BRIMSTONE
VS Episode #208
"Unchained Memories"
Written by Joel Rauch



Rosalyn Stone looked around the crowded terminal.  She was at JFK 
International Airport, back in New York City for the first time since 
1984, the year after Ezekiel had died in the line of duty as a New York 
City police officer.  

Her mother, Susan King, was there waiting for her.  Also a 
policeman’s widow, Mrs. King was in her seventies now.  One noticed the 
striking similarities between the mother and daughter.  

“Rosalyn!”

Roz caught her mother’s eye.  A warm smile blossomed on her face 
as she approached her mother. The two women embraced, forgetting the 
many years that had passed since their last encounter.  

Her mother summed the past with two simple words, “Welcome back.”  
						
				#

Ezekiel Stone looked at the ocean around him.  There was nothing to 
see.  He treaded water, trying to think.

He’d gotten innocent people killed again.  Cybil was dead, shot 
in the head by Apollo Law.  He’d been too trusting again.  Maybe he’d 
have to start getting blood samples from people before he turned his 
back on them.  

Ellsworth Trace, AKA Henry Morgan had been sent back to Hell.  
His crew was dead; Cybil had executed them before he could stop her.  
He understood, hell, he’d done the same thing.  

It was sad though, thinking of her in Hell.  She’d seemed like a 
nice woman, before she got involved with a damned soul.  It appeared he 
wouldn’t get to keep the car like she’d promised him. Looking back, he 
wondered if it had been a bribe, something so he would keep his mouth 
shut when she executed the men.  Realizing he was near the place her 
body had gone down, he wondered if he was swimming in her blood.  

Ezekiel swam towards the wreckage of the Pride of the Yankees.  
Maybe there would be something that he could use as a flotation device.  
His wet clothes dragged at him, beckoning him to visit Neptune’s 
palace.  He kicked away his shoes, and undid his coat.  The latter was 
slightly more difficult, and he fell beneath the surface as he removed 
his greatcoat.

There was a brief, panicked moment before he recalled that he was 
already dead. Oxygen was not strictly required for him.  There were 
many psychological benefits of it, and he tore his way back to the 
surface.  

The ocean was slick with oil where the Pride of the Yankees had 
lowered its flag for the final time.  Stone searched through the 
flotsam, rejecting a tube of lip balm and an aerosol can of hair spray.  
He selected a single wooden oar that had surfaced.  Careful 
experimentation revealed that he could straddle the oar, and force the 
buoyancy of the blade to support some of his weight.  

“Ezekiel,” spoke a calm voice.  The timbre was familiar, but the 
tone was not as harsh and grating as the voice of his constant 
tormentor.  He paddled sideways, turning to see the Angel who looked 
down upon him.

The Angel again wore the form of Ezekiel’s employer, and a white 
outfit that contrasted sharply with the Devil’s taste in dark colors.  
The oddest feature was the warm, comforting smile.  It was the 
mannerism that allowed Ezekiel to deduce the cosmic alignment of the 
archangel now addressing him.

“Ezekiel,” the Angel repeated, “have faith.  Everything is but a 
test for you. This may seem hopeless, but do not despair.”

“I’m in the middle of the Go-... gosh-darned ocean,” Stone 
complained, editing his words but not the hostility in his voice.  
“Innocent people are dead.  I don’t think I have what it takes.”

“You are heaven’s choice to return the damned souls who walk the 
earth.  We were very pleased when my Brother finally selected you.  
Don’t give up.”

Stone watched the water beneath the Angel’s feet as he considered 
this.  “Can you help me?” he asked. 

The Angel’s face turned down at Ezekiel’s request.  “I can’t take 
you to the shore.  All I can do is remind you that you are doing good 
work, and to keep at it.”

“A life raft would help me ‘keep at it.’” 

“Hmm...,” the Angel considered, “Does this help?”

The sun changed, dipping lower into the sky.  The temperature of 
the water increased, and he realized there was a concrete wall only a 
few feet in front of him.  He swam towards it, when another swimmer 
surfaced in front of him.

Roz wiped the water from her eyes.  Ezekiel watched in amazement 
as he looked around again.  This was her mother’s swimming pool, and 
this was 1981, not long after they were married.  Roz’s mother, Susan, 
had been out of town, and had asked them to look in on her house. 
Somehow they had ended up in the pool.

Roz splashed him, a mischievous look on her face.  With a broad 
stroke, he reached forward to grab at her arm.  She shrieked playfully, 
and pulled toward the wall.  He followed her, trapping her against the 
wall with his arms.  She floated there, watching him.  Their eye 
contact held for several eons.  

Clothes fell to the bottom of the oasis as Roz wrapped her legs 
around him. “Make us a child,” she whispered.  Their bodies became one 
in the fading sunlight.  

He moved against her in the ancient rhythm.  She moaned, and bit 
at his shoulder, leaving a brief imprint on his otherwise unmarred 
skin.  He cried out in pain and shock as he realized that her hair 
color had changed.  Her hair was blonde now, and he jerked back to 
catch a glimpse of Ash’s face before the water hit him in the face.

“Daydreaming, Mr. Stone?” inquired his boss.  The Devil floated 
in front of him, his mane of hair covered by a rubber cap.  He wore a 
two piece swimming outfit that was extremely conservative. “You seem to 
be getting very friendly with that oar,” he said as he chuckled.

Stone stared at the Devil.  “Just out for a swim?”

“Just checking in on you.  You seem to be stranded.”

“You don’t have a speedboat for sale, or something like that, do 
you?”

“For $36.27?  I don’t think so.  I must say, Mr. Stone, I was 
pretty impressed with how you were lured out here.  Never saw it 
coming, did you?” The Devil chuckled.  “What was your friend’s name?”

“Apollo Law, as you well know.  What was he in hell for?”

“I really can’t say.  Perhaps if you could show me the tattoo of 
his name, I could help you.”

“Look, let’s not play games.  If you want me to send him back, 
help me follow him.”

The King of Kidders smiled, and directed Ezekiel’s attention 
behind him. 

Ezekiel turned his head, and saw a bright yellow life raft there, 
about five meters away.  He swam towards it, not looking back.

After a moment, he stopped.  The raft still appeared five meters 
away.  He tried again to swim to it, but again, his efforts provided no 
results.  He turned back to where he had left the Devil behind him.  
His boss floated there, an innocent smile on his face.  

“Another one of your tricks?” he demanded.

“We have a deal, Ezekiel,” the Devil replied.  “Strict quid pro 
quo, nothing more.  You send back the damned, and I give you a second 
chance at life.  Nothing in our arrangement that says I have to help 
you out.”  

Stone glared at him as he treaded water.  “How about this: I am 
declaring a mayday.  By international law, you have to render 
assistance.”

“What do you want, the shirt off my back?  What you see is what I 
got.”  The Devil raised an arm up.  “As you can see, there's nothing 
up my sleeve.”  

There was silence for a moment, as Ezekiel watched the Devil’s 
malevolent smile.  He recalled the Angel’s words.  If this was a test, 
he’d better get at it, rather than wasting time bargaining with the 
Devil.  

“It’s about three or so,” Ezekiel explained.  “The sun rises in 
the east and sets in the west. So if I keep the sun at my back, the 
shore is that way.”  

Without waiting for a response, Stone struck out towards the 
shore.  The Devil watched him go. 

The life raft, if it was ever really there, disappeared into a 
fine dust.  
						
				#

Rosalyn looked over New York City as they drove north on the Van Wyck
Expressway.  It was the sight of home.  For years, she had turned her 
back on the city.  The city had waited for her faithfully, waited for 
the day they would be reunited.  And the patience had paid off, because 
she had returned.

She was home.

Roz unchained the memories she had held back and wept. 



	I was a cop...
	Then my wife was raped.
	I caught the guy who did it, and I killed him.
	(Bang, bang, bang)
	Two months later I died.
	I went to hell.
			(Evil laughter)
	113 of the most vile creatures escaped.
			They think they’ll beat the Devil.
			Nobody beats me.
	So, how am I supposed to send them back?
			The eyes are windows to the soul.
			Destroy the eyes, and the damned get a 
			one-way ticket back home to Hell.
			But it’s not hell you should be scared of...
			It’s losing your second chance of life on
			earth.
	Time to give the Devil his due.



ACT ONE


In 1875, more than 100 years before Detective Ezekiel Stone was 
killed in the line of duty, Captain Matthew Webb became the first 
person to swim the English Channel.  It was a feat that stood unequaled 
for more than 35 years.  He spent more than 21 hours in the chilly 
water, weighed down by his woolen swimwear. 

In the Pacific, Ezekiel swam on.  The sun was setting in a 
glorious ball of fire behind him.  His journey was monotonous, but 
somehow fulfilling.  He needed no help to complete this test; he would be 
able to do it on his own.

The passing hours left him alone with his thoughts.  His first 
destination on land would be to visit Father Horn’s parish.  Besides 
warning him about the damned soul in the neighborhood, Father Horn 
should know where Apollo Law could be found.  

Apollo had fooled him.  Ever since his encounters with Delilah 
Ash, he had tried to be suspicious of people that he came across. But 
finding Apollo Law in a church had made him lower his guard. It had 
carried a high price.  Five other people were dead, three by Apollo’s 
hand.

His thoughts flashed back to Cybil.  He should have seen the 
violence that lay just underneath the surface of her calm, controlled 
exterior.  And a very lovely exterior it was.  The first thing he’d 
noticed when he first saw her was her naked body.  

It had been a long time since he had been with a woman, and an 
even longer time since he had been with any woman except Roz.  His 
steamy liaison with Ash has done nothing to sooth the urges that had 
built up over the last sixteen years.  

Ash wanted to have his baby.  She’d hinted at the apocalyptic 
results she intended with a child.  She claimed to love him, although 
she’d tried to have him killed the last time they’d met.  

This had been just a few days after his encounter with Ash when 
she was masquerading as Barry Ceniza.  Ash had ordered one of her 
minions, Cassandra, to kill him.  Cassandra Reynolds had been a rogue 
angel who had joined Ash in her war against God.  Lukas, another angel 
sent to track her down, had suggested there were others that had joined 
Ash’s quest.  So far, no others had crossed his path, unless Apollo Law 
turned out to be one.  

What had the devil asked?  Show me his tattoo and I might be able 
to help you? Was that a clue, could Apollo Law be another of Ash’s 
angels, a supernatural creature not on his list?  

It all came back to trust.  Mentally, he began a list.  Father 
Horn, of course. When Skaras attacked his church, he’d seen the blood.  
Gina Brayker, a policeman’s widow just like Roz.  Then there was 
Thurston Bristol, Sheriff Valis, and Detective Kane, three thousand 
miles away.  And of course the two lovely ladies of the hotel industry, 
Maxine and Samantha.  A short list.

Samantha had hinted her availability to him a few months ago.  
She was young, attractive, and talented.  Her CD, the one she had had 
autographed for him, was in Apollo’s boat.  He’d probably never see 
that again.  Too bad, he’d actually enjoyed her music. 

She’d done plenty to help him, just like her predecesor Maxine.  
He wondered how she was doing in Tibet, searching for inspiration for a 
new novel.  He pictured her backpacking through the countryside, 
enjoying the nightlife in the cities, observing and enjoying the native 
culture but always retaining her unique perspective on life.  He 
wondered if he would ever see her again.

Stone kept swimming.  
						
				#

Roz sat on the porch swing, holding a glass of lemonade.  Her mother 
always made the best lemonade.  This house held so many memories, most 
of them peaceful.  

Susan King sat in a wicker chair.  “It’s good to see you in this 
house again.”

“It’s been too long.”  Roz looked around the verdant lawn.  The 
trees were all taller than she remembered.  “Much too long,” she 
echoed. 

“The Millers would like to take us out to dinner while you are 
here.”  The Millers were the King’s next door neighbors, and had been 
since the year Kennedy was elected.

“That would be great,” Roz said enthusiastically.

“They’ve also invited us to cookout with them on Sunday 
afternoon.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

“So how are things going at school?”

“The kids grow up so fast.  It seems like I just began teaching, 
and some of my students are high school graduates already.”

Susan smiled.  “Wait until you see Emily.  You won’t believe how 
much she’s grown.”  Emily was the Miller’s daughter.  “Are you seeing 
anyone?”

“Same old questions,” Roz said.  “No, I’m not, how about you?” 

“No, but Regis Philben looks pretty cute on that new game show.  
I could go for him.”  

The women laughed.  

Roz sipped her lemonade.  “Mom, do you still miss dad?”

Mrs. King’s smile faded.  “Of course, honey.  He’d be very proud 
of you, you know.”

“Thank you.  Were you,” she paused, “were you glad that the bank 
robber got killed?”

Hans King had been with the NYPD.  When Rosalyn had been a 
teenager, he was killed during a bank robbery.  “Your father was a good 
man, Rosalyn.  He didn’t believe in the death penalty. Personally, I’ve 
always taken comfort in the fact that the man who took your father from 
us is burning in Hell.”

“I’m going to visit Zeke’s murderer tomorrow,” Roz explained.  
“I’m not sure what I’m going to say to him.”

Mrs. King fell silent.  “Ask him if he’s sorry.”
						
				#

Attica State Prison seemed cold and sterile.  After several security 
checkpoints, Roz was finally directed to the visiting room.  “Number 
13,”the guard told her.

She sat in the plastic chair and waited.  The knot in her stomach 
was hard, causing a mild cramp there.  She was about to come face to 
face with Thomas Logan, the man convicted of her husband’s murder.  New 
York held many ghosts for her, and this was one of the most frightening.  

Logan sat down, his bright orange jumpsuit in sharp contrast to 
the dull colors that surrounded them.  He looked her up and down, 
focusing on her breasts.  A thin smile touched the corner of his mouth.  
He picked up the telephone receiver on his side of the Plexiglas 
barrier.  

Roz watched him for a moment.  His head was shaved, and there was 
a tattoo on the side of his neck.  She wasn’t able to see what it was.  
Several days of stubble marred his face, the dark color offsetting his 
cold gray eyes.  He stared back at her, waiting for her to speak.

Roz picked up the plastic phone.  “Thomas Logan?” she said, 
testing.

“Hey, baby,” Logan replied.  His crooked smile grew.  “Did 
Ralphie send you?”

“Who?  No, no one sent me.  Do you remember me?”

His leer turned to suspicion.  “It’s not mine,” he insisted.

Roz was confused.  This was not starting out how she had 
expected.  “What?” she asked.

“Look, even if the kid was mine, it’s not like you can get child 
support or anything from me.  I don’t have any money.”

“I was at your trial.  Ezekiel Stone was my husband.”  

Now it was Logan’s turn to look confused.  His friendly tone 
disappeared as he replied, “What do you want?”

“I want to know about the night in the alley.”

“What do you want to know?  The look on his face when he saw my 
gun?  He saw it coming, I know.  I could see it in his eyes, they got 
real wide.  Nothing he could do, he just accepted it.”  Logan licked 
his lips, watching Roz carefully for her reaction.  “I just unloaded on 
him.  Bang!” he yelled, laughing when she jumped.

Roz reached into her purse.   With shaking hands, she removed two 
pictures of Ezekiel.  One was taken when he graduated from the police 
academy, standing tall in his dress uniform.  The other was from their 
wedding, a more recent picture.  She pushed them against the glass.  
“Are you sure it was him?  Was this his face?”

“They matched my gun to his wounds.  Why?” Logan asked.  “Wait,” 
he said, leaning closer to the glass and lowering his voice.  “Is there 
new evidence?  Did they get the ID wrong?”

“Just look at the face.  Was this him?”

“Hey, what’s your name again?” Logan asked.

“Just tell me if you killed this man,” Roz repeated.

Logan took the receiver and rapped it against the barrier between 
them.  Roz jerked back.  Behind him, his action drew the attention of 
the guard.  “Did I kill him?  What do you think?” he said loudly, “I’ve 
been locked in this sinkhole for fifteen years.”

“Logan,” the guard said, “You’d better watch it.”

Logan ignored him.  “He was going to send me back to prison.  I 
had no choice; it was him or me.  I had to do it.”

Roz discovered a tear was carving a path down her cheek.  “Why?  
Why did you do it?”

“I told you, it was him or me,” Logan repeated, his voice still 
raised.  “If he’d been a better man, he’d still be alive, and I’d be 
the one pushing up daisies.”

“Last warning, Logan,” the guard repeated.  

“He was a good man,” Roz insisted.  “You took him away from me.”

Logan sneered.  “No such thing as a good cop.  To hell with him, 
and to hell with you.”  Logan rose from his chair, slamming the 
receiver down. 

“Wait,” called Roz, “Are you even sorry?”  Logan stared at her, 
unhearing through the barrier. “Are you even sorry?” she repeated, 
begging to know the answer to the question.

Logan walked away, returning to his life sentence.  
					
				#

There is an old riddle about a man who fell asleep in his home one 
night.  In the morning, everything looked the same, but while washing 
his face, he realized that he had been kidnapped.  How did he know?  As 
the water went down the drain, it swirled the wrong way.

Ocean currents are also largely determined by the Coriolis 
Effect.  In the Northern Hemisphere, the major currents rotate 
clockwise, opposite their Southern Hemisphere counterparts.  Along 
North America’s western coast, currents flow south, bringing the colder 
Alaskan water towards Mexico.

Upswelling is a process of Elkman transport, which dictates that 
water will move at roughly a right angle from the direction of the 
wind.  With the prevailing southern winds along the California coast, 
the warm surface water is pushed out to sea, forcing cold water from 
the ocean floor to rise and take its place.

The net effect of these phenomenona was to slow Ezekiel Stone’s 
journey ashore and move him even farther south than he had been when he 
was abandoned in the Gulf of Santa Catalina.  Night had set, and he no 
longer had the sun to guide him.  However, he had a goal now, a place 
to aim for.

On the horizon a blinking light could be seen.  

Stone assumed that he must be close to the shore, not realizing 
that the beam from a lighthouse could be seen from more than 80 
kilometers away, depending on the height of the tower.  He was in luck; 
his beacon was the New Point Loma Lighthouse in San Diego.  At only 27 
meters above sea level, Ezekiel was within 15 kilometers of the shore 
to be within its range.  

The light represented many things to him.  It was hope, it was 
civilization, it was a goal.  It was all that was pure and good in the 
world.  It was love.  It was Rosalyn.

For the first time he was seriously considering the possibility 
that he would not get his second chance at life.  There were so many 
damned souls still out there.  What if he sent back all of the escapees 
except for one?  What if he failed then, and never saw Roz again?  

More important was the risk to her.  What if he did earn his 
second chance at life, but Roz wasn’t alive to see it?  What if he 
waited, and she met someone else?  It was maddening, his own personal 
lady and tiger.  There was nothing he could do out here, however, so he 
continued swimming for the shore.

				#

A new sound had begun to rise over the last half hour, the sound 
of waves breaking on the shore.  Stone struggled on, just putting one 
arm in front of the other.  Then repeating it, again, and again, and 
again.  It wasn’t quite light yet, but a glow could be seen in front of 
him.  

Stone wondered where he was.  He’d passed a little south of the 
lighthouse, but finding his way back to LA was a problem for when he 
arrived back on shore.

Realizing that his struggle was nearing completion, Stone felt a 
profound sense of satisfaction.  The weariness in his arms and legs 
seemed to fade as he realized he had done the impossible and swam all 
the way back to shore.  With no help from the Devil, or anyone, he had 
done it.

The sound of waves grew louder now, the crashing unusually loud 
after two nights and a day of almost silence.   A wave broke on top of 
him, his foot touched bottom, and he pushed his way through the 
pounding surf on unsteady legs.  As the water level dropped away, he 
found he had trouble supporting his weight. 

He made it five steps up the beach before collapsing onto the 
cool sand.  He lay there, smiling at his triumph, supported by solid 
ground again.  He rolled on his back, his half naked body dusted with 
sand, and looked up to the heavens.  The first beams of sunlight 
appeared on the horizon.

Today was a new day.

				#

The bus was only half full.  Ezekiel settled into his seat for the 
three hour ride back to Los Angeles.  His clothes were the cheapest he 
could find at a surplus store near the depot, ragged, mismatched, but his.  
Like an ex-smoker struggled with a craving for cigarettes, the ex-
alive Ezekiel Stone craved food.  But there hadn’t been enough money 
left for a decent meal, so he pushed it aside.

The population on the bus was about one third Hispanic, with the 
other passengers representing the remainder of California’s diverse 
population.  Someone sat next to him.  “Mr. Stone, how nice to see you 
again!”

Ezekiel groaned.  “I’m tired, leave me alone.”

His tormentor chuckled.  “Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Stone.  Let 
me congratulate you on your amazing journey.  You spent almost forty 
hours at sea.  I had my doubts whether you’d make it.”

“No thanks to you.”  The bus began to move.  

“No thanks to me?  Do I need to remind you where you’d be, if not 
for me?  And, you remember who almost died six months ago?  Where would 
your beloved Rosalyn be now if I hadn’t given you this chance?”

“You know, you used to be almost amusing, in a... you sort of 
way.  Why the descent into bitchiness?”

The Devil laughed.  “I was slightly amused to watch you bumble 
around Ashur, not knowing who she was.  But it’s not funny any longer.  
I could name at least three damned souls you’ve talked to in the last 
few months that you didn’t recognize.”  His manner became serious as he 
continued, “If you can’t do a little better job of detecting, I may 
have to send in the second string.”

“Oh good, we’re back to the threats.  Just like old times.”

The Devil looked out the window, leaning in front of Stone.  “See 
that park there?  There was a scene from ‘The Dark Side of Eden’ filmed 
there.  Most of it was filmed down here in San Diego.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s before your time, I’m afraid.  It’s a true classic, 
nominated for best picture, best actress, and best director.  
Unfortunately, it was released in 1939, and was beaten out by ‘Gone 
with the Wind’ in every category.”

“Why do I get the feeling this story is about you?”

The Devil chuckled.  “It was, in fact, about me.  Really, more 
about a young woman who falls in love with me.  There is a great scene 
where- well, I don’t want to spoil it for you.”  

“That’s thoughtful of you.  Really.  You know what else would be 
thoughtful?  If you’d let me catch some sleep.”

“Do I strike you as a kindhearted person?”

Ezekiel sighed.  “No.”

“Ah, well then,” the Devil began, “The lighthouse you followed to 
shore.  Do you know how Point Loma got its name?”

“No.”

“There was a little blonde girl that the locals found on shore, 
the only survivor of a shipwreck.  Just like you, now that I think 
about it.  The town named her Loma.  She grew up to be a hot little 
number, a real...” he traced an hourglass shape in the air.  “One of 
the men she rejected didn’t take it so well, and killed her.”

“Lovely.”

“That’s the spirit, Mr. Stone, blame it on love.  He and his 
rival met out on the point, and during their fight, fell to their 
deaths.  The end.”

A withered voice came from across the aisle.  “That’s not true.”

Ezekiel looked at the elderly woman sitting across from them.  
“Pardon me?”

“That story isn’t true.  Loma means ‘light’ in Portuguese.”

Ezekiel laughed.  “Really?”  The Devil turned to glare at the old 
woman.  

“Yes,” she confirmed.  The Devil bared his teeth, then jerked his 
neck towards her and snapped his jaws together.  She gasped, and her 
bladder let go.  

“I love a happy ending,” announced the King of Kidders. Ezekiel 
closed his eyes and leaned back.

				#

“Father Horn,” Ezekiel said.  He apologized heavenward for 
wearing such inappropriate clothes inside the church, but surely He 
knew it could not be helped.  

“Ezekiel, how are you?” Father Horn replied.  Then, sniffing the 
air, he asked, “Have you been swimming?”

“Father, could we talk somewhere private?”

Once they had gone back to the priest’s private chambers, Ezekiel 
explained the situation.  He told of the violation of Cybil Rotaiva, 
Apollo’s offer to help their search, and the bloodshed that had taken 
place aboard the Lawless.  Father Horn was shaken by the revelation 
about Apollo Law.

“He has made sizeable contributions to the parish in the last 
month.  I find it hard to believe, but you were right about Father 
Salinas.  Detective Kane told me how you saved those children.”

“Do you know where I could find him?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t.  I did think it was odd that his 
offerings were always cash, rather than checks.  I’ll ask around.”

“Father, this man is very dangerous.  I have reason to believe 
that he might come here, and I’m going to wait for him.”

“Of course,” Father Horn replied. “God is with you, you are 
always welcome here.”

				#

Dan Copper flipped channels on his 48 inch TV.  It was a Saturday 
afternoon, and there wasn’t much on.  A newsbreak caught his eye.

Wreckage from JFK Jr’s plane was still washing up on the New 
England shore.  There had been another bank robbery, this time in 
Culver City.  And a man named Ezekiel Stone was wanted for questioning 
in a multiple homicide.  

A sketch flashed on the screen.  Dan had never paid much 
attention to Roz’s pictures at her house, but he noted the similarity 
to her husband’s name.  

Maybe he should mention it to her.  Of course if he did, it would 
only support her delusion that the ghost of her lost love was walking 
around LA.  In a population of ten million, it was likely that the 
wanted man just shared his name.  It had to be a coincidence.

Dan Copper flipped the channel.
						
				#

Ezekiel walked down the block to the Hotel Irondell.  The afternoon had 
been wasted.  He’d waited at St. Rose’s until after mass, expecting 
Apollo to come in as he had said he would.  But there was no sign of 
him.

He’d gone back to the Marina, realizing after he was already on 
the bus that he no longer had the keys to the Lexus.  A search of the 
parking lot failed to turn up either the Lexus or Cybil’s BMW.  So much 
for having transportation again.

Now it was after dark, and he was almost home.  He tried to 
remember if there was anything left in his yellowed refrigerator.  
Father Horn had given him some money, but Stone had borrowed only what 
he needed to get back to his room, again resisting the temptation of 
food.  With luck, Sam would be working tonight, and let him back into 
his room.

Donnie turned out to be on the desk tonight, but he was happy to 
give Stone the spare key for his room.  In return, Stone promised to 
look over the screenplay that Donnie had written, even when Stone tried 
to explain that he had no connections.  As he had earlier in the day, 
Stone found himself missing Max, and wondering if she was writing 
anything.  

There turned out to be three things in his refrigerator.  There 
was an extremely wilted head of lettuce, an almost empty jar of 
mustard, and an orange.  Stone picked up the fruit and sat in his 
favorite chair to snack.

Tomorrow was Sunday.  Father Horn had agreed to let him know if 
Apollo Law was seen at the church.  The only other lead that he had was 
the boat.  He could go back to the marina and see if he could find any 
clues there.  He sat there, thinking, while he devoured the citrus 
fruit.  Then he crawled into bed for some much needed rest.  

				#

Stone woke up to a pounding on his door.  The room was lit with 
the early morning sun.  He was wearing his old coat, his shoes, and 
there was a familiar weight in his pocket.  Once again, through forces 
beyond his comprehension, his belongings had regenerated during the 
night.  

He sat up.  “Zeke?” asked a voice.  It was Samantha.  She must 
have worried about him; he had been gone longer than expected.  She was 
a sweet girl.  

“Coming,” he said, climbing out of bed.  

He opened the door.  Sam was there, her hair jet black.  She 
quickly pocketed the passkey that she was carrying, but was unable to 
hide the worried expression on her face. 

Flanking her were two burly police officers, both holding out 
badges.   “Ezekiel Stone?”

He sighed.  Samantha watched him carefully, withholding 
judgment.  “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Detective Dallas, this is Detective Kent.  We’ve got a 
warrant here to search these premises.”  Dallas pushed the door open.  

“Look, what’s this about?” Stone demanded.  Sam watched from the 
doorway as Detective Kent walked around his room.  Dallas stood in 
front of him.  

“I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.  Where were you on,” 
he consulted his notebook, “Thursday, July 22?”

Stone looked at the warrant he had been handed.  “The murder of 
Cybil Rotaiva?  You’re kidding?”

“When was the last time you saw Miss Rotaiva?  Several people 
described a man who visited her house on Monday, a description which 
matches you quite nicely.”

“Yes, that was me.”  This wasn’t looking good.  

“We have other witnesses that put you on a boat,” again, he 
referred to his notes, “The Lawless, on Tuesday with Miss Rotaiva?  Is 
that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Mr. Stone,” Detective Kent asked, splitting his attention, “do 
you have any weapons on your person?”

Stone looked at the two detectives, and then at Sam.  Her eyes 
were wide.  She knew about the gun that he carried.  

If only she wasn’t here, watching.  He could easily overpower 
these two men.  Apollo Law must be involved in this.  Who else would 
have placed him on the boat?

“Yes,” he answered.

“Ok, I’m going to ask you to place your hands against the wall.”  
Stone complied, and returned Sam’s gaze as he was frisked.  “What’s 
this?”

Detective Dallas withdrew Stone’s gun.  “Same caliber as the 
murder weapon.  Ezekiel Stone, you’re under arrest for the murder of 
Cybil Rotaiva.  You have the right to remain silent...”



ACT TWO


Ezekiel paced in his jail cell.  At least they’d locked him up 
alone, instead of in a holding tank.  This was turning out to be a very 
bad week.

The room was about the size of his bathroom at the Hotel 
Irondell.  Fluorescent light from the corridor provided the only light 
in his windowless cell.  There was a drain hole in the cement floor, 
right near the toilet.  Stone sat on the thin mattress and leaned 
against the wall.

Sam had promised to continue taking care of Buster as he was led 
away in the hotel.  She had followed them downstairs, as he’d tried to 
explain his innocence.  Once away from her watchful eyes, however, he 
had planned on using his strength to break the handcuffs.  

Downstairs, another surprise had waited for him.  Thurston 
Bristol had been there, claiming to represent him.  Thurston had 
cautioned him against answering any more questions, and told him that 
he was arranging for bail.  Also, that he’d meet him at the station and 
Stone was invited to Sunday dinner this evening.  The entire 
conversation had taken place in thirty seconds as he was escorted 
through the lobby of the hotel.

Detective Kent had tried to question him anyway in the squad car.  
They hadn’t found his badge, and seemed unaware that he’d once been the 
most decorated cop in Manhattan South.  Stone had ignored Kent, trying 
to piece things together.

His first question: When had Apollo contacted the police?  Was he 
watching and waiting to see when he returned to shore?  Apollo had left 
a clear trail to Father Horn’s parish.  Perhaps he had been watching 
there, waiting for Stone to come blundering in.  Then he could have 
made his false police report, knowing Stone would get arrested before 
he had time to investigate on his own.  

There was no solid evidence for the charges against him.  
Ballistics would show his sidearm was not the murder weapon.  Apollo’s 
statement wouldn’t stand up in court, not with his faked background.  
So what was the point?  

The sound of a heavy gate swinging on rusty hinges brought his 
mind into focus.  Someone was approaching, a single person, from the 
sound.  

A man stepped up to his cell.  He looked familiar, but it took 
Stone a moment to place him.  They’d met a few weeks ago, but in a 
different police station.  And of course, without the iron bars 
separating them.  “Detective Harlowe,” Stone said, rising to his feet.

Harlowe had a grin on his face as he surveyed Stone in his 
predicament.  “Detective Ezekiel Stone.  Just the man I’ve been looking 
for.”  Casually, he reached for his gun.

				#

The alley was deserted.  Garage doors offered access to the buildings 
on either side.  Dirt and trash had been distributed here by the winds 
that tore through the city, giving it a grimy look that she associated 
with New York City.  The alley ran back about 30 meters off the street 
before ending in a brick wall, just far enough for a petty thief to 
mistake it for an escape route. There was nothing distinctive, unusual, 
or special about this alley that would make it stand out from any other 
alley in the district.  

Except on a November night almost sixteen years ago. 

Roz looked at the asphalt.  No remnant of a chalk outline 
remained, but she could picture where his body had fallen.  Twisted 
slightly to the right, his hand raised too late in an attempt to ward 
off the attack.  Police photos had captured the moment in all of its 
tragedy.  

She’d looked over the police file on his murder.  There didn’t 
seem to be any question on whether or not Thomas Logan had murdered her 
husband.  The only question had been identification, but forensics had 
quickly confirmed it as the only unaccounted officer that night.  

Was it possible that it had been mistaken identification?  That 
when he had heard the reports of his death, Ezekiel Stone had taken a 
freak opportunity to make a clean break with his old life?  She’d let 
him down, she knew, by not fighting off Gilbert Jax.  Had he been so 
disappointed that he’d left, only to follow her to a bank in LA years 
later?  

Roz reached into her purse and withdrew a long stem rose.  Its 
beauty was out of place in this New York alley, but she laid it down at 
the approximate spot where Thomas Logan had murdered a man.  She 
blessed it with a single tear, consecrating the ground.  

Her visit completed, Roz stood and retreated to the mouth of the 
alley.  She stood there for a moment, her hand resting on the brick 
wall, watching the rose.  It twitched in the breeze, a silent 
acknowledgement by Mother Nature.  

				#

Detectives Stone and Harlowe faced each other through the iron bars.  
Harlowe rested his hand on the butt of his gun, but left it holstered.  
Stone held his own position, loose, ready to dodge.  Their eyes held, 
unwavering.

“I wondered about you,” Stone said.  “Telling me how you knew 
Ash.  Then leaving a message for me to meet you in the warehouse.  How 
convenient, that there were two others like us there.  You’re making my 
job easy.”

“Something came up,” Harlowe replied.  “I planned to be there, 
waiting.  It doesn’t matter now, of course.”  He smiled.  “You took out 
Killion, which I thank you for.  As for Welland,” Harlowe shrugged, “If 
he’d been better, he’d still be walking the Earth.”

“I promised Killion I’d send you back too.  Jason Novak, the man 
responsible for the deaths of his wife and child.”  Stone eyed the 
hinges on the door.  “That’s who you are, right?  Or do we know each 
other better as...  Apollo Law?”

Harlowe grinned, drawing his gun.  “Tell your boss he’s going to 
be out of a job soon.  Ash and I are coming for them all.  Since you’re 
about to rejoin him, yeah, I had the hit put out on Killion.  And yeah, 
I helped get you in here, but that wasn’t me on the boat.  That was one 
of Ash’s favorites, actually.  But enough small talk.”  Harlowe raised 
the gun, aiming for the windows to Stone’s soul.  

				#

Once, when he was in his first year on the force, Ezekiel Stone had 
been under the barrel of a gun.  He’d had a regular beat, walking the 
busy streets, trying to establish the presence of law in a city.  

A frequent stop on his rounds was Orson’s Market, a little corner 
store.  The owner, Scott Orson, took notice of him on his visits, often 
stepping out from behind the corner to chat.  Ezekiel, happy for the 
break from the heat of the city, would spend a few minutes in the air-
conditioned store talking with Scott about the Yankees, or other local 
events.

There was an Indian summer that year, and the temperature climbed 
back into heights that the city had not seen since a heat wave a few 
seasons earlier.  The streets seemed empty, with so many people staying 
home in air conditioning or in front of a fan.  Even Scott Orson had 
commented on how business was down for the week.  Ezekiel Stone, proud 
rookie police officer, still made his presence visible on his beat.

He stepped into Orson’s Market on that dog day afternoon and 
found a robbery in progress.  He catalogued the thief as a young white 
male, approximately 5’10” and weighing 180 lbs., wearing a blue T-shirt 
and cutoff shorts.  No facial hair, but short blond hair, a crew cut 
with a month’s growth, perhaps.  And he was threatening the clerk with 
a silver .38 special.  

Ezekiel was stunned.  The details of the criminal’s appearance 
and his action flew through his brain even before the door swung closed 
behind him.  He began to fumble for his own weapon, staring with horror 
as the punk swiveled towards him, raising the cheap but effective 
street gun to point at his head.  

He froze.  His life, his career, both were over before they had 
even begun.  The barrel on the gun was huge, an opening so dark that it 
seemed to draw him in like a black hole.  There was nothing he could 
do.  

The gunshot deafened him.  There was no pain.  It took him a 
split second to realize the sound was a shotgun blast.   Scott Orson 
had fired at the would-be robber, catching him in the neck and the side 
of his head.  The pellets vaporized a display of Twinkies as well as 
sending a spray of blood across three aisles.  

The punk was buried quickly, his body returned to the ground even 
before Orson reopened his store.  No charges were filed, for Orson had 
clearly acted in self-defense.  A New York City police officer was a 
witness.  It was as open and shut as a killing ever could be.  

Stone still perceived an aura of wrongness about the incident.  
It was the first time he had ever seen someone killed, an act nothing 
like in the movies.  It gnawed at him relentlessly.  

				#

Harlowe grinned.  “By the way, give my regards to Killion when you see 
him.” 

Stone shifted his weight, ready to try and dodge.

There was the sound of the door opening.  “Hey!” shouted a voice.  

Harlowe held his position for a split second longer before 
tucking his weapon away.  “Detective Lukas.”

“Detective Harlowe.” Lukas approached the cell.  He wore his dark 
overcoat, and still wore a neatly trimmed goatee, but his hair had 
grown in the last few months.  Lukas nodded his acknowledgement to 
Stone, but said nothing to him.

Harlowe looked down on Lukas from his ten centimeter height 
advantage.  “Stay out of this.  This is between two damned souls.”

“Last year, I might have accepted that argument,” Lukas replied.  
“But when your boss started interfering with Heaven’s angels, you gave 
up the right to claim that.  Now get out of here.  You’ve got your 
choice, leave out that door, or leave straight down.”

Harlowe laughed.  Stone could tell it was an attempt at 
intimidation, but there was a note of fear embedded in it.  “You think 
you could take me?”  

“Oh, I’m not alone,” Lukas replied casually.  “You might be able 
to stop some of us, but it doesn’t matter.  We can return whenever we 
want.  You, on the other hand, will be trapped down below again.”

Harlowe looked less sure of himself.  He looked at Stone, 
calculating the odds that he could eliminate the two supernatural 
beings who shared the room with him.  Then he added in the thought of 
reinforcements.

“Last chance,” Lukas warned.  

“We’ll be seeing you soon,” Harlowe blustered, pointing at Stone.  
Then he retreated, not looking back.  The corridor door slammed behind 
him.

“Thanks,” Stone said.  “Where are your friends?”

Lukas shrugged.  “Sometimes nothing can be a real cool hand.”

Stone smirked.  “Should I call you Cool Hand Lukas?”  The angel 
tipped his head sideways to indicate his apathy on the subject.  Stone 
brought the topic back to his biggest problem.  “Can you get me out of 
here?”

“You could get yourself out, if you wanted to.  But you’ve 
accepted this process, for the time being.  Right?”

Stone sighed.  “Two of my friends know I’m here.  A big jailbreak 
would get me the wrong kind of attention.”

“Exactly.”  Lukas grinned uncharacteristically.  “I’m actually 
having fun down here.  I’ve made friends here too, and I understand why 
you don’t want to risk the relationships.”

Stone returned the grin.  “If you think LA is good, you should 
visit New York sometime.  They have the best food, anywhere.”

“Food, one of the simple pleasures.  And hair!”

“What?”

“We can change our hair whenever we want.  Longer, shorter, 
lighter, darker.  But there is a certain pleasure to letting it grow 
slowly.  Sometimes the journey is as much fun as the destination.”

“Yeah, I noticed your hair was longer.” Stone pauses for a 
moment, not wanting to be rude.  “You might want to get a haircut, it’s 
looking a little... scraggly.”

“Huh?  Oh, thanks.” Lukas looked surprised.

“So, you’re getting involved for a reason, right?  I knew there 
were more rogue angels around.”

“Ezekiel, remember the rogues are my responsibility, not yours.”

The corridor door opened again.  Quickly, before they were 
interrupted, Stone demanded, “Apollo Law is a rogue angel, right?”

“Hey!  You can’t talk to him.”  It was Thurston Bristol, escorted 
by another uniformed officer.  “No questions without council present.”

Lukas shrugged, and stepped away, raising his arms in a hands-off 
gesture.  The officer with Thurston unlocked the cell.  Stone stepped 
out.  

“Thanks,” he said.  He looked around for Lukas, only to see him 
exiting the room.  “Damn.”  

“Ezekiel, you’re being released into my custody, for the time 
being,” Thurston told him.  “I had to pull some strings, but you’re 
out.”

“Thurston, thank you.”  Ezekiel, even knowing he was innocent, 
said nothing about the charges until they were in Thurston’s car and 
driving away.

“I didn’t murder Cybil.  I saw who did though.  It was a guy 
named Apollo Law.  He’s black, in his mid 30s, and a business man in 
Hawthorne.”

Thurston stopped the car at a red light and turned to look at 
him.  “Zeke, don’t you know who came to the police and gave them your 
name?”

“It was him, wasn’t it?  So it’s his word against mine.”

Thurston was silent for a moment.  “What will they find when they 
test your gun?”

“It’s not the murder weapon.  I think they’ll find that it hasn’t 
been fired recently... but I’m not sure.”

“Okay.  First, let me say I went out on a very big limb for you.  
I couldn’t tell you why I did it, but it’s done now.  I hope you won’t 
let me down.”

Stone didn’t respond.  It would be best to clear his name, but if 
he couldn’t, he’d just work around it.  He hoped that Thurston wouldn’t 
get screwed on the deal, but there were innocent people dying because 
of the damned souls on the loose.  Three murdered in the last few days, 
because he’d lowered his guard.

Thurston seemed concerned by the lack of response, but continued 
anyway, “So technically, you’re free, but I’ve told them you will be 
with me until the ballistics report comes in Monday morning.  If that’s 
not acceptable, I’ll have to call them and let them know.  They’d 
probably be waiting for you back at your hotel.”

“Thurston, Apollo Law is out to get me.  I’m worried that you’ll 
be in danger if you’re with me.  I’m not exaggerating.  He killed two 
other women besides Cybil.  I think you need to hear the long story 
that I didn’t want to tell you the other night.”

Thurston held up a hand even as he changed lanes.  “Not yet.  
You’re coming over to my son’s for Sunday dinner.  This afternoon, 
after a peaceful meal, we’ll talk and decide what to do next.”

They rode in silence.

				#

After witnessing a man’s death in front of his eyes, Stone questioned 
his decision to be a police officer.  Intellectually, it was easy to 
justify Orson’s actions, but to watch a man die...

He talked to Scott Orson, thanking his friend for certainly 
saving his life.  He could find no fault in the store owner’s behavior.  

But something nagged at him.  It was noticeable to his friends, 
and to his commanding officer, Lt. D’Amato.  The Lieutenant called 
Ezekiel into his office a week or so after the crime.  

“Stone, you’ve never fired your weapon on the job, have you?”

“No sir,” he replied.

D’Amato flipped through file on his desk.  “You had some good 
scores at the academy.  Top third of your class.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But scores on paper aren’t everything that make a good officer.  
Your mind set plays a significant role.  You’re having problems with 
that store robbery last week, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

D’Amato leaned forward.  “Have you talked to anyone about it?  
Girlfriend?  A priest?”

“No, I’m not seeing anyone now,” Stone answered.  He paused, 
unsure of what to reveal next.  “I considered going to confession, but 
I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, no, you didn’t.  But you are wondering if you could, aren’t 
you?  If it could be you, next time, to kill a man?”

“I’d never seen someone die before, sir.  One minute, he--“

“Stone, knock off that ‘Sir’ crap.  I’ve been on the job a lot 
longer than you, and I've seen a lot of guys go through it.  Just tell 
me what’s bothering you.”

“Um, okay,” Stone said.  

“You were saying, ‘One minute-?’”

“He just died.  He didn’t know what hit him, he just... went out, 
like a light bulb.  I don’t know if I could do that, kill someone.”

D’Amato leaned back, silently.  He watched and waited, giving 
Stone a chance to consider his thoughts and continue expressing them.  
When Stone didn’t expand on his statement, he replied, “Ezekiel, that’s 
a question that you’ll have to answer yourself.  But I want you to 
remember a few things as you think it over.”  Stone nodded.  

“First,” D’Amato began, “I’m glad that you’re thinking about 
this.  The job needs men of conscience, men who can see the big 
picture.  Human life can be a valuable thing.  And it is our duty to 
protect and serve the citizens of this great city.

“Do you know what would happen without us?  There would be chaos 
in the streets.  People would be afraid for their lives, and rightly 
so.  That punk who got killed in the store, he and his kind are a bunch 
of anarchists.  If you’d stopped him, and arrested him, you would have 
made the streets safer, at least temporarily.  Did you see his rap 
sheet?”

“Yeah, he’d been arrested for two assaults, three-“

D’Amato waved his hand, silencing the younger brethren.  “Do you 
think he would have been rehabilitated by another arrest?”  Stone 
responded negatively by shaking his head.  “Sometimes the system 
doesn’t work.  The only thing I’m sure of is that-“ he looked at a 
paper on his desk, “Ernie Bester won’t damage society anymore.”

Stone looked surprised.  “Are you saying... it’s a good thing 
he’s dead?”  

“Stone, I’m saying, if you are in a position where the only way 
to stop a criminal is through firing your weapon, weigh the damage that 
might be done to our city if they escaped.  What if your mother was the 
next victim, or the neighbor girl from across the street?  Those are 
the people we protect and serve.”

Stone was silent, considering the logic behind his commanding 
officer’s statements.  D’Amato had one more thing to say.  “Stone, if 
you know you can’t pull that trigger, that’s okay.  But for your own 
safety, and the safety of our fellow officers, you need to find out the 
answer to that question.  There’s always plenty of work to be done at 
the station, we can have you transferred off the street.”

“Sir, I don’t think that will be necessary.  I’m planning on 
making detective.  I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk.”

“Okay, Stone, think about what we talked about.”  D’Amato’s tone 
indicated the interview was over.  Stone thanked him, and left the 
office.  

The next week, he came across two teenagers standing on the 
street calling and gesturing lewdly at passing women.  He asked 
himself, what if that were my mother?  He guided the hoodlums to a 
nearby alley, and explained to them quite carefully why they should 
stop.  He was careful not to leave bruises. 



ACT THREE


Thurston’s son lived in a quiet neighborhood.  There were plenty 
of trees, and a park with swings and plastic tubes for the children to 
play on.  There was a baseball field laid out, and several children 
playing.  Both men spotted Sarah at bat as they drove by.  She hit the 
pitch way out into left field.  “Good for her,” Stone said.  

Dinner wasn’t quite ready when they arrived at Alvin Bristol’s 
house.  Stone was introduced to Marla, Alvin’s wife.  He remembered 
what Thurston had mentioned at Mickey’s Sports Bar, and congratulated 
her on her pregnancy.  From the smiles she and her husband exchanged, 
he could tell that the expected child would be loved. 

Realizing Sam must be worried about him, Ezekiel asked to use the 
phone and was shown to Alvin’s study to allow him privacy.  He dialed 
the number for the hotel.

After thirteen rings, he was about to hang up when a bored voice 
answered.  “Hotel Irondell, Sam speaking.”

“Sam?  It’s Zeke.”

“Oh my God, where are you?  Did you use your one phone call to 
call me?”

“No,” he told her, trying not to laugh, “it’s okay, I’m out.  I 
just wanted to let you know, they dropped the charges, it was all a 
misunderstanding.  I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice concerned.

“I’m fine,” he said, “everything’s fine.  I just didn’t want you 
to worry.”

She let out a sigh.  “I’ve been worried.  You told me it was 
parking tickets, a long time ago.  What happened?”

“It was just a misunderstanding.  Too much to go into over the 
phone.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?  Do you need anything?”

Something the Devil had mentioned popped into his head.  “Have 
you ever seen a movie called The Dark Side of Eden?”

“What?” Sam asked.  Then, thinking it over, “No, but it sounds 
familiar.  Who’s in it?”

“Probably no one you’ve ever heard of.  It’s sixty years old.”

“Oh.”

“Someone mentioned it to me, I was just curious.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to work,” Stone told her.

“Can you picture me actually doing any work?  I was just writing 
an Email to Max and listening to my music.” 

“Really!  I was wondering how Tibet was treating her.  Tell her I 
said hi.”

“Okay, I will.  Later, Zeke.”

“Bye, Sam.”

He gently hung up the phone and returned to the kitchen.  Alvin 
and Marla were working on the Sunday dinner, and Thurston was seated at 
the table.  He looked up as Stone came into the room.  “I’m told that 
I’m in the way here,” he said, his manner light.  “Would you like to 
walk over to the park and see Sarah?”

“Sounds good,” Stone agreed.

“Bring her back in thirty minutes,” Marla requested.  “And if she 
would like, she can bring her friend Betty for dinner.”

The two men stepped from the air-conditioned home into the summer 
afternoon and strolled towards the park.  “Family is a great blessing.  
Alvin is happy to have a son on the way.”

“A son?”

“Yeah, they decided they wanted to know what it was.”

Stone looked puzzled.  “How do they do that, again?” he asked.

“You know, with the ultrasound.  Give Marla a chance, and she’ll 
show you pictures.”

Stone decided not to ask about how they took pictures.  Things 
had come a long way since 1983.  

“They’ve threatened to name him after me, but I convinced them 
not to.  Thurston is an awkward name to burden a child with.”

“There’s something hopeful about a new child,” Stone said.  “I 
wish I had had children when I was younger.”

“Never too late,” Thurston replied merrily.  “Ben Franklin was 
fathering children in his eighties.”  

Zeke grinned.  “Roz and I were trying when we... split up.”

Thurston raised an eyebrow.  “You were trying to have a baby even 
though your marriage was about to end?  That seems... odd.”

“It’s not.  But it is part of our long conversation.”

“After dinner, Ezekiel.”

There was silence for a moment.  “Did you hear about JFK?” Stone 
asked.

“Yeah, it’s a shame, isn’t it?  It’s morbid to say, but I lost 
twenty dollars.  I bet my brother that JFK Jr. would grow up to be 
President like his father.”

“It was a good bet.”

The two men arrived at the park.  There were eight kids playing 
baseball.  Sarah’s team was in the field.  She waved at her grandfather 
from behind third base.  Thurston waved back.  

Ezekiel looked around the park.  There were two other parents 
seated in the bleachers, watching their children.  A woman sat alone on 
a bench farther away.  But there was no sign of Apollo Law.  He missed 
the familiar weight of his gun.  Being out here unarmed was dangerous.

Thurston and Ezekiel greeted the man and woman on the bleachers 
as they sat down.  With the formalities out of the way, they continued 
their conversation.   

“I remember when I found out his father was killed.  I was in law 
school, studying in my room.  This girl I’d been seeing, she called to 
tell me, she was crying on the phone.  We ended up meeting at a local 
bar.  I remember,” he looked over at Stone to see if he was listening, 
“the mood in the bar was so quiet.  Jenn and I, that was her name, 
Jenn, we went back to my room and made love.  It was one of those times 
that we needed to be with someone.”

“Wow.”

“She was my first wife, Jenn.  Not Alvin’s mother, but still a 
good woman.”

Zeke had been waiting to tell his story.  “I was eighteen, just 
out of high school, and working in a factory making dog bowls, if you 
can believe it.”  He didn’t pause to see if Thurston accepted it, just 
continued his story as he watched the kids on the diamond.

“They made an announcement, and closed the plant.  We all left, 
just kind of dazed.  We went to a bar, too, and-“ he turned to look at 
Thurston.  

“You were eighteen in 1963?” Thurston asked, an expression of 
disbelief on his face.

Zeke looked around the corner he had painted himself into.  
“Whoops... that was my father’s story.  I almost felt like I was there 
myself, I’d heard him tell it so many times.”

“I’ll say, you don’t look like you’re in your fifties.  Go 
ahead.”

“What?”

“Finish the story.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Mr. Stone, the identity of the author may be in question, but 
the story itself is certainly a true one.  The topic was how an 
eyewitness to history reacted, and the judge rules that the witness 
will be allowed to testify.”

“I thought you were being less judgmental these days?”  Stone 
waited for a response, but Judge Bristol sat there in silence.  “So we 
went to a bar, and all gathered around the TV, waiting for news to come 
in.  Some people cried, and we all drank until dark.  No one got drunk 
though.  It was just... the feeling that the whole world has been 
changed.”

The two men sat thoughtfully for a moment and watched the 
children at play.  They were young, their whole lives ahead of them.  
There was a quality of innocence about them, and a measure of freedom 
in their actions.  Someday, any of them could experience the same shock 
of having their worldview altered.

Thurston voiced his thoughts on the subject.  “Sarah might look 
back on this Y2K thing like we remember Kennedy.”

“That’s the computer bug thing?”

“You know, how computers will crash when the year rolls over to 
2000?  This has been an oversight for too long, and I don’t think we 
can fix everything by the end of the year.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that.  I thought you were more of 
an optimist than that.”

“I’m not pessimistic, just realistic.”

Stone smiled.  “I have faith in the American people.  If we want 
to accomplish something, we can do it.” 

“I hope so.  Just the same, I’ll be at home with my family on New 
Year’s Eve.”  Thurston turned back to watch his granddaughter.

“Have you ever noticed that the problems we worry about usually 
turn out to be nothing?” Zeke countered.  “It’s the things that we 
don’t expect that hit us hard.  I’d like to go to Times Square for New 
Year’s Eve and celebrate with a million other people.  As a friend told 
me once, ‘life is too damn short.’”

Sarah’s team came in from the field.  She ran over to the chain 
link fence in front of the bleachers, “Hi Grandpa.  Did you see that 
catch I made?”

“You did great.  This has to be the last inning for you, dinner 
is almost ready.  Your mother said you could invite Betty if you wanted 
to.”

“Sarah, you’re up!” her teammates called.  

Sarah ran over and picked up the aluminum bat.  She took a 
practice swing, loosening her muscles.  The pitcher threw the ball, and 
she swung and missed.  Like mighty Casey, she retired after her third 
strike.  

“Happens to the best of us,” Stone said.  Sarah ran over to her 
friend Betty, and told her of the invitation.  Betty nodded and smiled.

				#

“Welcome back,” Susan King said as Roz came up the front steps.  Roz 
said nothing, just sat beside on the porch swing and hugged her mother 
tight.  Susan put her own arm around her daughter.  “It’s okay, honey.”

“I went to the alley where he died,” Roz said.  “The police 
photos were bad, but to see the place, to know that’s where Zeke died.  
It was too much.”

“It’s okay, dear,” Susan told her, stroking her hair. 

“I’ve been hoping it was all a mistake, mom.  I thought I saw him 
a few months ago, and I’ve just been hoping he wasn’t really gone.  I 
almost started to believe it.  But it can’t be.  He’s gone, he’s really 
gone.”

Mother and daughter held each other for a moment longer.  Roz 
pulled away, leaning back to smile at her mother, slightly embarrassed.  
“Thanks.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Susan asked, holding her child’s 
hand.  

Roz shook her head.  “It’s okay.  Thank you.”

“The Millers told us to come over anytime after noon.  I think I 
smelled Arthur firing up the charcoal, but we’ve got a little while if 
you want to freshen up or anything.”

“Okay, mom,” Roz said, putting on a smile.  It was a fake smile, 
and had no chance of fooling her own mother.  Both women knew she was 
still upset, but Roz had demonstrated her determination to face the 
world cheerfully, no matter what else. 

It was an attitude that Susan had developed when Hans had first 
been taken away from them.  Although Susan followed little of the race 
to decode the human genome, she felt sure that her daughter’s own 
pragmatism was inherited from her side of the family, if not part of 
the genetic heritage of every woman all the way back to Eve.   

Roz went into the house, making her way upstairs to what her been 
her own room many years ago.  She looked out the window.  It overlooked 
the front lawn, and could be used as an alternate exit in case of fire 
or a need to sneak out undetected. 

She changed quickly, brushed her teeth, and returned downstairs.  
Her mother was in the kitchen, setting out a bowl of potato salad and a 
bag of Doritos to take next door.  “Ready?” she asked.  

Mrs. King carried the potato salad and went out the back door.  
Roz followed her, bringing the chips.  They went through the gate that 
led directly into the Miller’s back yard.

Arthur Miller was there, fiddling with the grill.  “Susan, hi!  
And Rosalyn!  You’re looking more beautiful then ever!  It’s great to 
see you, welcome back.”

“Hi Arthur,” Roz replied.  She bent over to kiss him on the 
cheek.  He still wore the same aftershave that she remembered.  “It’s 
good to see you too.”

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable.  Janet and Emily will be 
out in a minute.  How’s life in California?”

“It’s good, good.”  Susan settled into a wooden deck chair.

“Are you still teaching?”

“Second grade.  Are you still managing the factory?”  

“For now.  Looking at retiring next year.”

“What are you going to do with all your free time?”

“Janet and I would like to travel more.  Might be able to make it 
out to California.”  

“If you do, make sure to stop by.”

“Rosalyn!  I can’t believe you’ve finally come home!”   Janet 
came out the back door, smiling broadly at the sight of her old friend.  
The women embraced warmly.  “And you remember Emily.  Emily, this is 
Mrs. Stone.”

Roz stared.  She was looking at fifteen calendar years 
transformed into physical reality.  Emily, just a baby when she had 
fled New York, had been transformed into a teenager.  “Oh my God,” Roz 
said, “You’re so big!”  Even as she heard the words coming from her 
mouth, she realized how inane they sounded. 

“Hi,” Emily replied cautiously.  

Rosalyn looked at her again, then to the rest of her friends and 
family.  She was home.

				#

“Hello, little girl,” the man said.  He smiled, his white teeth showing 
in contrast to his dark skin.  “Was that you playing baseball in the 
park?”

“Yes,” Betty said.  She stood several feet away from the 
stranger.  

“I'm just always intrigued when I see a familiar face.  Curious 
by nature.  Just have to know where I've seen them before.  You played 
very well.  I was never allowed to play baseball when I was your age.  
You’re a lucky girl.”

“Thank you,” Betty replied, taking a step forward.  

“That’s why it bothers me to do this,” the man said.  Then he 
struck.

				#

Janet came back out of the house after clearing away the perishable 
food from the table.  As the cook, Arthur was the last to eat, and he 
was still finishing his last hamburger.  “Can I get anyone anything 
else?” he asked, taking the last of the hamburgers from the grill.  
There were no takers, so he covered the plate with foil.

“I’ll leave you ladies to your girl talk,” he said, winking at 
them,  He leaned over to kiss his wife before rolling down the path and 
up the ramp into his house.  The four women were seated around the 
table, comfortable in the shade of the oak tree that loomed over the 
yard.

“Your potato salad is very good, Gramma Susan,” Emily said.  

The older woman smiled.  “Thank you, little Em.  I wish my 
daughter liked it.”

“You don’t like it?” Emily asked Roz.

“I haven’t eaten potato salad in a long time.  Probably about 
thirty years,” she said slowly, wondering with regret where all the 
years had gone.

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story,” Roz answered.

“Go ahead,” Janet said.  

Roz smiled and looked to Emily.  “I was about your age, maybe a 
little older.  You’ve heard of Woodstock, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, MTV’s broadcasting live from there right now.  Oh, you 
mean Woodstock ‘69?” Emily replied.

“If that’s what they’re calling it these days, yes.  I was 
planning on going with my sister Jessica and her friends.”  Roz reached 
over to pat her mother’s hand.  “But my mom wouldn’t let me go.  So I 
snuck out.”

Susan smiled as she remembered.  “I made sure I kept an eye on 
you when Jessica left.  I didn’t expect you to climb out the window.”

“So how did you get there?” Emily wanted to know.

“Well,” Roz replied, embarrassed, “I decided to hitchhike.”  The 
adults laughed, Roz included.  “So I walked out to the highway and 
stuck my thumb out.  I was afraid of getting caught, so I hid every 
time I thought I saw a car I knew.”

“Did you get a ride?”

“Eventually.  Some hippies that were on their way to Woodstock 
saw me.  I swear, they were driving a big, orange Volkswagen bus.  So I 
hopped in, carrying my backpack, and we were on our way.

“I only remember the driver’s name, Ocean.  There was his 
girlfriend and two other couples in the van, and I was so excited.  
They were all free spirits, real non conformists.  I thought it was the 
coolest thing I had ever done, hitching a ride.”

“Sounds like fun,” Emily said.  Roz could tell by her eyes that 
she was picturing herself having the same adventure.

“It was fun at first.  We rode for about an hour before we got 
pulled over.  Ocean and his friends were so against the 
‘establishment’, they decided that license plates were a form of 
registration, and they refused to have one.”  Susan began to smile.  
This was a story she had heard many times before, but not in years.

“So the policeman asked Ocean for his license.  And Ocean started 
telling the officer about how we should all live in harmony, and be one 
with nature.  He even invited him to come to Woodstock with us.

“Then I started to realize Ocean didn’t have a driver’s license.  
The officer kept asking him for it, and Ocean just kept telling him 
about what he thought was wrong with the ‘system.’  Finally, the 
officer ordered him out of the van.  When Ocean got out, the officer 
spotted something.  

“I was sitting right behind the passengers seat, and the officer 
leaned into the van.  His badge was real shiny, and he was wearing 
those mirrored sunglasses, so you couldn’t see his eyes.  He picked up 
what he’d spotted, a bag of pot on the floor.  Then he looked at me and 
asked, ‘What’s this?’”

Susan chuckled softly, and Arthur and Janet smiled at each other.  
Emily was entranced in Roz’s story.  “So what happened next?”

“I was so scared, I almost wet myself.  So I said, in a real 
small voice, ‘I don’t know.’  He just kept staring at me, this little 
fifteen year old girl surrounded by these twenty-something hippies.  I 
didn’t know what to do, so I said, ‘I don’t know, SIR.’”  Roz laughed, 
along with everyone else.

“We all got arrested.  He made us stay in the van while he called 
for backup, and it was so hot in there.  When they put the handcuffs on 
me, I started to cry.  I thought they were going to send me to prison.  

“So down at the police station, which wasn’t very big, I told 
them what happened.  How I was hitchhiking to Woodstock, and they’d 
given me a ride.  Ocean and his friends told the same story, so they 
told me they wouldn’t press charges.  But a parent would have to come 
and pick me up.”

“How long did you sit in there before you got up the nerve to 
call me?” Susan asked, her eyes twinkling.

“It was a couple hours,” Roz admitted.  “Until I realized that 
I’d have to spend the night in there if you didn’t come and get me.”

“The police let you wait until you were ready to call?” Emily 
asked.

“Not exactly,” Roz answered.  “I dialed Jessica’s number first, 
because she and her roommates were gone.  I knew mom was going to kill 
me when I called.”  From the King household, the telephone rang.  “Do 
you want me to get it, mom?”

“No, don’t bother, honey,” Susan replied.  “If it's important, 
they’ll call back.”

“So she called me next,” Janet told Emily, grinning like the 
Cheshire Cat as she remembered.  “She tried to be so casual about it.  
‘Hello, mom?’” Janet said as she pantomimed holding a phone to her ear.  
“’This is your daughter, Rosalyn.’  She wanted to know if I would drive 
there and pick her up!”

“Finally I did call you,” Roz said to her mother.  “And you came 
and got me.  If you hadn’t, I’d probably still be there.”

“I don’t understand,” Emily said.  “What does this have to do 
with potato salad?”

“Oh, they served dinner while I was waiting to leave.  Only the 
potato salad had gone bad.  So there were four of us locked up in the 
same cell, and we all got sick about the same time.  A blonde girl 
threw up first, and it smelled really bad.  Then this other woman threw 
up into the sink.  The last woman was Ocean’s girlfriend, and we kept 
looking at each other, hoping to hold it back.  

“But I couldn’t keep it down anymore.  The blonde girl moved away 
from the toilet, and I ran over and threw up everything I’d eaten that 
day.  Then Ocean’s girlfriend, she came over and puked too, only I 
didn’t get out of the way fast enough.  So she threw up all over my 
hair.”

“Ewww,” Emily said, horrified and amused simultaneously.  

“Yeah, ewww is right,” Roz said.  “I couldn’t wash it out in the 
sink, because it was dirty, so it just dripped on me while I tried to 
brush it out.  Then I just lay there on the floor crying, right next to 
the toilet, trying to keep my hair away from my clothes and everything 
else.”

“Which was about when I got there,” Susan added.  “We drove the 
whole way home with all of the windows down, she smelled so bad.”

“I felt so bad,” Roz said.  “I just wanted to die.  I’ve never 
eaten potato salad again since.  I never made it to Woodstock, but my 
sister said she had the time of her life.  You can see her in a couple 
shots if you watch the movie and look real close.”

“So you know what the moral of the story is, don’t you, Emily?”  
Janet asked her daughter.

“What?” 

“Never do anything your mother tells you not to,” Janet said.  
Emily rolled her eyes, and then took her plate into the house.  The 
remaining women laughed as she walked away.  Roz watched her go, seeing 
what a beautiful woman Emily would turn out to be.

A comfortable silence fell over the three women.  She’d missed 
this closeness over the years, Roz realized.  She’d turned her back on 
her own family, and then never started one of her own.  Dan Copper was 
a nice guy, she thought, and she would let him take her out when she 
returned to LA.  Maybe something would develop, maybe not.  

She’d just told a story about talking risks.  Some didn’t pay 
off, of course, that was why they were risks.  But agreeing to date 
Ezekiel, a policeman like her father, had paid off enormously, filled 
her with such joy that her life was enriched forever.  

Susan smiled at her daughter, and Roz returned the emotion.  
Friends and family, they were the greatest treasures a man or woman 
could have.



ACT FOUR


From behind the closed door came the cry of a young girl, “I’ll 
get it!”  Sarah Bristol opened the door.  “Hi,” she said,  “come on 
in.”

The young girl entered the house and followed Sarah into the 
dining room.  The adults were all seated there; Alvin Bristol sat the 
head of the table, with an empty seat next to him for the mother of his 
children.  His father sat at the other end, with Ezekiel seated next to 
him.  

“Hello, Betty,” Alvin said in greeting.  “Glad you could come.  
This is my father, and his friend Mr. Stone.”

“Hello Mr. Bristol, Mr. Stone,” Betty said politely.  She seated 
herself next to Alvin.  

“Dinner is served,” Marla Bristol announced as she carried a 
steaming plate of ham into the room.  Stone smiled at the aroma; Marla 
was clearly a good cook.  She set the dish in the center of the table 
and set next to her husband.  

“Mr. Stone, would you like to say grace?” Alvin inquired.  The 
others looked to him expectantly. 

“Ah, yes, of course,” Stone replied, caught off guard.  He bowed 
his head in contemplation along with the others. 

“Our Father in Heaven, we thank you for this meal we are about to 
eat.  We give thanks to you for our friends and family.” He paused, 
thinking if there was anything else he should add.  “In Jesus’ name, 
Amen.”

“Amen,” chorused the table, Betty responding last and out of sync 
with the others.

Dinner was portioned out to the table.  Ezekiel complimented 
Marla on her fine cooking.  Between mouthfuls of the mashed potatoes, 
Alvin questioned Ezekiel.  “Mr. Stone, my father didn’t mention what 
you do?”

“I used to be a police officer in New York, but I ended up moving 
out here.  Right now I’m working on a missing persons case for a 
client.”

Betty giggled.

“Are you a private investigator?” Alvin asked.  

“That’s the closest description.”  He took a large bite of ham, 
hoping to end the line of conversation.  

Alvin turned to the girls.  “What are you two up to this 
afternoon?”

Sarah looked to Betty.  “We were going to watch the end of 
Woodstock ’99 on MTV.”

“Sounds like fun,” her father replied.

“Sarah, you played very well in the park,” Ezekiel said.  “Are 
you still on the same Little League team?”

“Yes,” she said.

“How about you, Betty?” he asked.

Betty said nothing.  She shrugged her shoulders and stared at her 
plate.  

“Betty is on the same team as Sarah,” Marla supplied.  “They’re 
in third place right now.”

Betty knocked her fork off the table.  It clattered to the wooden 
floor, and she kneeled to retrieve it.  Stone waited and watched, 
sensing something odd.  Marla and Thurston continued to eat, then 
slowly stopped as they realized that Betty was still underneath the 
table.

A black hand gripped the edge of the table.  Using it as 
leverage, Apollo Law stood up.  Sarah fell off of her chair in 
surprise, trying to back away.  The three men rose from the table at 
the sight of the intruder.  “What’s going on?” Alvin said,  “Who are 
you?”

Stone reached for his gun.  It wasn’t there.  Confiscated by the 
LAPD as a result of Apollo’s statement, he was unarmed and face to face 
with a supernatural being that shifted shapes at will.  He picked up 
his knife and fork.  Small as they were, they were weapons.

“This will do nicely,” Apollo said, reaching for the knife which 
had sliced the ham.  He was taller than before, almost 200 centimeters, 
towering above Alvin. Marla stared, frozen with her fork halfway to her 
mouth. 

Apollo reached with his left hand grabbed Alvin Bristol by the 
hair, jerking his head back.  While Alvin tried to catch his balance, 
Apollo let go and wrapped his powerful arm around him, pinning both of 
Alvin’s arms.  He raised his right hand, the one with the knife, and 
pointed it at Sarah. 

“Get out of here,” Apollo said.  “I don’t like to hurt little 
girls, go to your room, just leave.”

“Dad?” Sarah asked.

Apollo swiveled the knife to Alvin’s throat.  Alvin spoke 
carefully, “Do what he says, honey, it’s going to be okay.”  Sarah 
scampered from the room, taking the long route out to avoid going near 
the man who had transformed from her friend into a knife-wielding 
maniac. 

“Drop your little weapons, Tyberius,” Apollo ordered.  “Now.”  
Stone surveyed the situation.  He was on the farthest corner of the 
table from Apollo.  There was no way he could get to him in time to 
stop Apollo from knifing Alvin Bristol.  

“Okay, no problems,” Stone replied, his voice even.  “Why did you 
kill Cybil, and the others?”

Apollo pointed his knife at Thurston.  “Go ahead, sit back down.  
Ezekiel and I need to talk for a minute.”  The older man looked down, 
gauging the distance.  Then he sat, falling into the chair as if his 
legs had given out.

“I killed Cybil to hurt you,” Apollo said.  “She’d still be alive 
if you’d never brought her to me.”

“She’d still be alive if you hadn’t killed her,” Ezekiel 
countered.  

Apollo grinned.  “I wanted revenge on you, and on our mutual 
friend here.”  He nodded to Thurston.  “You played right into our 
hands.”  

“Is Ash behind this?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a detective.”  Apollo held the 
knife to Alvin’s throat.  “Haven’t you figured all this out, Mr. 
Stone?”  He grinned.  Stone stared at him for a moment, remembering the 
past.  Images came to him, the clues he needed.

				#

He remembered floating in the water near the Lawless.  Two shots 
rang out.  He turned to see the two rescued women collapse.  Apollo Law 
was holding the smoking gun.  Cybil looked at Apollo, shocked. Law 
raised the gun and fired again, striking her point blank in the 
forehead. Stone watched the blood spray as her body fell over into the 
water. 

				#

He was in a jail cell.  Jason Novak, Ash’s second, spoke to him 
through the bars in the guise of Detective Harlowe.  “And yeah, I 
helped get you in here, but that wasn’t me on the boat.  That was one 
of Ash’s favorites, actually.”

				#

He was sitting on a bed in a hotel, talking on the phone to Ash.  
“Have you every heard of Mary Chaine? Underrated actor, but she taught 
me everything I know.”

				#

He was standing a fire damaged theater, talking an older woman 
with long dark hair.  “I am Mary Chaine, the manager.” 

				#

He stood at the concession stand with Thurston Bristol, placing 
an order.  Pointing to Mary Chaine, he asked, “Can you tell me the name 
of the man talking to the manager over there?”  The girl behind the 
counter smiled. “That’s Rusty, her son. “

				#

Standing in line with him, Thurston said, “You see that boy over 
there? He’s the spitting image of a kid that appeared in my court, oh, 
must have been thirteen, fourteen years ago.  The kid robbed a 
restaurant. He locked the employees in the freezer, and no one found 
them until the next day. Everyone of them was dead.”

“And you found him guilty?”

“He never made it to trial. He was a fighter, that kid. He’d 
grown up in orphanages and foster homes. Got into a fight his first 
night. They found him dead the next morning.” 

				#

He was at the front of a crowded theater, Rusty choking him.  His 
right hand dipped down, drawing his trusty sidearm. He leveled it at 
Rusty’s face.  There was no time to aim accurately, so he squeezed the 
trigger again and again, sending five shots into Rusty’s face and neck.  
Two managed to hit home, causing the ether light to flare out at him. 
Rusty screamed. 

				#

Stone watched Apollo Law across the dining room table.  He held 
the carving knife to Alvin Bristol’s throat

“You’re a hell of an actress, Mary.”  Stone clapped his hands 
together in the silent room.  “Pretending to be Apollo Law had me 
fooled.”

“Thank you,” Apollo said, switching voices.  It was disconcerting 
to hear a woman’s voice coming from him.  He/she dug the knife into 
Alvin’s neck.  A spot of blood welled where the point touched him.

To Thurston, Stone said, “Remember Mary Chaine, from the Pine 
Cinema?  She blames you for her son dying the first time.”

Thurston responded slowly, keeping his eyes locked on the 
gleaming blade.  “Gus was an orphan.  His mother was dead.”

“Yeah,” Stone admitted, “So was he.  That’s the problem.”

Apollo Law’s skin lightened, and long dark hair sprouted from his 
head.  Breasts grew from buds on her chest.  “This is the best revenge 
I can have,” Mary said.  She addressed Thurston,  “Your son will die, 
and his son will grow up without a father.”  

Thurston seemed shocked by the transformation.  Marla began to 
cry.  “Please, don’t.  He’s a good man.”  

“Why were you in Hell, Mary?” Stone asked.  If he kept her 
talking, there might be a chance.  “What did you do?”

“Hollywood is a tough town to get a break.  I created an 
opportunity for myself by eliminating some of my competition.”

Another puzzle piece clicked.  “Were you in The Dark Side of 
Eden?”

“My turn to be impressed, Detective.  That is quite the obscure 
movie reference.”

“Thanks, but I haven’t seen it.  In my opinion, old movie are 
generally crap,” Stone said.

Mary flushed.  “Crap?  So you are aware, I was nominated for an 
Academy Award.”

“Didn’t win, did you?” Stone countered.  Mary flushed.  “Why 
didn’t you kill off your competition?”

“I’ve had enough of you, Stone,” Mary snarled.  “You’re next.”  

Stone spread his hands.  “Come on, just you and me.  Let’s go.”  

Mary laughed.  “You would like that.  You have sent many of us 
back, I know I can not beat you,” she replied.  “Not without the 
element of surprise.  I will be back for you, when you do not expect 
it.  You will be on guard, for a while.”  She wiggled the knife.  “But 
when you least expect it...”

Alvin gurgled as the blade sliced through his throat.  Marla 
screamed.  “No!”  Blood sprayed across the table.

Mary smiled, dumping Alvin’s body forward.  He fell across the 
table, knocking plates and dishes aside.  He clutched at his throat as 
he drew in deep, wet breaths.  Even with his attempts at compression, 
his lifeblood flowed unfettered from the wound.  Marla continued to 
scream.  

Ezekiel lunged towards Mary, who danced back, holding the bloody 
blade in front of her.  He stopped short, just out of reach.  Her 
malevolent smile reminded him of another woman he had faced last year.  
Thurston stepped up behind him.  

“Gouge out her eyes,” Ezekiel told Thurston.  “It’s the only way 
to hurt her.”  

“If you say so,” Thurston said.  He flexed his fingers and 
thumbs, practicing as a quarterback might before a big game.  “Anything 
else?”

Mary watched them, her cold eyes flicking back and forth between 
the two men.  She ignored Marla’s sobs as the pregnant woman pressed a 
linen napkin to the copious red flow at her husband’s neck.  Mary 
flipped the knife straight up into the air.  Ezekiel and Thurston 
watched the blade tumble, then succumb to gravity and reverse its 
course.  It landed back in the hand of their attacker, but something 
was different.

The hand was larger, more muscular, and black.

Apollo Law grinned.  “Just like old times, Ezekiel?”

“You going to run away again?” Ezekiel countered, “Or stay and 
fight?”  He sidestepped, looking for an opening.

Apollo feinted with the knife.  “To be continued,” he said.  With 
the parting shot, he turned and jumped through the dining room window.

				#

Betty raised her head from the lawn at the sound of glass 
breaking.  What was she doing on the ground behind the Bristol’s 
bushes?  Her head throbbed, and she raised a hand to her bruise as 
Apollo Law raced by.  She winced at the pain.

“Stop him!” another man called.  He traced the same path across 
the lawn, his long coat flaring behind him.  Then he was gone.

Betty looked at the dark red flecks of blood on her fingers.  
Unsteadily, she got to her feet, and headed home.  

				#

Stone stopped in the park, looking around.  He’d followed Apollo 
here, but lost him.  He examined the people in the park, a half dozen 
children throwing a ball around, two young lovers holding hands on a 
park bench, and a man reading a newspaper on another bench.  In the 
distance, he saw several other people exiting the park.

“Damn,” he muttered, jamming his hands into his pocket in 
frustration.  “Not again.”  He was unarmed, and there was no sight of 
Mary Chaine, at least in any of the forms that he had seen her in.  In 
the background, the sounds of sirens pierced the Sunday afternoon.

“You’re still standing, I’ll give you that,” came a voice.  “You 
seem to be having trouble with this one.”  

“She’s not working alone.  Novak’s helping her.”

“Awww,” whined the Devil, “So your job’s not easy.  What do you 
want, a pity party?”

“My gun back, for starters.  A good night’s rest.  And I could go 
for a bacon double cheeseburger.  My dinner was interrupted.”

“With all the time you waste on you earthly pleasures, I would 
expect you to be a little more productive.”

“I’ll get her, don’t worry.”

“Yes, you said that about Ash, didn’t you?” the Devil taunted. 

“So, tell me about The Dark Side of Eden?” Ezekiel asked. 

The Devil raised an eyebrow, but went along with the change in 
topic.  “A love story as old as time.  Girl meets boy,” he said.  
“Except the boy turns out to be me, or the Hollywood version of me.”

“Someone falls for you?” Stone scoffed, “Right, this is fiction.”

“Anything’s possible, Mr. Stone.  Mary was really quite good in 
this movie.  And killing off the first actress hired for the part, that 
was positively inspired.  Really getting into her role.”

“Glad you approve.”

“I do, I do,” said the Devil. “I don’t approve of you letting her 
go again.  You missed her in the theater, in the diner, on the boat.”  
He glared, then repeated, “On the boat, Ezekiel.  You spent days living 
with a damned soul, and didn’t even notice.  You get a modicum of 
credit for escaping the traps that were set for you.  But now, you come 
face to face with her again, and let her go.”

“I didn’t let her go, she ran away from me,” Ezekiel clarified.

The Devil waved a hand dismissively.  “There’s always an excuse.  
I care about results.  You’d better start producing, or else.”

Stone ignored him, watching the kids throwing the baseball 
around.  A high throw was tipped off of a glove.  The bounced, then 
rolled over near them.  “Hey, ball,” yelled the child who missed the 
catch.  “Throw us the ball!”

Stone stooped to pick it up, but the Devil got there first.  He 
tossed the ball from one hand to the other, than fired the ball towards 
the children.  It flew high over their heads, landing in the street on 
the other side of the park.  A car alarm sounded.  

Stone looked at the children running after it.  “Nice throw,” he 
said, turning back to his boss.  No one was there. “Same old tricks,” 
he observed, continuing his walk through the park as he looked for Mary
Chaine.

				#

“Hey Zeke,” Sam said as he entered the Hotel Irondell. “Are you back 
for good this time, or are there more men in blue looking for you?” She 
sat behind the front desk, the music from her headphones quite audible 
to Zeke.  

“I’m back.  All I need now is a decent meal and a good night’s 
sleep, and I’ll be right as rain.”

“’Right as rain,’ I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard someone 
say that before.”

“Umm,” Stone said, “how about A-Okay?”

Sam laughed at him. “You’re in a weird mood today.  Hey, I found 
that movie you were asking about.  Come on back here for a second.”

Stone ducked back behind the desk so he could see the screen of 
the computer there.  “It’s been a weird day, Sam, and not in a good 
way.  Sometimes you just have to laugh, because there’s nothing else 
you can do.”

Sam typed at the keyboard, not really listening.  “I had a hard 
time finding it, but there is one site that had something on it, even 
some screen shots.”

Stone read the screen out loud.  “’The Dark Side of Eden, 1939, 
directed by Linus Porter, starring Harold Price and Mary Sloane…’ hey, 
is there anything else on her?”

“Mary Sloane?  Sure, no problem.” Sam double clicked on a 
hyperlink. “Here’s a bio.  Looks like there’s a few pictures too, but 
that’ll take a minute to download.”  

“’Mary Sloane, born in 1919.” Zeke read.  “The Dark Side of Eden 
was her first movie, and her biggest hit.”  He skipped ahead, “She 
acted until the late 1950s, and married one of her directors, Mike 
Chaine.  Damn, it is her.”

“What?”

“Nothing.  She was murdered in 1972 by her husband, leaving 
behind a six year old son.  Damn, damn.”

“Hey, here’s the picture,” Sam said.  ‘It’s from that movie.”

Stone stared at it.  It was grainy, black and white, and 
overexposed.  But the woman on the screen instantly reminded him of 
someone.  The way the blond hair was cut, the smile, it was eerie.  The 
picture reminded him of Delilah Ash.  The face wasn’t quite right, it 
was definitely an image of a young Mary.  But he knew Ash had seen it, 
that her own look in the 1990s had been partly styled on this character 
in a sixty year old movie. 

“Is this what you were looking for?” Sam wondered.

“More than I expected,” he said admiringly.  “Thank you, Sam.  I 
owe you one.”

She smiled up at him.  “No prob, Zeke.  I’m off in 20 minutes, 
want to head over to Rawshank’s and have some dinner?  You can tell me 
the story about your mysterious adventure today.”

“That sounds great, Sam,” he said, and meant it.  “I’ll meet you 
back down here in 20.”

“Okay, go say hi to your cat,” she joked.  

Stone took the elevator up to his room.  It had been a long day, 
and not a good one.  Another innocent victim was dead.  Tomorrow would 
be better, it would have to be.  

Mary Chain, even if she was one of Ash’s favorites, was going 
back to Hell.  Along with Jason Novak, and of course Ash herself.  He’d 
lost the battle, yes, but the war was far from over. 

				#

Ezekiel and Thurston sat on a bench near the batting cages.  It was 
where they had first met, months ago.  The mood between them was 
somber.  

The older man spoke first.  “The charges won’t be refiled.  
Ballistics cleared your weapon, and Apollo Law’s statement has been 
thrown out.  He’s wanted for questioning for-” his voice cracked, “my 
son’s murder.”

“I’m very sorry that your family was dragged into this.  I wish I 
could have done more,” Stone said, painfully aware that his apology
was inadequate.

“The police checked on that boat you mentioned, but there is no 
registration for it.  The only lead they have on him is the church.”

“I don’t think we’ll see Apollo Law again.  I think it was just a 
fake identity to come after me.  Are you ready to hear about my past, 
about the person who murdered your son?”

“Mr. Stone, I saw things this afternoon I can’t explain.  Can you 
bring my son back?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t want to hear about it.  I’m here now because I had 
to finish my obligation with your murder charges.  It’s done.  And so 
are we.”

“Thurston?  I thought a judge would hear both sides of the 
story.”

“I’m a father first, then a judge.  My son is dead because of 
you,” Thurston said bitterly.  “Sarah’s friend spent the night in the 
hospital with a concussion.  Marla lost the baby.  Sarah’s in shock.”  
He looked away before continuing in a cold voice, “I curse the day I 
ever brought you into their home.  Marla blames me, you know.  I blame 
me too.”

“It was my fault too,” Stone said.

“Then we agree.  Goodbye, Mr. Stone.”  Thurston rose, looking 
twenty years older then he should.  Ezekiel Stone watched him walk 
away.  As with just about everything that had happened this last week, 
there was nothing he could do to alter the path.  Thurston Bristol had 
made a decision to end their friendship, and Ezekiel had to live with 
that.  

He sat on the bench for a while longer, wanting to be alone and 
succeeding at it.

				#

In the King house, Susan was watching TV.  Rosalyn was in the living 
room with her, staring at the TV but not really paying attention.  The 
phone on the table next to her rang.

“Could you get that, dear?” Susan asked.

Roz nodded and picked up the phone.  “Hello?”

“Hello,” said a strong male voice.  “May I speak to Rosalyn 
Stone?”

“Speaking,” she replied.

“You were married to Ezekiel Stone of the NYPD, died in the line 
of duty November 3rd, 1983?” 

“Yes,” she said cautiously.  “What’s this about?”

“I’m sorry, let me introduce myself.  My name is William Kane, 
Detective William Kane.”


			THE END