and high school she had the unfortunate tag of 'T.K.O.'. While in 6th grade a 8th grader became fresh, wanted to touch her in a certain place she didn't want to be touched so she punched him and knocked him out. That earned her the nickname and a ten-day suspension. Her parents were sympathetic but she just didn't get to sit around doing nothing for ten days. Even though the work didn't count they hired a tutor and she studied five hours a day, more than she did when school was in session. She always had friends but when she went back to school she had even more, people that'd snubbed her before were clamoring to get her in their group. It was like there had been a contest and she was the prize. The friends that she'd had since grade school soon found out they weren't invited to be part of the package and Tress was so infatuated with the idea of being the most popular girl in school that she lost herself in the groups, parties and dates. It was like T.K. became another person, one who drank, stayed out late and argued with her parents. A relationship that was almost perfect seemed to change overnight, she no longer wanted to go to family functions, often missed dinners and withdrew from her grandparents, parents, brothers and sister. Soon her older friends dropped away and when she was caught with drugs in her locker three weeks before graduation, all her new friends deserted her too. Her newest boyfriend had given her a bag to hold for him, she argued that she never looked in it and didn't know what it was. No one believed her, not her parents, for they'd been fooled too many times and she'd lost their trust, no one but Karen. They were neighbors and had been close since pre-school. Karen just sat back and let Tress have her head then when the chips fell and Tress fell with them she was still there with friendship and support. Tress was suspended from school and almost missed graduating but for Karen's pleas to her father, the principal. He reinvestigated the situation and afterwards told Tress she could continue her current lifestyle or rehab and graduation. Even though Tress hadn't used drugs to the extent of everyone else, she chose rehab, dropped her so-called friends and graduated in December.

She never allowed anyone to call her T.K. anymore, apologized to her family and old friends was still invited to weddings and funerals, but never regained that closeness she'd had early in her life. She worked hard to regain the trust of her parents and siblings and Tress never forgot Karen's standing by her even though she'd treated her like dirt and when she started her business Karen was hired as her executive assistant and office manager and throughout the years she took care of her, making her a very wealthy women with a great retirement package and relied on her as her best friend and right hand.

She took five years to graduate from college with a major in criminal psychology and a minor in business administration. The first year she had few jobs and was lucky she had her grandmother's trust fund to pay the bills. The second year she broke even and the third year her father put a good word in for her to his friend Nick Meyers, the head of the southern Florida bureau of the FBI, and she was hired as an independent consultant. She did more than consult, she solved a five-year old serial murder case, saved a young girl's life and was instrumental in catching the killer. The case garnered a lot of press, the news services across the county focused on her and a week later she had so many calls she had to hire two secretaries and three agents to help her.

After two years of collaborating on several cases together she had fallen in love with Matt Sinclair, an agent in the FBI office in Naples. Matt got transferred to Oklahoma City but told Tress not to worry, it would only be for a few years and they could easily commute and talk by phone every day. By 1995 Tress was pretty well established with two offices and her business along with Matt's early retirement could support them both, so they planned to marry in June 1995. On April 19, 1995, Matt had been in the Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City when Timothy McVeigh set off a bomb that killed 168 men, women and children.

Matt's body was identified by his family but Tress refused to accept it and held out hope that he had somehow miraculously survived. When she finally did accept the fact he was gone she was devastated and ridden with guilt. He had wanted to take vacation that week and fly down to see her but she said she had a tricky case she had to oversee in her Orlando office and would be out of town. He argued with her that she was spending all her free time on her work and maybe she loved it more than him, she said that she was doing it for them, to make enough money to support them both so when the time came they would have the money to do what they wanted when they wanted. He was disappointed but Tress said there'd be lots of time, he did say he understood and that's the last time Tress talked to him. Turning to her work she withdrew and became remote from everyone, her family, Karen, Nick, turning obsessive in trying to help the FBI convict McVeigh. Nick told her to go home but she refused. She went out on her own to investigate and was one of the anonymous tips that led to Terry Nichols. Regardless of the determination and energy she expended it still didn't bring Matt back and didn't help relieve her guilt that it was her fault he had been killed. By the time she was done it was a repeat of high school, her family, Karen and Nick ignored, and what few other friends she had left moved on.

Her mother had finally had enough and in a secret collaboration with Karen arranged Tress' schedule so that she was all packed for two weeks and all she had to do was get in the car for a trip to Ireland. They had all been wanting to go to he country of their ancestors for a long time, especially Tress, who loved Irish music like Loreena McKinnett, Mary Black, Enya and The Chieftains, but she argued that now wasn't a good time. When her mother used her full name and told her under no uncertain terms, "Karen will take care of things, now if you know what's good for you you'll get your butt in that car, we have a plane to catch in less than two hours and you know how I get if we're late."

Tress reluctantly followed her mother's finger into the waiting limo. Her mom just wanted the family like it had been when they were little, Tress had pulled away and her parents and siblings wanted her back and they felt this was the best way to do it. Mike agreed to watch the kids and help Karen if she needed it which she usually didn't, being able to run the business better than Tress but always accepted Mike's help if nothing else but to make him feel good, so that day, Gillian, Patrick, Lauren, Tress, Sean and Neil boarded a plane and landed in Sligo. With no set plans and having two weeks to explore, they rented a van and drove around the country, stayed in bed and breakfasts and stopped in every pub for a pint of Guiness or some Irish whiskey and to listen to the local bands which were all surprisingly good. The music relaxed her and she bought almost all the local bands CD's and for a little while she was able to forget.

One day Tress, while waiting for her mother and sister, walked around the corner and found a small rustic pub with the name 'Morrigan's Breathe' hanging precariously over the entrance. Deciding she was thirsty and needed to sit down, she opened the door and it seemed as if she had stepped back into the past, a huge stone fireplace dominated one wall and warmed the place, the tables and chairs were heavy wood and scarred by many years of use and all they served was ale or whiskey, even the barkeep and the waitresses dressed in costumes that looked like they were from hundreds of years ago. Her mind told her it was cute, good for the tourists, but for some reason she felt she had come home. There were no customers so she asked it they were open. The waitress insisted she sit down and brought over an ale. As she drank an old man with a gnarled wooden cane suddenly seemed to appear next to her and asked if he could join 'such a fine looking young lass as she'. "Sure," she said chuckling and gestured for him to sit. He kept her enraptured for hours and they both went through more than several pints as he told her the stories of the ancient Irish gods and goddesses the Dagda, and Danu, of Brigit, the sun goddess, the goddess of poetry and healing and the patron saint of Ireland, of Lugh with the silver hand, of Diacechet, the physician-magician and Goibniu, the great smith, and Don, the god of the land of the dead, of Druantia, sorceress and queen of the Druids, Arianrhood, the lunar goddess of time and space, Belisana, the goddess of healing and laughter, Epona, the goddess of the horse, of Blathnat who helped Cu Chulainn steal her father's magic cauldron, of Maeve and Macah Mong Ruad, the warrior queens of Tara, of Findbhair, who was wooed by the handsome warrior Fraoch, or Mael Duin who voyaged into the Otherworld and returned not to forget the fairies, leprechaun's and banshees and of Morrigan herself, the moon goddess, the supreme one, the great queen and goddess of the mystic arts who in her dark aspect as Macha became the goddess of war, fate, revenge and death. The washer at the ford who meets warriors on their way to battle and if they see her glowing red eyes and hear her shriek she's determined their death that day.

She listened, bought drinks and he filled her mind with stories and vivid images of like in ancient Ireland when the gods and goddesses were worshipped and life seemed much simpler. Noticing that the fire had burned down to embers, she looked out the window and saw that the sun had already set. She must have been here for hours and realizing that her mother and sister would by now be frantically searching for her she stood and said she was sorry but had to leave, that someone was waiting for her. "Aye lass," he said, "but before ye go, allow me to repay ye for ye kindness." He fished in his pockets and although Tress assured him that no gift was necessary, he said that since he couldn't offer her money he had something of great wealth. Tress said that he had given her his stories and that was enough. He said they weren't his anymore, they were hers and according to Irish custom he had to give her something for her time and generosity so finally finding what he was looking for he pulled out a small leather bag, opened it, turned it over and out dropped two golden pendants, a little larger than an American dime, that consisted of intricate intertwining lines, like something from the Book of the Kells. He told Tress it was said to have been formed from a piece of the Cauldron of Dagda also called the Cauldron of Rebirth and that those who wore it were healed and protected from harm. She refused to accept it but he stood, held her hand in his in goodbye and as hers warmed in his, he pressed the pendants into her palm and smiled, "Sometimes lass you just need to not question, just accept and give thanks," then he winked at her and walked away. She looked at the glinting gold in her hand and noticed they felt warm and seemed to glow slightly in the dim light. "But," he said and she turned to him, "if ye wouldn't mind there is one tiny favor a fine young lass such as yourself can do for an old sufferer." Tress nodded as he continued, "I have an eye for this young lass and I can see you have been gifted with faith, family and friends, and twould be such a waste to lose that." She continued to look at him and he smiled at her and tipped his hat, "and nay be stingy about the sharing. Live well, love much and laugh often Tress me girl." The pendants sparkled and heated her palm and she glanced at them and looked back up but the old man was gone. She took her gold chain off and slid the pendants on, the warmth sending a blanket of heat over her chest.

Walking out the front door she was surprised to find herself in the full sunlight. She squinted against the bright light and saw her sister and mother coming out of the little store they'd gone into hours earlier and went up to them apologizing for staying away for so long. "What are you talking about," they said, it's only been 30 minutes."

"But," Tress said, "I was in a pub for hours talking to an old man."

"What pub?" they asked in unison worried for her.

She turned and pointed and to her surprise was pointing toward a small natural spring of water that bubbled up from some rocks that sat next to a stonewall. Above the spring was a sign etched in stone, 'Morrigan's Breathe'. The plaque below said that this natural spring has been her for centuries as a worship site dedicated to the goddess Morrigan stood on this spot until the 4th century C.E. "Morrigan was the moon goddess, the supreme one, the great queen and goddess of the mystic arts who in her dark aspect as Macha became the 'battle raven', the goddess of war, fate, revenge and death. Also called the 'washer at the ford' she would meet warriors on their way to battle and if they saw her glowing red eyes and heard her shriek she determined their death, but for those who look directly in her eyes she may spare their life. It is said that those who drank from the sweet waters would receive the gift of Morrigan's Breathe and those so gifted will be forever protected and filled with courage."

The pendants warmed against her chest and Tress felt her arm pull toward the reddish colored water. She reached down into it and came up with water spilling over her cupped hand. She put it to her mouth and took a deep gulp. "It looks bad Tress," her sister said, "how's it taste?"

Tress raised her brows, "Sorta like honey," she said in surprise. Her sister reached in and touched the water to her lips then spit it out as distaste covered their face. "Honey," her sister yelped, "tastes like rotten eggs to me."

Tress' eyes looked to her sister, mother, the spring and the wall that she knew was a pub only minutes ago. She reached up and felt the pendants warming her hand as she searched for an explanation then she heard a woman's Irish lilt breathing into her ear, "wisdom, faith and courage, don't question, accept and give thanks". A chill ran down her spine and she decided that something had just happened she couldn't explain and silently agreed to take the advice.

Later that night while sitting in the pub next to the bed and breakfast they'd eaten supper and the local band began to play a mournful song, Tress suddenly stood up and left. After an hour her mom followed and when she didn't get a response from knocking on her door, she opened it and found Tress on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees sobbing her heart out. Gillian's maternal protectiveness, like a lioness with her young cub, took over and she sat next to Tress and pulled her into her. Tress turned and grabbed onto her mother, clinging for dear life and as Gillian held on tight Tress cried great wracking sobs. She thought she heard Tress say something about the song, some gift Matt had given her and sorry but the rest was lost. Gillian tightened her grip and for the first time in thirty years held her as she cried. An hour later Gillian had managed to get Tress onto the bed and settled in behind her still holding her as she did when she was a child. Tress clung to her mother, sleeping fitfully and every time she started to wake, Gillian would soothe her with her voice and she'd fall back asleep. When the phone rang on the nightstand, her mother grabbed it as quickly as possible. Gillian told Patrick she'd see him in the morning, settled Tress by rubbing her back and reassured her husband that everything would be all right and not to worry.

Tress' singing in the shower awakened Gillian the next morning and she just lay in bed for a moment listening to the change in her daughter's voice and the fact that she was singing the song from the night before. It was as if a heavy rain had come and swept away all the darkness, the guilt and pain and she was healed. Tress came out drying her hair and for the first time in eight months had a genuine smile on her face and said her mother must be getting old needing to sleep in and all. Gillian laughed, jumped up and grabbed Tress in a hug only a mother could give and they both laughed and hugged, got dressed and met up with the rest of the family.

It was on this trip to Ireland surrounded by those she loved most in the world, those who never gave up on her that Tress learned that nothing, her career or her time was or would ever be more important than family and friends. After a few sessions with a grief counselor, Gillian and Patrick accompanied Tress to Oklahoma City and the next day they laid flowers on the chair set up for Matt at the Memorial to the victims. It was the first time Tress had been there and with her parents arms around her she looked up at the clear blue sky and cried tears of gratitude, thanking those on high for the opportunity to have had Matt in her life and how much richer her life had been because of him and while standing there in front of the chair she heard a whisper on the wind, "Live well, laugh often, love much."

And it was that advice that Tress took to heart. The best times of her life were with her family so every year after that trip to Ireland they made it a ritual to all go on a family vacation, sometimes one week, sometimes two, only on the ones after Ireland everyone went, Mike, the kids, friends of her brothers and many times Karen and her husband Paul as well as family friends, John and Emily Watson and Nick and Terri Meyers. This year, actually next month, they were all embarking on a two week cruise of the Caribbean, both eastern and western and Tress was really looking forward to it, it would be the first time in a long time family and friends would be together.

After the trip to Ireland and Oklahoma City she kept herself busy, earning her PhD in criminal psychology and opening five more offices across the country. She helped out her family when they needed her and Nick Meyers steered several high profile cases her way that kept her busy, but her mother knew she was lonely. Tress just told her maybe it was meant to be, she'd be a good daughter, a good sister and a good aunt. She hadn't dated seriously since Matt's death seven years ago. She had gone out a few times here and there some that ended in spending the night but nothing serious. Her parents never pushed her although her mother did say something to her about her getting too old for children but Tress just said it must not have been meant to be and after the longing for physical sex had passed she didn't miss it and was content to stay to herself, maintaining her privacy and distance from new people, staying close to the ones you know you could really rely on. Because of her experience in high school and after Matt died, she was very particular about who she let in her life, if she had lived in the 1800's it would have been said she was wary of acquaintances or attachments outside of her family and a few close friends. Her mother always encouraged her to invite a friend but Tress said all the friends she had were already going.

For now Tress was at the condo because she had just finished a particularly gruesome case of a missing seven year old and the results still caused her some sleepless nights. She needed to be alone and had planned to stay a couple of weeks then return to work and her main residence, a villa in Naples.

Tress picked up her cup and held it to her lips as her eyes locked on a solitary figure sitting on the beach. The warm smell of toasted almond flavored Jublum wafted up her nostrils, the expensive coffee being one of her few vises. At night she ritually made a pot of Starbucks Decaf LightNote savoring it's smooth, delicate flavor as she relaxed. She knew coffee aficionados would argue at length the use of flavored creamers in their coffee, vanilla nut being her new favorite, but she loved them all, toasted almond, Irish cream, cafe mocha, and hazelnut and sometimes against all that was holy in the coffee kingdom she mixed two flavors together, surely condemning herself to coffee hell. Oh, well just one more thing to add to the list.

The young woman she was watching so intently was sitting on the beach looking out at the water. This was her fourth day in the same spot wearing the same clothes, a long sleeved light blue thin cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up halfway, unbuttoned with the tail out and underneath a white v-neck tank top, dark blue shorts, and Ked's sneakers with no socks. The only thing protecting her deep red hair and face was a light tan Cardinals baseball cap and sunglasses, every once in a while she would spray suntan lotion on her legs and arms. The phone rang and Tress picked it up without losing sight of the girl.

"Morgan," she said crisply, "this better be good."

"That's a fine way to answer the phone to your favorite godfather," a man's voice asked.

"You're my only godfather so that makes you the favorite by default," she heard him sigh, " and by choice," she laughed, "what's up?"

"Is she still there?"

"She's sitting on the beach in front of me as we speak, as she's done the last time I talked to you yesterday and the day before that," Tress replied.

"Does she look OK, have you had a chance to make contact?" he asked.

"She looks fine and no Uncle John, I haven't had a chance to make contact, you make her sound like a new alien race on Star Trek. How am I going to go up to her and say, 'You're Bryg O'Malley, would you like to come to my condo so I can watch over you'?"

John laughed, "Put that way is does sound strange but," his tone became serious, "she needs a friend Tress."

"I can tell she needs a friend," Tress agreed sliding her hand through her shoulder length highlighted brunette hair, "I'm just not sure how I'm going to get her to accept my invitation to agree to anything, I certainly wouldn't if someone like me came up on the beach and offered a hand."

John laughed, "You'll figure out a way, you always do, take care of her and watch over her for me she's literally been through hell, I'll double your usual fee."

"No," Tress said adamantly, "no fee, this is a favor."

"Thanks, Tress. I'll say hello to your father for you, I'm seeing him Friday for a golf date and Emily and your mother are going shopping, then they're meeting us for dinner at the country club."

"Uh oh, you know what happens when those two go shopping together, I'd make late reservations." Tress said.

"Already done, latest I could get," John Watson replied.

"And don't beat dad too bad, he's always hard to live with after," Tress laughed.

"My word," John chuckled.

Tress smiled, "Have fun and send my love to everyone, see you all soon."

"That's right the cruise next month, Emily and I are looking forward to it."

"So am I, I've been practicing for the shuffleboard and ping pong tournament, ready for a challenge?"

"I'm only playing if you're my partner," John laughed.

"It's a deal, talk to you later Uncle John, love ya," Tress said affectionately.

"You too, be well," John said hanging up.


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


The small woman looked out over the water. She didn't feel much except that in this place, surrounded by water and sand she felt a safe solace from the world. The rolling of the ocean waves always relaxed her, but she was pretty relaxed without the ocean in front of her, the Xanax washed down with the Bailey's Irish Cream left over from last night was numbing her. She didn't know how long she'd been here, nor did she care. She'd come here, taken more of the Xanax than usual and drank the blend of Irish Cream and Irish Whiskey in an attempt to achieve a level of consciousness that was just out of her reach, so she tried more. The days and nights flowed together in a drug and alcohol induced haze, like a leaf accompanying a stream toward a river, only this time the river never reached a destination. The news of the last month combined with the last year had totally devastated her and she was hoping to reach a place where it all made sense, because right now nothing did.

Tress looked at the woman debating the best way to approach her. She'd thought about this for days, it was the primary thing occupying her mind. She didn't allow people into her hideaway when she was there but this was for an old friend of the family, John Watson, her godfather, the owner of the prominent publishing firm out of New York that published her mother's books. John and his wife, Emily, her godmother, had become best friends with her parents when they'd bought the house next door over thirty-five years ago. They'd been in her life for as long as she could remember, so much so that she and her other siblings always called them aunt and uncle. John had a vested interest in the young woman who was setting at the edge of the water and it was more than just being one of his best selling authors and a Pulitzer Prize winner, he and Emily were her friends, in fact more than friends, Emily and John were Brygid and her identical twin sister Ashlyn's godparents as they were Tress'. Bryg O'Malley's mother had been Emily's roommate at college and they both were each other's maid of honor at their weddings and kept in touch until the tragedy last year. Emily felt obligated to look out for Bryg for her mother had once made Emily promise that if anything happened to her she'd look out for Bryg and Ashlyn and she'd given her word that she would. Tress looked to where she had been sitting and seeing she was gone, jumped up and scanned the beach.

Bryg had gotten up from the sand and stumbled along the beach. She held her shoes in her hand and walked ankle deep in the water looking downward for shells. The locals called it the 'Sanibel stoop' and everybody that visited Sanibel quickly mastered it during their stay on the island.

Tress quickly walked out of screened in porch and looked up and down the beach for Bryg O'Malley. Seeing her walking toward the lighthouse she relaxed and watched her until she became a small dot on the horizon. Tress walked back in the house knowing she'd be back. It was the same routine everyday. She'd sit in front of Tress' condo for awhile, then get up and walk unsteadily up the beach to the lighthouse about a mile away, where the only public bathrooms on the southern end of the island were, and then later in the afternoon she'd walk back and sit in the same spot until sun set. Then she'd go to the 2002 Ford Explorer parked right outside Tress' bedroom patio door and the next day start all over again. Tress went to run some errands and about four saw Bryg walking back up the beach. By that time most of the vacationers were gone getting ready to go out to dinner to one of the many restaurants on Sanibel or Captiva or go over to Fort Myers Beach for some nightlife. Tress made a pot of LightNote this time using her new favorite, vanilla nut, and watched as Bryg O'Malley stumbled up the boardwalk and down the steps. Hurrying to her bedroom, she pulled the drapes aside and watched as she opened and closed the Explorer's doors. Normally Tress would be more careful in surveillance but she was sure that Bryg wasn't paying any attention.

Knowing she'll probably stay there for the night Tress went about fixing dinner. Turning on the CD player she heard The Chieftains Tears of Stone start and settled down to read Brygid O'Malley's Pulitzer Prize winning biography of Emily Dickinson. John Watson had sent her all Bryg's books by next day mail. When she opened the box she found the Emily Dickinson biography, which was published last year and just announced as the winner of the Pulitzer Prize. She also found Bryg's first biography, Eva Peron, which was written as her PhD thesis, followed by one of Nefertiti, the next one about Artemisia, after that one about Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII and Elizabeth called 'Anne, Elizabeth and Henry', an advance copy of her newest book due at the book stores next week, of Elizabeth and George Custer simply called, 'Libbie and Autie'. After reading the flaps she found no pictures and similar wording in every one, the last one different only by saying what her next project would be, "Brygid {pronounced Bryg' (hard g) id} Aine O'Malley is as reclusive an author as her subject. She has a PhD in History, a Masters in Literature and is currently completing her next project, a biography of Cleopatra, which will be available in hardback in spring, 2003. She can be reached at brygomalley.com." The only picture was one of her from behind looking out onto an ocean, "Well, that tells me a lot," Tress said dryly, "I already know what her back looks like."

"All biographies," Tress thought, "seven published in the last eight years and another one due next year, interesting." Tress knew nothing about Emily Dickinson except she was a poet and picked that one up to read first because at least she would learn something. The front cover raved that this was, "the novel that goes beyond Alfred Habegger's My Wars Are Laid Away In Books and seems to be written by a contemporary of Dickinson who knew her well," and other similar testimonials. Tress rarely relied on the book cover to decide whether to read it or not, instead basing her decision on the reviews on Amazon.com and BN.com and all their review's were five stars.

This was not a book that Tress would have chosen but was engrossed from the first word and every hour she had to force herself to take a break, refill her cup and check on the Explorer. Bryg had not moved the car once in the four days except for the second night about 10:00 Tress heard the engine start and looked out just in time to see the Explorer pull away. She ran to her car but had already lost sight of it. Waiting thirty minutes she was ready to call Uncle John when the Explorer returned. She saw the woman drinking from a bottle that looked like some kind of hard liquor and throwing something in her mouth that was probably pills. Tress decided that if she didn't show up in the morning she'd go see if she was all right but as usual, Bryg was there on the beach even before Tress was up.

Tress woke up with the hair on the back of her neck standing straight and a tingling running like little footprints up and down her spine. She heard an engine running and saw blue and red flashing lights in the bedroom. She looked out the window and saw a policeman knocking on the Explorer's window. While throwing on her clothes, she glanced at the clock and saw it was 2:00 am. "Shit," she cursed as she opened the sliding glass door and called to the woman, "Em, are you all right?" coming up the with first name that came to her mind in case he would recognize the other.

Bryg was out of her car, half-sitting and leaning against the floor and seat of the open driver's door, her head resting unsteadily against the doorframe.

Tress walked up to the police officer and saw his name on his tag, "Officer Nelson, is she all right?"

"And who are you maam?" Mark Nelson asked curtly.

"I'm Tress Morgan and this is my condo, Em's a friend who's been staying with me," Tress said and quickly wedged herself between Bryg and the doorframe, grabbed her arm and put it around her shoulder, her other arm around her back for support, "We met some friends we knew from work up at the Flamingo Grill after dinner. They wanted us to stay and talk but I said I had a headache and came home, they offered to give her a ride so she decided to stay and told me she had her key. I'm a heavy sleeper and I guess I didn't hear her knocking, thank goodness she had her car keys," Tress answered.

He shined his flashlight around the car, "It looks like she's been living in her car."

"Naw, it's just her way," she looked up at Officer Nelson, flashed a smiled and in a very humble voice, "I would really appreciate it if you could help me get her in, please?" Tress smiled wider, "we're right there," she pointed her head toward the open patio door.

"Here," the officer finally said as he slipped the flashlight in it's holder on his belt, and wrapped Bryg's other arm around his shoulder, "I'll take the other side, just keep her inside from now on, your neighbors have been complaining about a transient living in a car parked on the lot."

"I haven't seen anyone and we've been here all week," Tress replied walking and leading them up the slight grassy rise to her condo and bedroom, "but I'll keep my eyes open," Tress said as they carried Bryg into Tress's bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. "I'll clean out the car too, no more trouble I promise, Officer Nelson," she gave him her best smile.

"Whew it smells like she had a good time all right," Mark Nelson said. Looking closer as Tress gently lifted her legs onto the bed he said, "hey, she looks sick," even in the dim light of the bedroom blue shadows of exhaustion were visible under Bryg's eyes, "maybe I should call an ambulance?"

"No," Tress said realizing it came out a little too quick and forceful, "no," she repeated calmly standing up looking at him, "she'll be fine, just needs to sleep it off."

Mark Nelson pulled his head back as he looked at her as if trying to place her face, "You look familiar," he said, "you're the one who's helped the FBI solve those crimes, you own that investigation firm don't you?"

"Yes," Tress replied, "Morgan Investigations," she said sticking out her hand, "thank you again Officer, if there's ever anything I can do."

"Well," he drew out rubbing his chin, "you know, I've always thought I'd like private security, you could travel, meet a lot of people, maybe some celebrities?" he replied ending his sentence as a question instead of a statement.

Tress surrendered, she didn't have time for this and gestured for a pen and paper and he quickly handed her his business card. "My main office is in Naples," she said as she wrote, "talk to Karen Hernandez, she's my executive assistant I'm sure she'll take care of you," and gave the card back to the officer.

Mark Nelson grinned at her, "Thanks, Ms. Morgan, no harm done, just keep your eye on your friend, she really doesn't look too good," he said as he got in his car, turned off the lights and backed out.

Tress checked to make sure Bryg was all right and went back out to look in the Explorer. She saw a half empty bottle of Bailey's, some empty food bags, a few water bottles, a backpack, a pair of glasses in one of the cup holders, the keys in another and the Keds. She grabbed the backpack, glasses, keys and sneakers, locked and closed the door planning on cleaning the car tomorrow, then looked up at a full moon covered by a blue veil. Her face scrunched in confusion and she blinked, shook her head slightly, looked again and it was it's natural silvery color. "Better get some sleep yourself Morgan," she muttered as she carried Bryg's stuff into the condo, closed and locked the patio door and for the first time in four days, slid her drapes closed.

Turning to the girl lying on her bed she checked to make sure she was all right. Uncle John said that Bryg had been having seizures since last year after the incident at RidgePointe and been symptomatic of migraines since a teen. John had told her she'd had one grand mal seizure in the hospital last year but they were controlled by medication. Her father had given her more information.

"Her seizures were defined as generalized tonic-clonic or grand mal seizures, characterized by her eyes rolling back in her head, followed by paleness, loss of consciousness, body stiffening, convulsions, shaking and nose bleeds. They usually last less than five minutes and after the shaking stops, she might be confused and fall asleep for a few hours."

"What do I do if she has one," Tress asked.

"Gently roll her on her side and put something soft under her head and loosen any tight clothes. Don't try to put your fingers or anything in her mouth, contrary to popular belief, the tongue can't be swallowed but she can choke on it, that's why you have to keep her on her side and don't try to restrain her, just keep her safe from hurting herself, but if it lasts more than five minutes call an ambulance."

Her father said that as long as she was taking her medicine regularly, the seizures would be prevented, but once they started, you just had to go along for the ride. Tress checked her eyes and the pupils were responsive, breathing and pulse were regular and her muscles were relaxed, she smiled to herself, sometimes it paid to have a doctor for a father. She looked in the backpack and found an empty bottle of Phenobarbital, the medication for the seizures, 30 mg three times a day, the label said. Tress hoped she'd at least taken her last dosage that evening and as soon as the Rexall opened she'd call for a refill, they'd filled her out of town prescriptions before and for a little extra would deliver them.

Looking further into the backpack she found three individual spray devices of pre-measured Imitrex nose spray, 20 mg each, an empty bottle of Excedrin Migraine and a bottle of Xanax. John told her that Bryg had the classic warning signs, usually about 15-60 minutes before the headache hit she saw sparkly lights, had throbbing in her right eye, blurred vision, a strange smell, a sound like a rushing wind and after the headache started there would be an extreme sensitivity to light and sound, nausea and sometimes vomiting. She heard her fathers voice in her ear, "As soon as the dull, throbbing pain starts, try the Excedrin and Xanax but if she starts exhibiting the warning signs immediately use the Imitrex, 2 sprays in each nostril, if it doesn't go away repeat it in two hours but no more for at least 24 hours. If she has one, the best thing to do is give her the medication, let her rest in a dark, quiet room, place an ice pack wrapped in a cloth on the back of her neck and if possible apply gentle pressure to the painful areas of her scalp."

She added Imitrex and Excedrin on her refill Rexall list. John had warned her that she was allergic to Reglan, the medication used for nausea so if she had to go to the hospital, don't let them use it.

If she had a migraine or seizure, the usual cause was stress and that's what the Xanax was prescribed for and Tress knew Bryg had been under extreme stress lately, but wasn't quite sure it deserved the rate she'd been taking the anxiety medication in the last 5 days. The bottle of Xanax was for 1.0 mg, three times a day, and had been refilled in Atlanta five days ago with 30 pills. She looked at Bryg with concern, 15 pills left that meant in the last five days she'd taken five pills a day along with the Bailey's, which she shouldn't be taking along with the Imitrex so she probably wasn't taking that, therefore the reason for the empty Excedrin bottle. Tress knew what had happened, John had told her, but was this girl trying to cope or was she on a path to destruction.

Tress had seen that path, had even been on it only her drug of choice was Valium, but after deciding she needed a clear head to seek justice she only took them to sleep and immersed herself in the case, and the action of helping to find a killer and her family relieved some of her grief and guilt. She often wondered if the pendants had anything to do with it and unconsciously reached up and rubbed them. It seemed warm to her but it was cold in the condo, the thermostat always set at 70 degrees and the ceiling fans running constantly. The light from the nightlight shown on Bryg's forehead and Tress could make out an eighth-inch wide section of pale-red raised scar tissue that started at her hairline, a little to the right of the middle of her forehead and ran to the corner of her right eye then crossed backwards along the top of her cheekbone to the top of her ear then went down in a straight line eventually disappearing behind her jaw. Her father had told her it took more than a year for a scar this extensive and severe to heal before cosmetic surgery could be performed and John had said even though it had improved she was self-conscious about it. It looked reddish-silver in the dim light and maybe that's why she was so reclusive and didn't allow pictures in her books. She knew how she got the scar and vowed that if Bryg would let her, she'd help, just as she had help when she needed it. She had been where Bryg was only Bryg's situation was much worse, the only thing was she couldn't tell Bryg she knew everything about her, she had to let her decide to tell her herself and that would be the challenge.

Tress walked over to the dresser, removed a baby monitor, plugged it in and set it up on the nightstand. She turned it up to the highest sensitivity. She turned to Bryg and smiled as she saw her snuggled into Tress' six pillows and body pillow. Tress had tried many things, padded and foam mattress covers, featherbeds and pillowtop mattresses, a Swedish mattress, even a mattress that used numbers to get comfortable but still hadn't found anything better than at least six to eight pillows including a body pillow and a foam pillow that she stacked on two other pillows for under her head. She had returned so many mattresses that she was sure the mattress industry had a wanted poster up of her in all the stores. On the last cruise, the Guatemalan steward's eyes opened wide and his voice raised in astonishment as he repeated her request for four more pillows in addition to the four she had. "Just trying to be comfortable," she replied sweetly. Bryg was on her left side, had her right leg around the body pillow leaning onto in, her right arm wrapped around another pillow and her left had pulled one of the three under her head until it was at a comfortable angle. Tress put the other pillows against her back, like you would a baby on a big bed so they wouldn't fall off, took the other half of the baby monitor and padded softly into the guest room.

She had the covers thrown off by the time the second knock echoed out of the baby monitor. She wiped her eyes while running for her bedroom and hit the toes of her right foot on the doorframe. "Shit," she yipped and grabbed her foot while hopping toward Bryg's bedroom on the other one. She bit her lower lip and blinked back tears as she set her foot down and limped toward the bed. "Shit," she said again as she saw Bryg in the throes of a full-blown grand mal seizure, the shaking causing her arm to hit the wall. Her breathing increased, "think Tress, think, what did dad say to do?" she said aloud looking around the room as if there would be a cheat sheet hanging on the wall, "side, make sure she's on her side." Tress made her way to the bed and sighed in relief seeing Bryg still lying on her left side. "OK, now she can't hurt herself," Tress grabbed a pillow and stuffed it between Bryg's fist and the wall, "relax, she can't swallow her tongue." A pause, "shit," she repeated, "time, how long, can't be more than five minutes or call an ambulance." She looked at the clock and figured she'd been in the room about two minutes. "Count three minutes, if she's not out of it call 911," and she walked around the bed and grabbed the phone, pressed 911, and held her finger over the talk button as she watched the clock her other hand holding Bryg's right shoulder making sure she didn't push herself on her back.

Bryg was shaking uncontrollably, her muscles rigid, fists tight and every few seconds she'd jerk her head. "Two minutes," Tress said aloud as if that would help Bryg keep it under three minutes. Despite the chill of the air conditioner Tress started to sweat, "two minutes, 20 seconds, come on Bryg. Two minutes, 30 seconds." Was she slowing down? Tress looked closer, "two minutes, 40 seconds." And looking intently she noticed that Bryg was slowing down and stopped shaking all together, "two minutes, 55 seconds, 5 seconds to spare," Tress said shakily. She put the phone down and went around the bed to check Bryg's pulse and respiration and saw a dark spot on the pillow below her nose, "Shit," she said again and three steps later she was in the bathroom, grabbed a hand towel and as she turned to take it back again hit her sore toes on the door frame, "shit, shit shit," she repeated the word that was quickly becoming her mantra, as she hopped and hobbled over to the bed. "Now wouldn't that be ironic if I'm supposed to be taking care of you and you have to drive me to the emergency room for a broken foot."

She curled her hurt toes, sighed in pain and kept her weight on her good foot as she knelt next to Bryg. Her nose was bleeding pretty badly but they'd told her to expect that, she put the hand towel under her face and held it there using her other hand to squeeze the bridge of her nose shut. Suddenly Bryg reached out and gripped her hand that was holding the towel, "sh?," she yelped again, not finishing the full word, Bryg's action scaring her.

She calmed quickly, "it's OK Bryg," she soothed, "you're fine, just relax." The grip tightened and Tress noticed Bryg's eyes were fighting to open, "just relax," she repeated. The bleeding was stopped and she released the pressure on the bridge of her nose. Bryg still had a strong hold on her wrist and Tress was kneeling a foot away from her, face to face. Bryg's eyes flew open and she struggled to keep them there.

"Hi," Tress said smiling, "don't say anything, you're all right, you're in my condo on Sanibel," the words tumbled out, "the police were going to arrest you as a vagrant and I didn't think you'd want your picture and headline across the National Enquirer, 'Pulitzer Prize Winning Author Living In Car On Florida Condo Lot'."

"Did," she paused forcing out the words, eyes fluttering, "I do something wrong?"

"No," Tress said firmly and gently as she let out a breath and a small chuckle, "you just had a seizure, my dad's a doctor and I worked with him at his clinic and knew what to do, you're fine, do you feel OK?" Tress said suddenly concerned.

Bryg nodded, closed her eyes and relaxed her grip on Tress. Tress gently removed her arm, it felt warm and tingly and she flexed it to get the feeling back. "You just get some rest and we'll talk more in the morning," Tress assured her, and Bryg closed her eyes and fell asleep. Tress checked her pulse and breathing and finding everything normal, readjusted the pillows and pulled the blanket back up over her and looked at the clock, "5:00 am, 5 hours till the Rexall opens, should I just leave her?" Tress didn't know what to do so decided to err on the side of safety and went into the kitchen to start a pot of Jublum. She went back and checked on Bryg who was sleeping peacefully, went to get a cup of coffee, this time with amaretto creamer, grabbed Bryg's book, went to the bathroom and returned to settle in the chair by Bryg's bed with a stray pillow and blanket.


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Tress felt the warmth of the sun shining on her face and she blinked a couple of times wiping the sleep from her eyes. Her body was hurting from sleeping in the chair and she was almost afraid to move it. Carefully she moved her head and heard her neck pop, her arm went up to rub the back of her neck and she arched her back hearing her backbones pop and felt sore muscles, reaching down she rubbed her lower back. Opening her eyes they focused on her bedroom and her bed, which was empty. She stared again as if she didn't believe it and then her eyes opened wide and she sat straight up in the chair and looked again, Bryg was gone.

The clock on the side of the bed shined 9:30, "shit," she said which lately seemed to be the only word she knew and jumped up and raced out the bedroom door and down the short hallway glancing into the main bath but saw nothing but darkness. "Maybe she's in the kitchen," she looked over the counter and didn't see her, nor was she in the front room or sitting at the dining room table, the sliding glass door was still locked from the inside and the front door still had the chain on it.

Tress turned around, her heart thumping wildly, and looked back down the hallway, "Where are you?" She looked in the guest room and that bathroom but no luck then thought again of the main bathroom off her bedroom, the one she'd glanced into earlier. Looking into the darkness she softly called out Bryg's name, no answer. "Bryg, it's Tress, remember, from last night, well early this morning. Are you in there?" No answer. She walked into the bathroom and saw a slight figure hunched over the toilet. "I'm coming," she said stepping quickly and kneeling down next to her.

Bryg was sitting on the floor leaning heavily against the toilet with one arm and the other hand holding her head. "Bryg," she said softly, knowing her sensitivity to sound. She noticed that she had vomited in the toilet, "Why didn't she wake me up, damn?" It didn't cross her mind at the time that she'd used a new word.

The light from the bedroom left a soft glow in the bathroom. "Migraine?" Tress asked softly and Bryg nodded slowly. "I'll get the Imitrex," Tress said and was out the door. Coming back in she hit her sore foot on the door frame, "sh?," she clenched her teeth biting back the word and leaned against the counter for a moment as she fought back the tears and pain radiating up her foot and leg. She saw Bryg struggling to stand, "no," she said putting her hand on her shoulder, "just lean back and keep your eyes closed." She helped Bryg turn and lean against the shower doors. "Two squirts, both nostrils," she said aloud probably more for herself than Bryg. "I'm going to hold your head back while I squirt them, relax," Tress put one hand on her forehead to hold her head steady and the other squirted two sprays in each nostril from the nasal spray device. Still holding her head, she turned and laid the device carefully in the trash can, picked up a washcloth, turned the faucet slightly so that just a little stream of water ran out, wet the cloth and turned back to wipe Bryg's face clean of the vomit. After she washed her face she grabbed a towel and laid it on the floor carefully lowering her down onto it, "stay here, keep your eyes closed, be right back." and left the room stepping cautiously around the doorframe.

When she returned she had the body pillow, several standard pillows, a blanket, comforter and a bag of frozen peas. She lifted Bryg up, pulled the towel from under her and pushed the comforter under her as far as she could, then lifted her legs and did the same. She laid the body pillow against the wall behind her, the blanket on top and wrapped the rest of the comforter around her like a cocoon. Putting the frozen peas on the back of her neck she situated the pillows around her as a buffer against the wall and anything cold or hard. "Just rest," she said and stayed until she was sure Bryg was asleep, left the room for a moment before returning with the baby monitor and set it on the sink.

Bryg O'Malley woke up and looked at blue walls. She turned and realized she was on a bathroom floor, lying on pillows and covered with a blanket. She reached up and rubbed her nose feeling tiny bits of dried blood flake out of her nostrils on her fingers, a bad taste filled her mouth and she had a good idea of what happened. She felt something soft and wet behind her, reached back and pulled out a bad of defrosted peas. "That's odd," she thought as she brushed the covers off and used the edge of the bathtub to push herself up to a standing position. "Better find out where I am?" she said and stood leaning heavily on the counter. Her head still hurt and her body didn't feel much better. She turned on the light and blinked several times trying to push the dull pain down. Finally opening them she was shocked as she saw a soiled, grubby image of herself in the mirror. She turned the water on low and bent down so she could cup some water in her hands and rub it on her face, noticing a baby monitor next to the towel on the sink.

Looking back up in the mirror she grimaced, "I hope I can take a shower later but I'd better ask first," she thought to herself. Spotting some mouthwash she put a little in a cup, put it in her mouth, swished it around then spit it out. Walking out of the bathroom she saw the bed and noticed a dark spot on one of the pillows. She walked over and touched it, blood and knew for certain what had happened. She began to get nervous about whose condo she was in and what had happened, she'd had a seizure in front of a total stranger and a migraine, she ruined a pillow and had to have her medication administered to her. She needed the Xanax, "where was her bag?" She found it lying on the floor but couldn't find the medication. Her breathing increased and her heart began to pound in her ears, "where is it?" She walked out the door and turned down the short hallway. There lying on the couch watching her was a tanned woman with golden highlighted shoulder length brunette hair. She was on several pillows, had a blanket over her and her right foot was propped up a pillow with what looked like a bag of frozen cauliflower draped over her toes. She seemed familiar and Bryg saw an unfocused image of her smiling at her, telling her it would be OK, holding a towel and spraying the Imitrex in her nose.

Tress awakened hearing Bryg's frantic search in her room from the baby monitor and slowly opened her eyes watching the TV until Bryg was in the room then pushed herself up on her elbow and spoke softly not wanted to scare her, "I'm Tress Morgan, we met early this morning, but I don't know if you remember. I've been calling you Bryg, I hope that's all right." Bryg nodded lowering her head in embarrassment realizing her unfocused images were real. "Good, then there's coffee in the pot, fresh brewed, it's Jublum, Jamaica's best, try the vanilla nut creamer, it's my new favorite, and your medicines are on the table, the pharmacy just delivered them an hour ago. I had the Phenobarbital and Imitrex refilled and there's a new bottle of Excedrin too, but they wouldn't refill the Xanax yet, said it was too soon."

Bryg visibly relaxed and put her hand behind her head, smiled shyly and nodded thanks as she rushed to the table and Tress heard her opening bottles hoping she was taking the right medicines. She saw her walk in the kitchen and fill a glass of water and she throw down pills.

"Try the coffee, it's a shame to waste it, it's really good and will help your headache," Tress called to her. "Look Bryg, I know this is really different and all but I've had a rough night and early morning so have you and I'd really appreciate it if you would have some coffee and just relax for a while until I get some sleep, then we'll talk," she looked pleadingly at Bryg through the opening above the counter.

Bryg didn't have the energy nor the inclination to deal with anything right now and followed Tress' advice. She took her meds and decided her headache wasn't bad enough for the Imitrex knowing the Excedrin would be helped by the coffee grabbed a mug with a Star Trek logo that was sitting by the coffee pot, poured the rich dark liquid into it, found the vanilla nut creamer and watched it swirl into the darkness. "A lot like my life lately," she thought absently. She added some sugar, took a drink and was pleasantly surprised by the taste. Tress heard her a soft moan over the cup of coffee, "told ya," she shouted over the counter. Bryg turned, looked over at her and smiled. "There's pillows and a blanket on the chaise lounge in here or you can use the bedroom," Tress said eyes fighting staying open.

Bryg was too tired to question, "I th?ink I'll use the bed," she swallowed, "room, if that's OK?" she asked shyly still refusing to meet her eyes.

"Whatever you want, you're my guest, but first if you don't mind would you see if I have another bag of frozen vegetables and bring them to me," Tress asked.

Bryg thought it was a strange request, but opened the freezer and rummaged through it finding a bag of frozen corn. Bryg came around the corner with it in her hand. Tress was falling asleep but wiggled her foot. Bryg removed the cauliflower, put on the corn and pulled the blanket up over her foot. "If you need me yell, I sleep lightly." Tress mumbled trailing off as sleep overtook her.

Bryg walked back into the master bedroom, lay down and pulled the blanket up. She put the bloody pillow on the floor and pulled the other pillows around her, snuggled into them and fell asleep.

Bryg woke up to what she thought sounded like an engine running high on idle, then it stopped and she closed her eyes, then it started again and she opened them wide. She turned over on her back and looked up at the ceiling watching the fan circle. Looking around the room she saw a dresser and mirror, a chest with a TV/VCR/DVD combination atop it, a chair with a pillow and blanket on it, two nightstands and above the bed a picture of the beach at Sanibel, the beach right outside the condo. She pushed herself up and pulled her legs over the side of the bed seeing her glasses and keys on the nightstand, her backpack and Keds on the floor. She reached over and picked up the glasses carefully taking off the clip-on sunglasses and put her glasses on. Everything became better focused and she pushed herself from the bed, walked over to her backpack, put the clip-ons in a zippered pocket, searched through it until she found a clean bra and underwear and holding them walked into the attached bathroom. As she wound her way around the bed she noticed that baby monitor again and wondered if it was following her.

She entered the bathroom, turned on the light switch and on the counter sat a new toothbrush, some clothes and a note:

I found these in my closet, they're my sisters, she's about your size, we'll go out later to get you some new clothes. There's shampoo and conditioner and if you need anything else just yell. Tress.

She set her clean bra and underwear down next to the clothes, opened the toothbrush and found some Colgate Whitener and brushed her teeth. She took off her clothes and smelled them, her nose wrinkling in distaste, "how could I have lived in these?" she thought to herself. Throwing them in a corner she looked at them, thought how they reminded her of the last four days and realized that like her clothes it was, "a waste, almost getting arrested and having a seizure and migraine in front of others well Tress." "Tress?" she thought, "who is she, I don't even know what she looks like except for a glimpse, regardless, I owe her for helping me."

She turned on the water and when it was the right temperature she pulled the knob for the shower to start. For anyone else the water would be considered hot, but to Bryg it was a balm to her soul. She always did her best thinking in the shower and she had a lot to think about. She found some Nivea face scrub and Softsoap Relaxing Body Wash. Squirting the body wash on a yellow bath puff she started scrubbing her skin. The dirt ran in rivulets down her legs to the bottom of the tub and into the drain and for a moment she thought she saw blood running off each of her fingers. She blinked and the blood was now clear water smelling of lavender and chamomile. She shook her head clear, "get a grip, girl," she said aloud. Finding Aussie Shampoo she pumped some into her palm and worked it into her hair then rinsed and washed it again making sure it was clean. Afterward, she massaged the Three Minute Miracle Conditioner into her hair and left it in while she spread Skintimate Moisterizing Shave Gel under her armpits and on her legs. Using a disposable razor she shaved while waiting for the Miracle Conditioner to work, " if only miracles were that easy and longer lasting," she said thoughtfully as she rinsed her head watching the conditioner circle down the drain.

Pulling her head back she let the water massage her forehead as it ran down her face and body, then reached down and turned the shower off. Sliding open the shower door she reached for a towel and stepped out onto the mat. The result of hot water and cold air had left condensation on the mirror and she shivered as she wrapped the towel around her. Wiping a clean spot off the mirror with a hand towel she looked at herself and turned her head slightly to look out of the corner of her eye the scar that ran down the side of her face. Shaking, she gently traced the raised red line, a thoughtful look on her face. Shaking her head to release the memories caused by her motions, she noticed a hair dryer sitting on the counter, picked it up, turned it on and dried her hair. By the time she was done the fan had removed most of the steam and dried the mirror. She put the clothes on noting that they were a little big, probably because she'd eaten nothing of substance the last few days.

Tress was sitting on the screened in porch when Bryg walked in. She'd heard the shower running and had her food in the microwave warming it. "Morning," Tress said when she saw Bryg.

"Mmmor?ning," Bryg said mentally berating herself for the stammering and avoided eye contact with Tress. It happened mostly when she was nervous and was yet another reminder of the incident last year.

Tress smiled and walked into the kitchen, knowing about the stammering from John, and looked over the sink through the cut out in the wall seeing her holding her clothes. Grabbing a plastic grocery bag she handed it to her through the cutout in the wall between the kitchen and living room, "put them in here, there's a laundry by the pool, we can try to save them if you want?"

Bryg nodded and put the clothes in the bag. "Set it by the front door so we don't forget," Tress yelled from the kitchen, "I've made breakfast, I just have to heat it up."

Tress eyed her cautiously over the sink, through the cut out, as she walked toward the front door. Thank goodness she'd moved the books into her bedroom but was reminded what else John Watson had told her about Bryg.

"Tress," John said, "there's something else you should know about Brygid."

"What is it?" Tress asked.

"She's special," John said.

"Special, as in disabled?" Tress asked.

"No, not disabled, mentally or physically, except for her medical concerns," she could almost hear him swallow as if he knew she wouldn't believe what he was going to tell her, "she can tell what you're thinking," he said.

"She can read minds?" Tress said incredulous.

"No, she can feel what you're feeling, she's empathic," John said, "she's always had it as had her mother but for some reason the incident enhanced and strengthened the gift, as they called it."

"So, you're telling me I can't keep any secrets from her," Tress said.

"She'll know if you're keeping something from her," John said.

"Then I'll have to tell her the truth," Tress said thinking out loud. .

"It's always best to do that when dealing with Brygid, besides you wouldn't want her to be dishonest would you?"
"No, but white lies never hurt anyone," Tress responded.

"No one but her," John said.

Bryg noticed the clock on the wall, "Bb..break..fast," she clenched her jaw, swallowed and tried again, "it's all...almost 6:00."

"I know, but we haven't eaten today, I thought breakfast would be good, unless you'd rather order in or go out?" Tress asked.

"Nnn..nooo," Bryg said bashfully, "this?," she swallowed, "is fine."

"Great," Tress said, "I'm good with breakfast, it's the other meals I have trouble with." She walked out of the kitchen with two plates, forks, knives and glasses. "Coffee or juice or both, its decaff," Tress said. "Bb...oth," Bryg said closing her eyes and hating herself for being unable to speak coherently.

Tress, on the other hand, just kept getting breakfast ready, talking to Bryg, ignoring her stammering and tying to keep her mind occupied so she wouldn't question anything at least until after she had some food. Bryg sat down while Tress returned with coffee, orange juice and several flavored creamers, then again went into the kitchen and came back with scrambled eggs, shredded potatoes, biscuits, bacon, gravy, butter, and ketchup. Bryg eyed the feast. "I hope you don't mind," Tress said, "I like ketchup on my eggs, on a cruise the foreign waiters called it 'American sauce', I guess I'm a big offender."

"Nn..noo," Bryg said settling down a little, "I like it t?tooo."

Tress smiled and sat down, "Do you need anything else? I can fix whatever you want."

Bryg looked at her almost responding, "I doubt if you can fix this," but instead said, "Noo, th?this is fine, th?thanks." It was in that look that Tress noticed her eyes even though she'd been close enough to see them several times in the last twelve hours it had been dark or they'd been closed. Glasses hid most people's eyes but not Bryg's, they shown clear and bright through the wire-rimmed lenses and Tress was amazed at the vibrant and vivid multi-colors that made up her eyes, an outer ring of gray that blended into a middle ring of blue-green that brightened into an almost incandescent golden hue around the pupil. The golden amber then splintered outward from the center fracturing the layers of green-blue-gray, like rays of the sun, the golden flecks illuminating and accentuating the colors, making them almost luminescent as if lit up from behind. Bryg broke eye contact by closing her eyes, unconsciously rubbing the scar on the right side of her face.

"Do you have a headache?" Tress asked.

"N?.no, I?I'm a?all right," Bryg said eyes lowered as she reached across her plate, her hand shaking so badly she had to use the other one to steady the cup as she brought it to her lips.
Tress sat down on the other side of the table embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she said, "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

Bryg half smiled, "Y?you did?didn't," she rubbed it again, "i?it j?just itches some?sometimes, I h?have s?some cream f?r it," she looked back up at her, "it's OK, it's w?.what m?most people notice f?first."

"No," Tress said and Bryg looked up at her curious, "well I did notice the scar first, earlier but it's your eyes, they stand out even behind the glasses, the different shades of colors I mean and the way they blend together."

"Th?thanks," Bryg said a little relieved, "they're from my m?mother's side," her voice trailed off and Tress noticed a pained look as she focused on something past her shoulder. "Let's eat," Tress said changing the subject, "I make some mean scrambled eggs, if I do say so myself."

After eating Bryg pushed back her plate. "More?" Tress asked. "No, I'd ex?explode, but you're r?right, it was great, th?thanks, Tress." "My pleasure it's not often I have company here I hadn't realized how much I miss it," Tress replied, "how about I put these dishes in the kitchen and we have some coffee in the living room." "S?sure," Bryg said and picked her cup up and walked into the living area. There were two large couches and two recliner chairs along with a coffee table, two end tables, a table by each of the chairs, and a large cream-colored rug that covered the rough ceramic tile floor. The TV was off but the stereo was on and soft Irish music wafted out of its speakers. She sat on the sofa resting her head against the back listening to the soft Irish music and let her mind wander over the last four days especially the last twelve hours.

After several moments, the music had wrapped itself around her and she felt the fog lifting from her brain and body. "Tress," her eyes opened and her mind raced, "Tress knew my name, knew what to do, even expected it, how? She said her father was a doctor, but she also said she knew who I was. What did she say?" The words came to her as clearly as if Tress were saying them again, "'Don't say anything, you're all right, you're in my condo on Sanibel, the police were going to arrest you as a vagrant and I didn't think you'd want your picture and headline across the National Enquirer, 'Pulitzer Prize Winning Author Living In Car On Florida Condo Lot'."

Bryg's head jerked up abruptly and she looked at the coffee table, something was missing, her books, they'd been there earlier this morning. Focusing on the spot she saw them in her mind, all of them, including the advance copy of 'Libbie and Autie'. "How did she get that, no one had a copy yet, I haven't even seen it, how did she know who I was, what medications to use and how to use them, did I tell her, I don't remember?" Her right hand reached up to rub her scar.

Tress wiped her hands, refilled her cup and mixing two creamers together, figuring she'd need the extra help, walked into the living room and saw Bryg staring at the glass topped coffee table, one hand on her knee squeezing tightly, the other rubbing her scar, "Uh, oh," Tress thought, as she make her was around the table and sat down on the other couch.

Bryg saw her out of the corner of her eye but couldn't find the courage to look at her. There was more to this than just an act of kindness, the warning signs blared in her head. She was breathing shallow and quickly and her skin tingled and felt hot and cold all at once and she felt she was going to jump out of her skin and shivered as if to put it back in its place.

Tress noticed it, put her cup on the table and leaned forward, "Are you all right, should I get your medicine?"

Bryg lifted her head and looked at her seeing only concern in her amber-brown eyes and surprisingly felt a rush of calm flood through her. Her sense lapped it up and she began to breath slower and easier. "However she knows what she does, I don't sense danger," Bryg told herself, "I have to at least give her a chance."

Bryg placed her cup on the table and turned her body toward Tress, took a deep breath, she swallowed and faced her fear, "Tt..tresss," she began to stammer again, "I?I know you've been very k?kind and caring but," she paused and swallowed and looked at her under apologetic and somewhat fearful eyes, "b...but I'm a little unsure of what h?happened this morning and? well I'd really l?like to know so I could th?thank you pro?properly and repay y?you."

Tress noticed Bryg playing with the edge of her shorts and waiting for Tress' response with anticipation. The conversation with John replayed in her mind, "She'll know if you're keeping something from her, tell her the truth, you wouldn't want her to be dishonest with you would you, white lies never hurt anyone, no one but her." "No one but her," echoed in her mind.

Tress took a deep breath and set down her cup. She opened her mouth to speak then closed it, thought more about what she was going to say then started again, "I woke up about two this morning with blue and white lights flashing on my bedroom walls. The Sanibel police were going to arrest you so I told him you were my friend and were staying with me and talked them out of it."

Tress saw the "why" question on her face, saw her form the word on her lips, felt uncomfortable and broke out in a cold sweat and before Bryg could say the word Tress blurted out, "John Watson," she exclaimed, "he asked me to look out for you," she said looking up under hooded eyes.

"Unc?cle John, my g?godfather, m?my publisher?" Bryg asked startled.

"Mine too," Tress said eagerly, "godfather that is, not publisher, although he is my mothers," she was rambling, "she writes children's books and we've, I've known him since I was little, when he and Emily moved next door," get to the point her mind screamed, "my parents and they are good friends, like family and he knew I was down here and he thought you might show up and," her voice evened and speech slowed, "he asked me to watch out for you."

"H?He hi?hired you," Bryg said astonished.

"No," Tress said adamantly, "asked, a favor."

Sitting still for several moments, Bryg lowered her eyes quickly moving them back and forth as she absorbed this information then looked up directly at Tress, "I h...had a s?seizure?"

Tress continued feeling uncomfortable under the questioning of those eyes that had now turned gray-green, "Yes."

"An?d a m?migraine?"

"Yes."

"Y...you g?gave me the m?medicine, my n?nose bl?bled and I vo?vomited and you cl?cleaned me up, h?helped me."

"Yes."

Bryg was nervous and embarrassed, working her jaw back and forth as she grinded her teeth, her eyes glistening in the light as she looked at Tress, "th?thank you," she said quietly.

"You're welcome," Tress said gently.

"H?he t?told you about the se?seizures and mi?graines?" Bryg asked fearing the answer to a question she already knew.

Tress nodded, "He knows how private you are and wanted to make sure if anything happened I'd know what to do, I'd be there for you."

That wasn't all to it and Bryg knew it and by the look on her face Tress knew Bryg knew it. She now realized what John meant by keeping secrets from her. Bryg looked at Tress eyes full of trepidation voice fearful, "Wh...what else," she swallowed and spoke the next words slowly as if afraid of the answer, "d?did he?he t?tell y?you?"

Tress looked at the hands in her lap as if ashamed of knowing what she did and spoke the words quickly as if they were distasteful and the sooner out of body the better, "He told me what happened to your parents and sister and what happened at RidgePointe last year."

Bryg lowered her head in her hands. "Oh God," she moaned inwardly, "all her secrets were told to a complete stranger," her mind screamed, "her private life opened to another like one of her books." She hid behind the words and now the words were her, mortified and embarrassed she continued to hold her head in her hands. Suddenly she pulled straight up and looked at Tress, eyes teary and wild, "Th?that's w..why you d?didn't ask about the stam?mering or the sc?scar, because you k..knew, you knew what hap?pened. I've g?got to get out, I've got to, g?got to go."

She stood up and began to look frantically from one side to the other, twisting her body in one spot, as if uncertain what to do next knowing she was behaving erratically but unable to stop.

"Bryg," Tress said tentatively.

Bryg didn't hear Tress for her heart was pounding in her ears and it felt as if someone had stuck their hand in her chest and begun to squeeze, her hands started sweating, a dull pain throbbed in the middle of her forehead, her chest felt heavy and she felt like she couldn't breath. The memories flashed through her head, a dark cellar, haziness, waking up in a hospital, hurting, headaches, Ash, oh god, Ash. Her body tensed as she ran her hand through her hair and held them in fists at the nape of her neck shaking her head fiercely to force them from her mind.

Tress watched her carefully and noticed the dull, glazed look and short, quick breathing, "too quick," Tress thought, "hyperventilating, panic attack," her mind cried for action. She stood and grabbed the Excedrin, the Imitrex, the Xanax, a Coke and her keys and went to Bryg talking softly and gently, "OK, Bryg let's go, for a walk, we'll go down to the beach, you like the beach, come on," she said standing behind Bryg ushering her toward the door like one would herd chickens into a pen. Tress stepped around her, opened the door, then pushed in the lock and pulled it shut behind her. "Come on," she said as she started jogging toward the wooden walkway to the beach. Bryg followed her and soon they were both jogging, then running as fast as they could up the beach as if in a race and Tress knew what she was running from. After five minutes of running Bryg slowed then stopped all together and breathing heavily bent over, hands on knees, as Tress watching warily

"Are you all right?" Tress said breathless, "do you need any medication?"

Bryg tried to catch her breath, turned and looked up at Tress, "you kn?know you could give someone a h?heart attack?"

"And you could give someone a stroke," Tress said smiling, "let's walk it off."


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


They walked up the beach in companionable silence once in a while stopping to reach down and pick up a colorful shell. A warm, soft breeze blew from the ocean drying the thin sheen of sweat that had formed on both their bodies from the run. Bryg asked for the Coke and a Xanax, popped the top and drank deeply, she offered Tress a drink and they walked quietly together while finishing off the soda and threw the empty can in a trash container near one of the condos they passed.

Tress finally broke the stillness, "Bryg, don't be mad at John, he cares for you very much, that's why he told me so I could help you. I've seen you sitting out on the beach for four days and you looked so sad and lonely but I didn't say anything to you or tell anyone but John. I know how important privacy is, I respect it and I promise you that all I want to do is help. Here," she reached in her pocket, pulled out a quarter and handed it to Bryg, "give this to me."

"Wh..what?" Bryg said uncertain where this was heading.

"Take this," Tress said. Against all rationality Bryg's hand seemed to move of it's own volition and Tress carefully and gently like calming a skittish colt placed the quarter in the middle of her palm. "Now," she said, "give it back to me."

Bryg looked at it for a moment then at Tress and handed it back to her. Tress grabbed it, smiled broadly and put it in her pocket, "Great, now I'm hired, you've just paid my retainer."

"A re?tainer, h?hired?" Bryg questioned not understanding.

Tress smiled and glanced at her new client, "You may not have realized it, but you just hired a criminal psychologist, PhD certified, and if I do say so myself not that I'm biased or anything, the best criminal psychologist and legally licensed private investigator and lucky for you the owner of Morgan Investigations, the best investigation firm in the state of Florida and other states too numerous to mention. Everything you tell me is strictly confidential and I have a non-disclosure clause in my contracts, so what you've told me or are about to tell me is strictly between the two of us. You can trust me Bryg, I won't let you down."

"A q?quarter," Bryg said still in disbelief.

"What can I say, sometimes I work for peanuts," Tress said smiling and got a smile out of Bryg.

"Do we have a deal then," she stopped and stuck out her hand, "my word is my bond and I always shake hands to seal a contract."

Bryg looked at Tress' extended hand then hers and noticing it was damp and shaking wiped it on her pants. "There's nothing to be afraid of Bryg," Tress assured her, "I just want to help."

"W?why?" Bryg asked.

Tress lowered her hand and began walking back up the beach. She was quiet for a moment, thinking, wanting to be careful in her choice of words, "Because there was a time I was hurting and a kind stranger helped me and told me 'nay be stingy'," she said it in an Irish brogue and glanced at Bryg, "his words not mine, sorta like what Emily said about that bird that passed out."

Against her will Bryg laughed starting to feel comfortable around this woman, her stammering decreasing, "Y?you mean the ro?bin, a?and if I re?remember he fainted, not p?.passed out. 'If I can stop one heart from break?ing, I sh?shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, or cool one pain, or help one fainting robin unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain'." She thought for a moment then said, "I guess I do fit the f?fainting and passing out part and no one is useless in this w?world who lightens the burden of another."

"Dickens," Tress said.

"You kn?know Dickens?" Bryg asked surprised, looking over at her.

"Contrary to popular opinion I do have several college degrees and took a class on Dickens in school."

"Do y?you like him?"

"No," Tress drew out, "I found him hard to read but I liked the movie."

Bryg laughed gently then turned to Tress her voice serious, "Tress, th?there may be n?nothing you c?can do."

"Maybe not alone but with help we can be indestructible."

Bryg glanced over at Tress' eyes and felt the strength and truth of what she'd just said and somehow knew her help lie here.

Thoughtful, she turned back ahead, "It's hard Tt?tress, to t?trust that is."

"I know." Tress said with emotion, "believe me I know, but if you run from this you'll keep running for the rest of your life. I have a saying above my desk, 'You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face?You must do the thing you think you cannot."

"El?Eleanor Roosevelt," Bryg said.

"Yes, my mother is a fan of her writings and I've read a lot of them too. She doesn't get the credit she deserves, I'm surprised you haven't written about her yet."

"She's on m?my list," Bryg responded. She desperately wanted to trust someone but feared that after Tress heard her whole story she might take back her offer, "it just seems so far to go," she thought out loud.

"The distance is nothing," Tress said, "its just the first step that's difficult. There's an old Irish saying 'di cutach a bealach' it means 'two shorten the road', my mother told me and I laughed at her at first but I should have known your mother is always right," Tress said smile in her voice then the timber changed to regret, "if I had listened to her in the first place maybe some of the things that have happened to me wouldn't have been so difficult to go through. I know how hard it is to trust, even your own family. I'm not just saying 'I understand' to make you feel better, well, actually I am, but I really do know what you're going through, I went through something similar myself."

Bryg walked silently beside her listening intently as Tress swallowed and her jaw tightened, then she took a deep breath as she looked out at the ocean, and when she turned back to look straight Bryg noticed she was wiping her right eye with her finger.

Tress' voice was tight and she swallowed hard against it, "My fiancée was killed in the Oklahoma City bombing. He was an FBI agent I met while he was assigned here, in Florida. His name was Matt and I loved him very much. I had planned to spend the rest of my life with him and have enough kids for a football team," she smiled and her voice changed to pensive, "funny how someone else can change your plans, how we are so powerless over even the course of our own lives."

'I?I'm s?so sorry, T?Tress," Bryg said looking at her voice filled with compassion and brushing her hand against hers.

Tress smiled, "After he died I pushed everyone away, my family and what little friends I had left from school."

"L?little?" Bryg asked.

"When I was in 6th grade an 8th grade boy tried to grab something, uh, personal, and I hit him. Nothing was hurt but my fist and his tailbone and after our suspensions he came back to ridicule and I came back to a new nickname, T.K.O.," she saw the question in Bryg's eyes, "it's a boxing term meaning technical knock out and it's also my first two initials, Tressa Katherine. Along with the nickname I suddenly became very popular and, well, I had a hard time handling that. I did some things that I'm ashamed of, especially how I treated my parents and my old friends." She lowered her head for a moment then looked back up, "they all didn't fit in with my new lifestyle, then someone did something that changed the course of my life, thank goodness."

"What?" Bryg said.

"My boyfriend at the time put some illegal substances in my locker and I was expelled. I swore it wasn't mine but no one would believe me, least of all my parents, I'd lost their trust a few years back, my new friends suddenly didn't know me and I think my old friends celebrated. The only one that stood by me was Karen even after the way I treated her. We made up and she went to her father who was the principal and told him it was Tad," she paused, "funny how I remember that name, I hadn't thought of it in years," her head cocked a little and she smiled slightly, "anyway, although Tad didn't admit to it, Karen's dad could tell I was telling the truth. He came to the house and talked to my parents and said I would be admitted back to school if I sought treatment and straightened up my act, in other words, got an attitude adjustment. I agreed, went through the program, made amends with my parents and family and graduated that December. By the time I was done, most everyone was gone to college, not that it mattered since the only friend I had left was Karen. She was at Florida State, my dad said he'd pay for it, we're Seminole fans," she said aside, "so I enrolled, made some new friends, although I was very picky about those, even introduced Karen to her future husband. I majored in criminal justice, made the dean's list every year and in my senior year wanted to join the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit after graduation until my father talked me out of it."

"W?why?"

"He said that we weren't a good personality fit, then proceeded to described me as, and these are his words, 'a force of will, stronger than any hurricane, stubborn, impatient, headstrong, etc," she twisted her hand in the air, "but," she emphasized, "evenly balanced with compassion, honor, caring, loyalty and courage'. He said he'd continue to cover my expenses if I continued in school and suggested a business degree and opening my own firm, so that's what I did. I finished in five years graduating summa cum laude with a major in criminal justice and a minor in business administration, opened 'Morgan Investigations' and that's when I met Matt." Tress' eyes had a far away look in them.

"T?tell me about h?him," Bryg encouraged.

"He was tall, about 6'2", with blond hair and blue eyes, we were a study in contrasts. He had a great sense of humor and felt that it was a waste of the day if you didn't laugh. That's the one thing I loved about him, his sense of humor. His warm, rich laugh seemed to surround me and pull me into him, but most of all I loved him because he was warm, supportive and because of what I saw in his eyes when he looked at me. No matter how bad my day was he always made it better," her voice trailed off and she smiled as if remembering a special moment then continued, "you know that saying about not appreciating things till they're gone was true and at the time I was inconsolable because I felt his death was my fault."

"H?how could that be?"

"He wanted to come visit me that week and I told him I had a case to work on. We got in an argument and I hung up on him. After I calmed down I called and apologized, so did he and told me we'd have plenty of time later," she snorted, her jaw clinched, she blinked rapidly several times and shook her head from side to side. "We didn't and that was the last time I talked to him," she said lost in thought.

She pursed her lips and looked out at the ocean then at Bryg, "So instead of celebrating Matt's life, my sorrow ran toward revenge and vengeance. I pulled my old tricks again and managed to estrange myself from family and friends by withdrawing into trying to help the FBI, whether they wanted the help or not didn't matter. When everything was said and done, there was no great relief, only sadness and loneliness. So," she dragged the word out and drew herself up, "my mother had finally had enough and secretly worked it out with Karen to arrange my schedule so that I was packed for two weeks and all I had to do was get in the car for a trip to Ireland. My mom thought it would be a great way to reconnect and when she used my full name and told me that if I knew what was good for me I'd get my butt in that car."

"W?what did you do?"

"I got my butt in the car," Tress smiled and glanced at her, "my mother hates to be late for the airport. My whole family went, my mom and dad, my older sister Lauren and my two younger brothers, Sean and Neil. We landed in Sligo and with no set plans and having two weeks to explore, rented a van drove around the country, staying in bed and breakfasts and stopping in every pub for a pint of Guiness or some Irish whiskey and to listen to the local bands, which were surprisingly good. I relaxed and almost forgot, then something happened that set me on a different path and for the life of me I can't explain it."

"What?" Bryg said entranced by the story.

"One day while waiting for my mother and sister, I walked around the corner and found a small rustic pub with the name 'Morrigan's Breathe'. I decided I was thirsty and need to sit down so I opened the door and went it. It was amazing inside, as if I had stepped back into the past, even the barkeep and waitress dressed in costumes that looked like they were from hundreds of years ago. I just figured it was cute, good for the tourists, but one a completely different felt that I'd come home. I was the only customer until an old man with a gnarled wooden cane suddenly appeared beside me and asked if he could join me. Sure, I said, glad for the company. We drank and all the while he filled me with visions and stories of the ancients, the Irish gods and goddesses, Dagda, and Danu, Brigit and Morrigan and lots of others, I have a bunch of books about them at home."

"I know all you're t?talking about. My m?mom was from Sh?Shannon and I grew up with the Irish myths and le?legends, the gods and goddesses, and the her?heroes and heroines as my bedtime stories. I turned t?to them as my childhood playmates pre?tending to be Dru?Druantia, sorceress and queen of the Druids, or Arianrhood, the lunar goddess of t?time and space, or Epona, the goddess of the h?horse, or Blathnat, stealing her f?father's mag?magic cauldron, or M?Macah Mong Ruad, the red-haired first Queen of T?Tara, or M?Mael Duin one of the few who voyaged into the Otherworld and returned, or the b?.brave warrior queen Maeve, all aided by the f?fairies, lep?leprechaun's and banshees."

"Wow," said Tress, "you know as much about them as he did."

"I always w?wanted to be Brigit, the sun goddess, pa?tron saint of Ireland, the goddess of poetry and h?healing, or even the Morr?Morrigan herself, the m?moon goddess, t?the great queen and goddess of the mys?mystic arts," Bryg said.

"But in her dark aspect as Macha, she became goddess of war, fate, revenge and death who seldom killed but instead used her cleverness by shiftchanging and flying over the battlefield shrieking and causing terror and confusion among the enemy," Tress finished, "she was also called 'the washer at the ford' who when she met warriors on their way to battle if they saw her glowing red eyes and heard her shriek she determined their death."

Bryg nodded, "But if you look directly into her eyes she may spare your life," she answered without a stammer.

Tress nodded, "I've read a lot about them since I returned from Ireland but none of the stories equal his, if you wouldn't mind would you tell me yours?"

"Sure," Bryg said, "I've s?studied them and often thought about writing a book but was nev?never able to make the trip to Ireland for research," she looked at Tress as if she suddenly remembered something, "I'm s?sorry, I?I interrupted you."

"That's all right," Tress reassured her, "I'd really like to hear what you know, anyway back to that pub, listening to him I lost track of the time until I noticed the fire had burned to the embers and looking out the window I saw darkness. I finished my drink and said that I was sorry, but had to leave, figuring my mother and sister would be frantically looking for me. Then he told me he wanted to repay me for buying the drinks but I refused to accept saying that the stories were enough. He said that they weren't his anymore they were mine and according to Irish custom he had to give me something for my time and generosity so he pulled out a small leather bag, and pressed these two pendants that fell out in the palm of my hand." She pulled out her necklace, held the two pendants out from her neck and finished, "He said that they were very special, they were made from the Cauldron of Dagda, also called the Cauldron of Rebirth and that those who wore them were healed and protected from harm."

For a moment Bryg thought they glowed but it was gone in the flash of an eye and she put it down to her imagination. Looking at Tress, her eyes asked for permission and when Tress nodded Bryg reached up and touched them. They warmed her fingers and made the tips feel tingly. The amazement showed on her face. "Do you feel heat?" Tress asked noticing the look on her face. "Yes," Bryg breathed out as she removed her fingers. "So did I when I first touched them and as he held them in my palm he told me that," and her voice changed to an Irish brogue, "sometimes lass you just need to not question, just accept and give thanks'. Then he winked at me and walked away but before he left he turned and asked for a favor. He said he had an eye for this, that he could see I'd been gifted with faith, family and friends, and such a waste to lose that." She continued to look at him and he smiled at her and tipped his hat, "nay be stingy about the sharing. Live well, love much and laugh often Tress me girl," again reverting to an Irish brogue.

Bryg chuckled at her accent.

"When I slipped them on I felt a blanket of warmth across my chest. Walking out the door I was surprised to see sunlight and my mother and sister coming out of the same shop I'd left them in earlier. I rushed up to them and told them I was sorry for being gone so long and they seemed confused, looking at each other and saying it had only been 30 minutes. I argued with them that I'd been in a pub around the corner and when I lead them there I didn't find the pub door but a small natural spring of water bubbling up from some rocks that sat next to a stonewall. Above the spring was a sign etched in stone, 'Morrigan's Breathe'. A plaque affixed to the rocks said that this spring was one that had been used until the 4th century C.E. as a worship site dedicated to the goddess Morrigan and that those who drank from the waters would be given the gift of the goddess' protection and be able to look fear in the face and survive."

"D?did you dr?drink the water?"

"Sure, it tasted like honey to me, but when my sister drank it she spit it out and said it tasted like rotten eggs. I reached up to feel for the pendants, gripped them and as they warmed my hand I heard a woman's Irish lilt in my ear, so close that I could feel the breathe up against them, saying, 'wisdom, faith and courage, don't question, accept and give thanks' and that's exactly what I did. Later that night I was sitting in the pub eating supper and the local band played a melancholy love song about a lost love and the impact of the music on my heart almost drove me to my knees. I struggled to stand and went upstairs to bed and for the first time, I cried for Matt. My mother, always the protective lioness that she is, followed me. All I could feel was a body and scent I recognized so I grabbed onto her and held on hard while I cried. I guess my mother settled me in bed because the next morning I woke up and she was sleeping next to me. I got up so as not to wake her and for the first time I felt great. I was as if a heavy rain had come and cleansed my mind and soul. I took a shower and came out and make fun of my mother for getting old and needing to sleep in. She jumped up and grabbed me and we hugged, laughed and danced around the room. We caught up with the rest of the family and had a great time and every year after that trip we make it a yearly ritual to all go on a family vacation, sometimes friends come as well. This year, actually next month, we're going on a two week cruise to the Caribbean."

"That's w?wonderful Tress, you m?must be very close to your family to enjoy the vacations so much," Bryg said somewhat sorrowful.

"I am but the important thing that came out of that trip was that nothing, career or time, would ever be more important than family and friends. When we got back I arranged for an appointment with a grief counselor and he helped me to realize that Matt loved me and wouldn't have wanted me to feel this way. That he would have wanted me to be happy. The counselor said that I should celebrate his life and honor his memory by focusing on family and friends and helping others. He said that every day you should reach out, hold someone's hand, give them a warm hug or just a friendly pat on the back and that we had the power to change others lives, for better or worse. I chose better by living life to the fullest, enjoying the little pleasures and as the old man said, not to be stingy about faith, family and friends."

Bryg continued to look at her struck by the sincerity of her words.

"So every opportunity I have to help others I take it because at any given moment our lives may change and while we're here we can smile and listen and care. After several sessions I was ready to do the thing I thought I could not. My parents accompanied me to Oklahoma City and we laid flowers on the chair set up for Matt at the Memorial to the victims. It was the first time I'd been there and leaning on my parents for support, instead of being sad I was happy and thanked those on high for giving me the opportunity to have had Matt in my life and blessed them for making me better because of him. And then I heard a whisper in my ear, a man's voice this time, soft that said, 'live well, laugh often, love much'."

Bryg glanced up at her then smiled, "D?do you think it was Matt?"

"The voice was too soft to be sure, but I believe that it was." She glanced at Bryg who was deep in thought. "I know, it sounds crazy?"

Bryg quickly interrupted her, "No," she said adamantly, "no," her voice softened, "I?I d?don't, I think it sounds j?just right. Th?thanks for sharing it w?with me."


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


They both walked wordlessly for several minutes listening to the waves and watching the gulls circle above then Bryg broke the silence, "You k?know what the old man said."

Tress looked at her. "About not questioning, just accept and give thanks."

Tress nodded and Bryg continued, "My m?mom used to tell us the s?same thing." She looked down at the sand as she breathed in, then brought her head up as she breathed out, as if a decision had been reached, "Her m?aiden name was O'Neill. It's o?one of the oldest names in Ireland and d?dates back to the f?first ruling family of Tara," she looked at Tress, "I assume J?John told you have d?difficulty being around people because I can f?feel what they feel."

"Yeah, he told me," Tress said noticing the stammering was almost gone and smiled comforted that Bryg was feeling more at ease around her.

"Y?you know it's great if they're feeling good but mostly I seem to pick up the b?bad feelings, the anger, f?fears and resentments, that's w?why I've pretty much secluded myself from others except Ash, Pete, her husband and my niece and nephew. B?because of that," Bryg replied shyly, "I've been d?described as w?well-guarded, quiet and independent, silently resistive, re?remote, unreadable, intro?spective, introverted, unfriendly and just plain weird," she recited.

"I remember someone once saying that, sometimes what we regard as limitations are actually the qualities that are the person's greatest strength and we resent them because that's not what we want them to have, that the danger lies in that we will not accept them as they are but try to make them over as we want them to be." She paused while Bryg thought about the words. "Whoever shunned you lost a great deal in doing so and it was their loss Bryg not yours, you have to be who you were meant to be or it would damage the rhythm of life." She looked over at her, "About this gift, do you feel everyone?"

Bryg nodded, "My sister d?didn't get any of it only myself and my m?mother. She taught me some ways to block out others and I've also taken martial arts to learn to c?control my thoughts, they work if I practice. My mother believed strongly in the ancient Irish traditions and said they would have called us awenyddian, or inspired one. She said the imbas forosna, the tradition of inspiration, ran in her mother's side of the family as far back as she could remember and that it should always be seen as a gift and used to help others." Bryg laughed, "She said that in ancient times we would have been revered and honored within the clan, provided food and given the best house, maybe I should tell the tax collector, huh?"

She heard Tress mumble, "No respect."

They had reached what you would think would have been the southern most end of the island but it was really the eastern most because it faced the causeway and bay. The area was deserted and Bryg led the way out on the short wooden pier and leaning on the railing looked out at the ocean, "Do you b?believe that certain p?places have the power to affect us?"

Tress nodded as she glanced between the water and Bryg as listened as she continued, "This place is close to my heart. W?we came here for f?family vacations for several years while growing up and I?I never forgot it. The w?waves roll in with a rhythm, as if it were the p?pulse of the planet, the m?movements of the water always soothe my soul."

"I understand exactly, it's close to my heart too. We also came for family vacations and it is the one place my soul can be at peace. There's an old traditional Irish song that talks about taking your footsteps with you, that's how I feel about this place," Tress said turning to lean back against the railing and look up at the lighthouse.

"It was built in 1884," Tress explained as Bryg too turned, "is over 100 feet tall and still in use although it's now automated. The lookout tower just south of here, "she pointed with her hand, "was built during WWII, the lighthouse wasn't used then because of the 'dimout' not to mention it blinded the lookouts. In 1949, after it became automated and unmanned, it was taken over by the U.S. Department of the Interior but is now owned by the city. The grounds are open to the public but the lighthouse and keepers house are private and lived in by city employees. The first town was built on this end, if your interested I'm sure we can find out more from the Chamber of Commerce or the Historical Society."

"I'd like that, I've always liked lighthouses. Th?there's one close to my house although it's much different from this. It's about as old, but started as a stone tower about a third tall as this one and was later replaced by a metal tower about two thirds as tall, it's not operational but it's open to the public as a museum, I like going there."

Tress didn't say anything waiting for Bryg to continue, "it's in upper Michigan, the farthest north you can go, on the Keweenaw Peninsula, a small town called Copper Harbor. It's somewhat of a small tourist town with many local artisans and scenery, in many ways like Sanibel, I live about ten miles outside of town. My house in on the shore facing Lake Superior and it reminds me of this only the water there is much rougher and instead of searching the beaches for seashells you search for rocks."

"Rocks?"

"U.P., to the locals, upper peninsula, for the rest, has the best rock collecting area in the U.S., rocks like agate, hematite, quartz, tourmaline and others. They can be very beautiful just like a shell is," she paused, "only rounder and harder, anyway, it's quiet and calm and I need that to write. I have to have absolute seclusion when working, it's a habit since school, any interruptions and I lose my train of thought, sorta like you with your condo."

Tress nodded in understanding.

Bryg turned facing the water and at the same time faced her fear and decided to do the thing she thought she could not, she began to talk about Ash and her parents, "Ashlyn and I are identical twins except I now wear glasses and she has a red birthmark on her foot, from the forceps my mom said. She was born a few seconds before me and said she always had to watch out for me because she was the oldest. Besides Ash I have a half-brother named Richard, he didn't like my mother, nor Ash or I much. His mother died in childbirth and my father married my mother when Richard was five. He's now married, some kind of international attorney and lives in New York but we don't have much contact."

She took a deep breath, "When I was in first grade I wrote my first book, was told I had a mature style, identified as being gifted and put into special programs which segregated me from the rest of the kids. I got along with people socially but never really had any close friends but Ash. She was very popular in school and I sorta rode along on her coattails. I graduated high school in three years, and college in five with a masters and PhD. My first book was published the year after I graduated."

"Wow," Tress said.

"I f..felt it you know," Bryg said her voice quivering in sadness, the stammering increasing and as she wrung her hands, Tress braced herself knowing what she was about to say, "th?they were visiting N?New York. Richard's offices were in the World Trade Center, he asked my parents to see him, that it was important so they went. They didn't say why." She spoke in short sentences, taking a slight pause between, as if to talk of it in one breath would be too much for her. "I f?felt their pain. It was sh?short, just a few moments or so, but I f..felt a b?bone ch?illing c?cold tingling d?deep in me, so much it dro?drove me to my knees and I started coughing and choking. I was on the floor when the phone rang and woke me up, I must have p?passed out." Tress could see tears dripping down her face. "It was Ash, telling me what hap?pened and all I could say was, "I know." She looked at Tress, "Ash knew of my gift and just said to come home. I l?left for Chicago that day."

Tress' throat tightened and her eyes blinked back tears and she put her hand on Bryg's forearm, squeezed, then let go and turned sideways so she could watch her as she spoke.

Bryg took a deep breath as if to steady herself and continued the stammering decreasing as she talked, "I'm afraid I h?handled their death quite badly, to be truthful, I f?fell apart. I attended the memorial service then returned home and isolated myself from everyone including Ashlyn and the few friends I had at home. I'?I'm not really sure what happened but almost four weeks later I woke up in the intensive care unit of the Mayo Clinic with Ashlyn sitting by the bed. She explained later when I was coherent that she'd received a phone call from my neighbor and friends Rose and Jason Tremaine who said that an ambulance had come and taken me and after a few days not hearing from anyone they called making sure everything was all right. Ash was shocked and had no idea what had happened but started making some calls and found the private ambulance and that a man identifying himself as Richard O'Malley, my half brother, had a court order from a Louisiana judge making him my temporary guardian and giving him durable power of attorney. He said I required hospitalization for attempted suicide after the death of my parents and was taking me to a private clinic in Louisiana called RidgePointe." She looked at Tress, "I never attempted suicide after they died, Tress, I never would give up, I just wanted you to know."

Tress nodded and brushed her arm against Bryg's lending support, "Ash said after checking with the local authorities and finding out it was legal, the ambulance service came out to the house. They said I put up a fuss, arguing with them that he was not my guardian, and wanting to call Ash, but they told her Richard restrained me, saying I was hysterical and insisted they sedate me and then insisted I be put in a strait jacket. They felt it was strange but after all I was hysterical and they were afraid of me hurting myself more than Richard so they complied. Right after she hung up with the ambulance service, she received a call from John Watson saying that he'd heard from Richard wanting to know my financial status and that he had faxed him a court order from a local county judge in Louisiana giving him durable power of attorney. Ash said she was livid and told John that Richard had no right to control my medical care or financial decisions, she had a copy of my trust written years before listing her then Pete, the kids and finally the trust company as my Durable Power of Attorney and that it was irrevocable and how Richard had gotten that court order was beyond her understanding. John agreed and knew the stipulations for he too had a copy that's why he called to tell Ash, to let her know he would not release any information and would track down the exact location of RidgePointe."

"Ash contacted Max Goldman, the U.S. Circuit Judge in Chicago, who called his friend, Sarah Walker, the U.S. Circuit Judge over Louisiana who issued a document releasing me into Ash and Pete's custody. They flew down to Louisiana and with two circuit court officers and the local FBI agent arrived at RidgePointe a week after I'd been committed. At first, Ash said they refused to release me but when they produced a search warrant they told them I was no longer there but at the local hospital. I'd had an ac?accident, they said. When asked about Richard they said they hadn't seen him since I was committed. Ash found me in the local hospital, surprisingly enough one that had a good trauma center. Once Ash and Pete found me they insisted on transferring me to Mayo and under the care of their friends Dr. Gloria Bayless, a neurologist, and her husband Ian, the head of the psychiatric unit so Ash hired an air-ambulance and had me flown directly there. She was trying to spare me but after I woke up at Mayo, I hurt all over, had a terrific headache, found my head shaved and my face so sore on the right side I could hardly talk. Ash said I had been in a coma from a skull fracture, that surgery had been performed to release the pressure and they had to shave my head," she reached up and ran her fingers through her hair," her hand shook as she settled it back down on the railing and looked out at the water, "she also said I had been r?raped, repeat?repeatedly, while there and had been under so much med?medication it's a wonder I s?survived."

She took a deep breath and took a moment before continuing to watch a pelican dive into the water grabbing for a fish, "T?they think that I must have b?been able to f?fight back on the last attack and was either b?beaten or slam?slammed into a hard object causing the i?injury to my f?face, that's where the s?scar's from," she reached up and unconsciously rubbed it as she finished, "J?John probably t?told you the stam?stammering's f?from th?that too, so's the seizure's and some op?optic nerve damage in m?my r?right eye, that's w?why I need glasses. T?The migraines I've h?had since a kid." Both hands reached down and tightened hard around the railing as she took several breaths.

Tress stood by, anger and revenge filling every crack in her soul as she felt Bryg's hurt. She was surprised by the amount of emotions that had flooded her system and even more surprised by her apparent inability to control it. She prized herself on her control regardless of the circumstances, but her fists and jaw clenched as she fought to control her body's reactions to what Brig just told her.

Bryg finally noticed Tress' anger and then Bryg thought about the bloody nose, getting her blood on Tress and the vomit, "I?, I'm cl?clear," Bryg said.

"What?" Tress replied tightly not hearing her correctly.

"I'm cl?clear," she repeated, "m..my bl?blood, I h?had a test at Mayo and then another s?six months later. I?I haven't had any relationships with anyone, it's clear."

Tress looked at her quizzically.

"I th?thought that's why your up?upset, my?my blood," she paused and swallowed, "on?on you, my vomit, I?I'm n?not con?contagious or anything."

Tress smiled warmly at her, "No," she breathed out, "that's not what bothered me, in fact it hadn't really entered my mind but I'm glad you're all right. I?" she paused and forced control, "I just don't like what happened to you," she took a deep breath, "what happened to that asshole that hurt you?"

Bryg felt relieved, "They said that there wasn't en?enough evidence to charge him. He said I?I encouraged him," her voice trailed off, "and I couldn't re?remember, I don't think I did anything."

"You didn't," Tress replied strongly, "rape is an act of power over the victim, it's not about sex."

"That's w?what Ash said, but R?richard said w..what was d?done was done and we should keep this quiet, they got into an argument, Ash blamed it all on him and told him s?stay out of this and we would do what I wanted. I really just wanted to be left alone. Ash tried to talk me into f?filing chares but eventually realized that I w?would just be hurt more if we did."

Tress tightened her hands again rubbing her thumb against her first finger and muttered, "Bastard."

Bryg nodded and Tress looked up at her as she continued, "that's also what Ash said about him and I agree. W?what he did angers me because it's hard for me to believe that anyone would do that to someone else but truthfully I don't remember. The m?medication they gave me kept me so far under I have no true memories of my being taken there much l?less what happened. The records from RidgePointe said that I was diagnosed with bi-polar disease and placed on heavy sedation. They also gave me several sh?shock treatments but," she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head side to side, "Dr. Bayless re-diagnosed me with depression and placed me on antidepressants and c?counseling. I was taken off the antidepressants six months ago but still see the counselor sometimes, mostly by phone."

"Has it helped you remember?" Tress noticed the stammering was lessening again.

"S?sometimes at night in my dreams I'll see something and it will trig?trigger a response, that's why I take the Xanax. Even when they talked about it and told me what happened it felt in my mind that it was happening to someone else, not me. Gloria th?thinks I may remember someday but even she's not sure. She called it 'suppressed memory', your mind protects you from the pain until you're ready and able to handle it. I th?ink they're l?.locked a?away in a s?secret place," the used her forefinger to point at her temple, "b?but if they g?get f?free, I?I'm afraid there might not be anything l?left of me."

"Sure there will," Tress assured her, "you will be left, the courage will be there when you need it, you had it then and you have it now cause you never give up, you keep trying. I read somewhere that the most beautiful stones have been tossed by the wind and washed by the waters and polished to brilliance by life's strongest storms."

"How does that hap?happen Tress?" Bryg asked.

"One day at a time Bryg," Tress looked at her, "you might need more therapy and maybe some medication but you'll survive and no matter what don't stop writing."

Bryg glanced at her.

"Words are important whether said by us, seen by us or told to us, they motivate and inspire, like your words, or beat us down, but words endure. Words tell a lot about a person and from what I've read of yours so far and from the titles of your books, they're all written about people who've used their mind, heart and soul to become powerful forces that shaped history and most importantly survived against what seemed like insurmountable odds. You couldn't write the way you do if you didn't believe or have that truth within yourself, that power to never give up, to believe in the impossible and whether you believe it or not the power to survive, something we both share."

Bryg smiled shyly, "You're not going to say that line from 'Steel Magnolias', about 'that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Tress chuckled, "No, actually I was going to say that one must never for any reason turn their back on life."

"Eleanor Roosevelt?"

"What can I say, I'm a fan, you really should write a book about her and since you mentioned that other line, it's true as well. We all need a little help sometimes but in the end we fight and we survive. When bad things happen, it can either tear us apart or pull us closer together, the first way shuts out life and the other allows us to hold life close and give us strength. The last way is harder but by taking that path it challenges us to become better, it's like opening a door and all you have to do is walk through and when you do you find out you can do anything, anything you want," she paused for a moment, "I don't believe in coincidence, Bryg, I believe that everything happens for a reason, it's something important we had to go through, something we had to learn, to become the person we are today, the person we were meant to be. We may not always be able to choose the destination, but we always have choices in the journey. Sometimes things take hold of our lives and it isn't for us to know or understand and with all that's occurred and all I've just heard, I keep returning to what that old man and your mother said, many things can't be questioned or judged, they must be accepted and given thanks for."

Bryg nodded in understanding, "Well, one good thing did come out of what happened or bad depending on how you look at it, afterwards my empathic abilities improved and strengthened." She turned to Tress, "when I was better they tested me and found and I quote, 'increased mental processing and a heightened acuteness of all senses'. My PSI scores are in the 85th percentile with empathic, psycho-kinesis, and psychometric abilities as areas of strength, clairvoyance and telepathy are higher than average and not as developed as the others."

"So you can get information about others thoughts and feelings," Tress asked her, "you feel them?"

Bryg nodded, "Sometimes people call it 'ESP', 'parapsychology', 'second sight' or 'third eye'," she lowered her head for a moment then looked back at Tress, "before the accident Copper Harbor was my retreat, my isolation, like Sanibel is yours and I had a condo near Ash outside of Chicago and while living there I could block out most of the thoughts but afterwards, there were just too many voices and feelings," she paused for a moment, "too many bad ones I couldn't stop so I moved to Michigan permanently. Copper Harbor was isolated and quiet, mentally and physically. I only allowed myself to feel what was important to me, like Ash, that's how I know she's alive."

"Tell me what happened," Tress mused very intrigued.

Bryg looked at her and searched out her feelings, Tress' easy acceptance of what she said seemed too good to be true. "You be?lieve me?" Bryg asked tentatively.
"Before the trip to Ireland I would have been skeptical to say the least, but now, I'm pretty much open to other perceptions. After all I've seen and experienced, good and bad, the one thing I've learned is that you think with your head but always go with your heart, what you feel deep down inside is usually the right thing," Tress replied.

Bryg smiled and looked out at the water, "Six weeks ago I was hiking near my home and felt a familiar dread, it?it took my breath away, I?I felt angry and scared at the same time and would have fallen if not for a convenient rock. It was almost a year to the day that it had happened be?fore so I raced home and saw the message light blinking on the machine. I c?could barely hit the play button. It was Pete telling me that A?Ash was missing, that she'd been kid?napped from the mall parking lot. I'd just left Chicago the day before, celebrating with them my winning the Pulitzer and now she was gone, just like my parents. Witnesses saw two men, in a white van, drive up to her as she was walking to the car and grab her. They were both wearing masks and the license plates had been removed."

"I don't know how I did it but I grabbed some clothes, drove to the airport and caught the next flight to Chicago. The police searched for a week but with no leads told Pete that there was nothing more they could do and turned it over to the FBI and after the second week, they too couldn't find any evidence or leads. They assured us they'd keep searching but if nothing turned up in the first 72 hours the chances are she wasn't a?ali?live. I refused to believe it so Pete and I hired a private detective," she saw Tress' head perk up, "not yours, but after ten days they told him they couldn't find anything more. Pete was near collapse and told me that he wouldn't give up the search for her but it seemed hopeless and didn't know what else to do."

She turned to Tress, "I told him he needed to stay with his kids, they needed him and I'd continue to search. I think that me being her identical twin wasn't helping either," she paused and looked at the water, "I had all my guards down in trying to help find her and every time he saw me all I could feel was loss and disappointment because I wasn't her. All through this regardless of what anyone said, I felt she was still alive," she looked back at Tress, "when I concentrated I could almost reach out to her, seeing her in a dark, place, cold but alive. Then I received a phone call."

Tress listened intently to what Bryg said next. "Allen Carr, a writer I'd given a phone interview to several years ago called. My message service took it and forwarded it to me, something about a pornographic photo of me. I called him back and he wondered if I was that poor I had to pose in the nude. I asked him what he was talking about I'd never posed in the nude. He said it was me all right, even down to the red birthmark on my foot," she looked at Tress, "that's when I knew it was Ash."

Tress eyes asked the question, "I asked him where he'd seen the photo and said he'd tell me if I gave him a phone interview. I agreed and he told me it was in a local art gallery in Atlanta called Prime Shots. So, I hung up on him, got the next flight to Atlanta and rented a car, the Explorer. I had to have the Xanax filled. It was hard on me. The only places I'd been in over a year had been Chicago or Michigan, but I had to do this, Ash's life was at stake as well as part of my own. When I reached the gallery it was pretty low class. The gallery owner was there and recognized me as the subject of the photo. I told him I'd like to buy my picture but he said it was already sold. I asked who bought it but he said his clientele were confidential. I then asked him who did the piece and he said I should know so I lied and told him I'd posed for it several years ago and the negatives were sold and I'd just landed a big reoccurring role on a new TV show and needed to find the picture and those prints. He asked what show and I made something up figuring he wouldn't know. He then told me a name, Jonathan Franklin, out of Premier Galleries, Miami Beach."

"Good cover story, then what happened?" Tress said totally absorbed in the story and in investigation mode.

"I drove to the Atlanta FBI office and told them the story of Ash's kidnapping and what I'd found out. They said they'd investigate the gallery and forward the information to Miami, they told me to wait until they called. After three days I called and an agent told me they were still investigating and were waiting for word from the Miami office and they'd call me. After another three days I'd lost patience, I could have driven to Miami and back by then so I went back to the FBI office and confronted the agent I'd talked to. He said they needed more time and to go home until they called, when I wouldn't leave he said they didn't have time to track down every crackpot's lead on a missing person case that wasn't even in their district. There was no picture and the gallery owners denied everything I'd said. He told me to take my medicine, finish my counseling and go home, that they'd contact her husband if anything turned up."

She straightened up, "I called Pete and told him what I'd found out and to see if they could do anything from his end, maybe the private investigator, he said he'd try but sounded lost too. I...I know something isn't right Tress, for the last six weeks, I've been having dreams, ghostlike images of women, not Ash, some bleeding some screaming, drowning in rivers of blood, sometimes they were quiet voices whispering in her mind, other times they reach out for me, grabbing, crying and begging for help, white scarves flutter around my body while notes with red and white lettering rain down from the sky. Sometimes I wake up with a migraine sometimes not but they didn't start until Ash disappeared so I'm sure their connected. I read somewhere that the native Indians would go off to a place they felt had power and used drugs to reach another level of consciousness where they would have visions, so I drove and wound up here. I thought that the medication was stopping my mind from reaching Ash and seeing her clearly so I stopped taking it except for the Xanax and drank hoping it would quiet my mind, I know, don't roll your eyes but I didn't know what else to try or who to turn to, sh?she's n?not d?dead Tress, I j?just k?know it."

After a long pause Tress broke the silence, "I remember a poem from school by someone named Henley called Invitess, Invotive,?."

"Invictus," Bryg interrupted, "William E. Henley, I t?taught it to a c?class," her voice changed to a recitation, "Out of the night that covers me, black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chances, my head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears, looms but the horror of the shade, and yet the menace of the years, finds, and shall find me, unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my?," her voice trailed off and she looked at Tress out of the corner of her eye and whispered the last word of the poem, "soul."

"Spirits bend Bryg," Tress said, "but they never break and aren't impossible to repair, with help."

"You'd help me Tress?" Bryg asked in surprise as if someone like Tress would actually believe her.

"Sure, I'm up for the challenge if you are," Tress said, "besides, I only knew the last two sentences of that poem so," she admitted, "we already make a good team, I start it."

Bryg completed her sentence, "and I finish it."

They both laughed. "But seriously Bryg, I must warn you, I come with a large attached loving family, a mother who I believe is psychic concerning anything that I try to get away with and I've been described with the same terms as you only add loud, arrogant, bossy, demanding and sarcastic. My mother said after she read your book on Emily that if I had lived in the 1800's it would have been said I was wary of acquaintances or attachments outside of my family and a few close friends. I myself prefer the image of aloofness, a calm, cool demeanor that gives the impression that nothing bothers me, but," she said aside, "actually I'm pretty transparent most times."

"Then that gives us something in common," Bryg said smiling, "it's a deal then, do?do we sha?shake on it?" she hesitantly extended her hand.

Tress smiled, "One condition, we have to make sure we laugh every day can you handle that?" Tress said her hand wrapping around Bryg's, noticing they seemed to mold around each other and felt her hand warm as well as the pendants against her chest.

Bryg felt the truth flow through her arm, up her back until it hit the back of her neck, the touch bringing calm and comfort and it seemed to travel down every nerve ending in her body and for the first time in five weeks Bryg felt hope.

Tress seemed to feel Bryg's pain and sorrow and realized that it somehow mirrored her own and resolved that she would 'nay be stingy' in helping her. They did a quick up and down shake sealing the deal and both felt a sense of familiarity and comfort, like the hug from an old friend, and at that moment against the background of a Sanibel Island sunset a silent bond was forged.

Tress released her hand to smash a mosquito, "Let's get back, these mosquitoes are getting big enough to carry me off besides I'm hungry, how about we call for an 'Island Pizza' delivery?"

"Will you let me read the stories from Ireland?" Bryg asked, "I know some from my mother, but not all the ones you mentioned."

"Sure," Tress said and as they walked up the beach she pointed out the constellations and the stars. "It's the best place here for star gazing, they don't allow bright lights here because of the turtles so the island is dark and night and the sky puts on a magnificent show."

She looked at Bryg, "You know I heard of an old saying that perhaps the stars aren't planets at all, but openings where our loved ones look down on us to show us that they are happy. I like to choose to believe that."
Bryg looked up and the night sky, adjusted her glasses and smiled, "I like that, thanks Tress."

"Just wait till you eat this pizza, then you'll really thank me," Tress replied.

"I don't know, Chicago pizzas are pretty good," Bryg asked.

"You'll see," Tress said as they walked up the beach back to the condo, both feeling lighter somehow and filled with a new sense of purpose.


Continued in Part 2