"Terry? Look, I'm sorry to disturb you at a time like this as I know you're already up to your necks in it but..."

"Paul? Is that you?" 

"Yeah. I wouldn't call you if it wasn't important, mate..."

"Paul, just tell me what's happened. Stop beating around the bush...!"

"Is Maximus with you?  I probably should talk to Maximus first but...well...I think I'd rather talk to you instead and then maybe you could tell him ...but you better stay with him...Oh god...this is so awful...I think I'm hyperventilating..."

"PAUL! Take a deep breath - and then just say it...! What's happened?"

There was a pause and then: "Ann's disappeared. I think she's been taken too..."

"Christ! Fuck...! Jesus...! Paul...you still there? Listen mate, I want you to do something for me. You get on to all the women. All of them. Tell them to stay put wherever they are. Don't let any of them tell you they can manage, right?  I'll get more people onto them ..."

"...What about Maximus?"

"Maximus?" There was a low sigh. "Maximus? Leave him to me...You just get that message to everyone...those with kids first..."

Terry closed his phone and threw it away from him, pulling at his brow nervously, his mind already racing for the next move.  

A voice behind him from the direction of the door broke in softly. "What concerns me? What are you leaving to yourself to do...?" The tone already suggested that the speaker had guessed the answer.

Terry spun round, unaware that Maximus had overheard.  "Max...? I think you'd better sit down first..."

"Then I'd rather stand." He fixed Terry a stare, advancing to the middle of the room and standing there, arms dropped by his side but his palms flexing ominously. There was the feeling of a coiled spring about him.

Terry stood up. "It's not looking good, Max.  I think they've taken Ann..."

It was her task. Always been. Cleaning. It was her task. Including the computer. 

That's what Clarity was doing right now. Cleaning the computer, or rather doing what they call "preventive maintenance": search for adware, spyware, viruses, defragment the disk drive volumes, disk clean-up, delete history files, bin content and all. He had told her that it didn't need to be done this week because he had not been much on the Internet. But, she thought that it couldn't do any harm to do it even so, could it?

It didn't bother her. Cleaning the computer had never bothered her. But the other kinds of cleaning, dusting, washing, all these little nothings that nobody notices when they have been done, but does when they have not been, have never been her cup of tea. She wondered if they could be anyone's cup of tea?

But, oddly, since Clarity had been living with John, it had bothered her less and less... and even less since they were married. She couldn't really explain it, but it was her way of taking care of him, of his things, his house, of asserting her closeness to him, that he belonged to her, as much as she belonged to him. They were both two different individuals, but also two halves of one whole. That's what marriage was supposed to do to most everyone... and she was no exception. That feeling of belonging and being belonged that made her feel both safe and responsible.

So, she could almost say that she liked to do the cleaning for him. All the cleaning, including his socks and underwear, yes. It was... as weird as it could sound, even to her, it was part of their intimacy. She didn't really like to clean... she liked to clean for him, that was completely different. It made her smile and she would have probably never admitted that to anyone. But it was really how she was feeling. She thought that she would have fought for her independence and for not having to put on the good little wifey's shoes when coming back home after her day at work, doing obediently what "good women are supposed to do". But she hadn't fought. She hadn't had to. She just... wanted it. For him. Because she felt that he needed that, the safety of a quiet and peaceful home.

The sharing of household chores had been done naturally, without even talking about it, and their life looked pretty classical. She was taking care of all the "cleaning", and him of all the "fixing" parts of their common life. But John was a pretty classical kind of man. He was probably simply recreating the schema of his life with his wife, as if there was no other way of doing it. The word "wife" still meant to her: his first one, in his other life. Even if she had now as much right as her to be referred to as John's wife now, she still couldn't help considering Donna as the wife.

It was not how she thought her life would be. Classical. But she loved him. To death. So, at her own surprise, she naturally became what he expected his wife to be. Or rather tried as much as she could to be that for him. But he didn't seem to complain so far. She had no doubt anymore about him being happy. And she intended to keep him that way, as long as she could.

She would never have imagined she could like that kind of cozy life they were mostly living. Except for the occasional breaks. She also liked to surprise him, and he seemed to like it too. She knew that boredom was the worse enemy of a couple. But indeed, she liked it. She remembered what she had said to Bou just before her wedding with Cort, about ancestral instincts never giving up, even for the most desperate cases. Well, she thought with an amused smile again, the most desperate case that she was had finally been caught... and, strangely, loved it.

The word "case" leaded her mind to another reflexion.  He must have been working on an important case at work these past weeks for he was sometimes preoccupied, worried, secretive. Well, secretive John's way... not very subtle. If he was not doing that kind of job, she would have been worried herself about what was going on with him. But she knew better than questioning him about his job. This was the only part of his life he didn't share with her. Professional secrecy, first, but also a way to leave the stress and worries, and horrors sometimes, of his work at the door of their home. Except when he was bringing home the paperwork he hadn't have time to do during the day... what he was doing more and more these times. She imagined that it must have been something big because he often locked himself in the studio for hours, made a lots of phone calls, and received some at the oddest times of the day... and even night sometimes, jumping on the phone before she could pick it up. There must have been a reason why those people were calling home instead of his cell phone that was uppermost set aside for his professional calls, so the line would be always available.

She also had in mind that some French Canadian or Cajun people must be involved in the case he was working on, because she had heard him say the few words of French he knew. Although, when she was thinking about it, he had really improved his French during their few trips to France, thanks also to Gaia's lessons. She had first thought that Gaia and he were both preparing another surprise for her, with more tender or naughty French words. She laughed when thinking about that! You can rely on Gaia to know all the naughty words in many languages!  Then she became serious again and hoped that Terry and she were doing well now. But, this time, it was not Gaia he was talking in French with. The very few times -once or twice- when this mysterious person had called when he was not home, he... or she had hung up when they had heard her voice. But it was at the beginning. It hardly happened anymore now. They must have known his schedule by now... or called his cell phone. She knew most everyone in the station and it was none of them, maybe a new one, or a contact in another station.

She shook her head. Well, she was not really the curious kind and respected his privacy and his work. So it was not a problem for her. That was another funny thing about their marriage. They each respected the other's privacy, but offered theirs freely to the other. She wondered if it made any sense. To her, it did. Very much.

So she was cleaning their computer's files. They were sharing the same personal access, having decided on a common agreement that they had nothing to hide to each other. He had another access though, for his work, not wanting to mix personal and professional life. But he had given her the password so she could do the cleaning of this part too. He could have done it himself, but hated that. And she was happy to do it for him. It meant a lot to her that he trusted her enough to give her access to his work, knowing that she wouldn't put her nose in his files. And she didn't. Just cleaned it, every now and then.

That's what she was doing right now, with a dreamy smile on her lips brought by the thought of their harmonious life. 

"Mais... qu'est ce que c'est que ça?"

She was looking at the 5th picture of a ruin, different ruins in fact, surrounded by typical Mediterranean landscapes or overgrown vegetation, or fallen dry stone walls. She had the unpleasant feeling that any of them could have been used by night for the shooting of a scary movie. She had to admit that they had a certain charm... but all they could shelter now were rats, snakes and maybe a couple of bats... for those that had still a roof.  That thought made her shudder with disgust. What could people do with such... things?

"Well, good luck and better them than us," she thought just before deleting the contents of the bin without any hesitation. 

Few minutes before, after having cleaned their common part of the computer, she had logged in to his professional access and had been very surprised to find only a few files in the bin, while it was usually so full. He generally never emptied the bin, but she thought that, maybe, there were classified files in there and he had to delete them. That's probably why he didn't want her to clean his professional user part. So she had opened the bin to check what it was, just their name, not wanting to delete important things he could have put in there by mistake, and intending to ask him before deleting them. But they were pictures, obviously forgotten or deleted at the last minute,

That's how she had seen those scary pictures. She admitted to herself that the word scary was a bit exaggerated, but well, certainly not attractive. If John was feeling some nostalgia about the place where they were married, and wanted to be reminded of the good time they spent there, he could certainly have found better than that to feed his fantasies.

It came to her mind that maybe he had. Maybe he had saved the good looking ones in his favorite links? It would be fun to see them... All she had to do was to look... but no, she was not going to rummage through his files. He trusted her. And God knows what she could find there, in the middle of work files! She knew that every man... and even every human (and maybe non human) being needs his or her little fantasies. Keeps the mind safe. In John's case, she wouldn't have been surprised to find beautiful and peaceful pictures of snowy landscapes... pucks, sticks, and ice ponds. That man seemed to content himself with such simple things! Like her, she thought. That was one of the many reasons why she loved him so much.

But her imagination had been teased now. Who knows? He could very well surprise her if she ever knew what was hidden in his secret garden. Maybe a few skating girls, or female version of snowmen with very few clothes on and voluminous icy assets?  But, she told herself that she would of course never know as it was, first: hidden, and second: secret. The respect of his privacy was one of her personal rules and she had no intention of breaking it. Not even now.

But, when going in the history files, just before deleting them, her sight was attracted by familiar names. She generally didn't look at the links. In fact, she hadn't really. But those names... "Charmes et Provence",  "Coups de coeur en Luberon"... those names sure attracted her attention. Many of these links, that had been visited in the past days, had Provence or Luberon in them.

This couldn't be secret, and was probably not work either. She instinctively clicked on one, then a second link. She felt guilty for doing that, it was almost indecent, looking at what he had been looking in the privacy of the studio.

Most of these links headed to houses... houses that, in fact, deserved more the name of ruins than "charming stone houses to be restored" as they were named in the web pages.

And all of them were... for sale!

Questions rushed to her mind. What was he up to? And why was he doing that from his professional access? 

And suddenly, it hit her...

The privacy of the studio...

Was this what he was doing these past weeks each time he had shut the door of the studio. And answered in French to apparently very important phone calls? But... why didn't he tell her anything? She was concerned too... they were two in this. Were they? What did he fear? All she would have done was...

Well, yes, she had to admit that all she would have done was say: no. Plainly. Simply. No. N.O. no. 

Non to be negotiated. Just no. 

No!

Anger was rising in her. Anger and something else. No way they would ever buy a house in Luberon! They didn't have money enough, Luberon was so expensive! That's probably why he was looking for ruins... or, as they called them ..."houses to be restored". But they were living here, at thousands of miles from that place. It was not realistic! And it was out of question that she could go and put her hands in cement, carry stones, sleep in a room full of holes and spider webs.

A tiny inner voice tried to differ. And why not after all...? It could be funny...

But the anger in her, and that other thing, were stronger. No no no!!!! Not that! Not there! There was no way he would ever convince her that they could have a house in Luberon. She was going to talk to him and make him change his mind in no time.

A week or so later, she was seated in a flight, grumpy, worried, sorry, trying to sleep and forget where she was going and what she had just done.

The man blended in. It was something he was good at. Training, experience, some native talent. Driving into the town of Folsom the first time, he'd made a tiny ripple only because he had had to ask directions and rent equipment for an initial surveillance of their property. This trip in, he didn't even merit that much notice from any of the natives.

His light brown eyes were hidden behind nondescript sunglasses. His shorts were khaki. His t-shirt had no logo, no saying, nothing to break its marbleized blue tones. He had a tan because most people did in this area, even those passing through as tourists. Anyone asked, he was there to do some fishing, maybe ride a few trails at one of the local stables, little kayaking ... in short, a typical ecotourist, the kind they were used to coming in to sample the natural beauty of the countryside.

The woman he waited on drove past where he was parked on the side of the road. Anyone looking his way would have dismissed him, just as she did, as he studied the map spread out on his steering wheel as if he was just another lost traveler. But as soon as two cars passed after hers, he was on the highway, following her, keeping tabs. He saw her drive up to the post office.

It surprised him when she got out of her car. She was pregnant, which he'd found out a few visits ago. It had been two weeks since he'd last seen her and her belly was now much rounder, much more noticeable. She was at that particular stage where she was beginning to stride differently in order to balance her weight better. But she wasn't yet at the waddling stage.

He knew she was just over six months pregnant. He'd already checked out her medical records. He knew everything they knew about her health and her baby's progress. He even knew a few things about the husband's health. Those kinds of details are important when you're building a case.

When she came out, she was struggling with a rather large box. An older man pried it from her and began carrying it to her car for her. He could see her face well enough to read the annoyance. But she still smiled at the man after he put the box in her car. He had already pegged her as one of those feminazis ... takes it as an insult if a man is a gentleman with her.

Back in her car, she sped off, heading south to Mandeville to the big modern hospital there. He didn't follow her inside. He knew she was going to see her OB in the office building attached to the hospital.

While she was inside, he made lists. He was always making lists and then revising them to fit in the various facts he'd gleaned.

All he really knew at this point was one thing: this woman's husband was somehow the crux of his brother's disappearance. But he suspected much. Mainly he suspected that his brother was dead and that the husband had killed him. He didn't yet know exactly why his brother had come here, why his trail seemed to simply vanish here ... but he knew his brother and what he'd been involved in well enough to know that it had almost certainly been dangerous and not altogether legal. And that was not a problem; he himself sometimes found it more expedient in his line of work to stray over the boundaries of strictly legal.

He looked at his watch. The husband was still at work. He couldn't really shadow the husband because he would have been detected. The husband was, like him, in the security field. He had to presume the husband was as good as his reputation made him out to be. That meant he would have picked up a tail if it happened too often or was done by a single operative as opposed to a larger, coordinated team.

The man, unlike his younger brother, was very patient and precise. He would build his list, plug in all the evidence, figure out what had happened to William.

When he did, he would know exactly what the woman's husband had done and why. And he would know why his brother's company had sent William down here ... and he would know why his brother was dead.

Then he'd also know who was going to pay for his brother's death. He was realist, this man. If the husband had taken his brother's life, the revenge would be an eye for an eye. He would take the woman's life as his revenge, if his suspicions were borne out. He just hated that she was pregnant. Already, he was planning to wait until the child was born even though that meant a few more months to exact revenge. He could be patient.

His name was Levon. 

When she came out of her doctor's office, the woman paused in the atrium. It was flooded with light, filling her senses with yellow and orange tangles of color. She tried to call Maximus at work. Reception inside the hospital was its typical bad. So she strode through the big main doors that were the fastest way outside from the atrium.

Dialing once again, Ann waited impatiently for Max to answer. His voice was brusque, hoarse.

"You been yelling at the troops again, sweetie? You sound so sexy when you're all General of the Armies of North-ish," she said to him, smiling as she imagined that specific look of annoyance that would flit across his face in the half second jolt of her sass. And then she pictured his face as it relaxed to realize it was her on the phone, calling out of the blue.

"I am just about to leave for a meeting, Anna."

Whoa. Okay. That was not quite the response she'd been expecting. She cleared her throat, shuffled her feet, looked off down the road that led past the doctor's office building attached to the hospital. If he could have seen her, he would have known the way she bit her lip meant she was nervous.

"Will you be able to come with me to the doctor's appointment next week, Max? It's ..."

"Next week?" he paused, looking over his calendar. It was taken up by deadlines and reports but nothing too major. There was the weekly staff meeting, the one he was about to be late for today. "I could juggle my schedule ... if it's important?"

"It is to me."

"Anna? Is everything okay? Today's visit ... is there anything ..."

A smile flitted across her face at the change in his tone. "I'm fine. The baby's great. But next week is the ultrasound. I want you with me. Can you make it work?"

"Yes. I will make it work, cara."

Now she grinned into the phone. When he said that endearment, it rarely failed to not strike her deep inside. "I love you, Max. I truly do."

"As I love you, Anna."

When she closed her phone, she just stood there, feeling his warmth over the distance. This really is my life, she thought, amused at how surprised she could still be to be happy. Just before she went into the hospital, she looked the other way down the road.

A dark blue car was parked just this side of the exit for the parking garage. A man sat behind the wheel, looking down, as if he was reading a book to pass the time while waiting. There was something about him that made her stare, trying to place where she knew him. It was an insular town ... she assumed it was someone she must know vaguely ... perhaps a merchant.

Just then, the man looked up, his eyes going instantly toward his rear view mirror. He was far enough away that she could not see real details ... but when she saw his face look up, she blanched and stumbled backwards, her hand reaching blindly for the door.

Levon glanced her way just in time to see her walking into the building.

What was she doing there? Had she seen him, he wondered swiftly. Dammit.

He could not risk this. He started the car and smoothly pulled from his space, intent on not making any scene but in getting away before she could get another look at him. He would have to change cars now, he thought to himself, because if she started looking out for this one, she'd be far too intent on finding him. He had not wanted her to ever notice him at this point. What if she alerted the husband?

On the drive into Abita Springs where he was staying in a rented room near the highway that led directly to Folsom, he pondered this possible turn of events.

What if she'd seen him? She'd never met him ... except ... except he knew he looked a lot like his brother William.

Well then, maybe this was a good thing. Maybe it was time to see how she'd react to seeing him. If she panicked, then she knew something about his brother and she was probably in on whatever had happened to him.

What would she do if he showed himself deliberately, so she'd have to notice him? He nodded to himself as he drove and began to form a new plan of attack.

Inside his office, Maximus slowly closed his cell phone. He was facing the window behind his desk. Before him spread the bend in the mighty Mississippi River that gave New Orleans its nickname of the Crescent City. He shifted his eyes down, to concentrate on the scene's foreground, where he could see large ships at the quay and workers moving back and forth on the docks.

This was his domain, the port. His post with a government contractor was as chief consultant over security for this region's ports. His area of responsibility covered every federal port on the Gulf from Florida to Louisiana.

But his mind was not on his work responsibilities just then. They were on family. His family. His wife. His unborn child. His extended family, including those friends from the pub and people like his caretaker and his wife's family.

He breathed deeply and in his mind, he raced over the concerns for their safety that he still harbored.

Ever since the threat from Lucius and his men, Maximus had been immersed in one priority: to ensure that he eliminated any possible tie between himself and Lucius. He never wanted anyone who might have had any connection with Lucius and his activities to ever find him or his family. Whatever explanation they may seek for the disappearance of Lucius and the men who had thrown in their lot with him, Maximus wanted there to never be any strand that might lead an investigation toward himself. If that ever happened, Maximus knew it would threaten everyone in his extended family.

That had already meant months of careful investigation to determine to whom Lucius might have divulged any information on Max. And to learn if Lucius had ever been aware of any of the others from the pub who were like him ... men who'd come from other realities.

He had already determined that Lucius had worked for a company called Mephisto Corporation. In his investigation of the company, which was a high tech computer games software testing business, he had come to believe that from the moment Lucius had begun to investigate Maximus after seeing him in Rome, Lucius had been operating as a rogue agent, divorced entirely from the company.

Shortly after that trip to Rome, Lucius had rented a warehouse and there he met with the men in whom he obviously had most confidence could keep their new endeavor a secret from the corporation. These were the men who had either gone with Lucius to Elysium or had died on Max's ranch where they had threatened his family.

Although to his wife it might have appeared that all danger had been eliminated with the removal of those obvious targets, Max had immediately launched himself into the investigation of Lucius and any ties that might have led others to Max. After all, Lucius and his men had lived in this time for a number of years. Of course they would have developed friendships and associations. Those people would wonder what had happened to Lucius and the other men when they simply disappeared.

The company that had employed them, for instance, must surely have wondered. They appeared positioned well enough to try to track the men's movements, at a minimum. But as of yet, Maximus could detect nothing but a cursory search of their credit cards, passports, checking account. A police report had been filed for each man, declaring them missing.

But nothing else.

In researching the men's activities prior to their intrusion on his life, Maximus discovered ample evidence that they appeared to have kept to themselves and their work for the corporation. None had married or fathered children. Only one, the one from this time and this reality, had family but it was only a brother to whom the man was not close and who had made no inquiries, leading Max to believe that by the time the brother noticed his sibling was missing, the trail would be more than cold ... it would be non-existent.

For months, Maximus had been consumed with this matter of protecting his family and those of the pub from this threat. 

He had kept close watch over his wife, devoutly anxious that no threat from his past would harm her. To lose her, to lose their child ... he could never have faced that. Not with his past ... not with the losses of his past that had nearly destroyed him then.

But every angle he investigated had caused him to grudgingly admit that there simply appeared to be no way any person could trace Lucius to him. There was always a wild card, of course, and this is why he maintained his vigilance.

Now he forced himself to release his concerns over her safety in order to absorb the good news from her phone call. Their baby's health was good. He could have told her that. It was a good, strong child she carried. His son or daughter.

This was the first visit he had not insisted that she be driven by Ralph. He had begun to slowly relax his vigilance over her every movement, especially when he could not be there to protect her from an outside force.

Ralph had become a critical force and had come to be of particular significance to Maximus. The gods had been with them the day they brought them to the place in Folsom and brought Ralph into their lives, Maximus mused to himself.

Breaking into these thoughts, was the voice of Rebecca, his administrative assistant. She rapped once on the door and then opened. She reminded him of the staff meeting. He looked at his watch and then quickly rose, walking sharply from the office, now ten minutes late for the staff meeting.

By the time she pulled in the lane that led to their ranch, Ann was no longer shaking. No one was following her. No one had been following her at all from what she could tell. Obviously, she told herself, she was seeing things, imagining ghosts.

She passed Ralph, working with one of the new horses, getting him used to his ways of doing things. Seeing Ralph, seeing the horse, seeing her dog Buck, seeing her peaceful home ... she sighed and promised herself she'd never mention her obvious hallucination to anyone.

They'd all think she was either an idiot or blame it on the pregnancy.

Men.

That night, though, she woke from a disturbing dream, shaken by the vision of William, damp mud of his grave clinging to his body and face. Coming toward her. His hands bound behind his back. A look in his eyes ...

Her startled reaction to the dream woke Max. Grumpy at the sudden jolt as she shoved the covers back and tried to climb out from where he hand an arm and a leg over her, he instinctively held on.

She told him she had to go to the bathroom. He sensed something else had just happened but let her go.

Inside the bathroom, Ann looked in the mirror after tossing water on her face. It was just a dream, she told herself. And it meant nothing.

Whoever the man was she saw in that car, he had not been William. William was dead. She had seen his body get buried. 

Whatever her mind had thought it had seen, it had not. It had just been the light or that the way the man tilted his head had reminded her of William. And it was entirely okay that it had bothered her to be reminded of what had happened. But it would not be okay to dwell on this, to imagine something stupid ... something like what?

Did she really think William had been in that car today, she asked herself, looking in her own eyes. It made her smile then, because asking the question showed the absurdity of her own imagination.

By the time she crawled back into bed with Max, she was at ease again.

When he went into one of his deep surveillance modes, it would have been easy to imagine that his circuitry had shut down and he was in some form of stasis. Sid had no need of screens or keyboards when he plugged himself directly into his mother board to let his system range freely over the web. This way he could browse at speeds more akin to warp factor nine. Thousands of gigabytes of information could be processed in his brain in seconds and nothing but the occasional flicker of an eyelid gave away the intense concentration and activity that was going on inside his head.

"You going to kiss him goodnight, babes?" Myra stuck her head around the door, but Sid did not respond. "I asked if you were going to...?"

"...I heard. Come here a moment. Look at this..." Myra walked over and sat before the screen as Sid called up a few pages one after the other for her to peruse. "Interesting, hey?"

Myra read through the information and looked at the images he provided for her - then stared up at Sid with an adoring gaze. "You're a genius, Siddy boy...but then you knew that already, didn't ya? This is just what you need to put you in the place you should be. Pull this beauty off, babes, and they'll all be kneeling before your godhead...!"

Sid drew her onto his lap and licked at her neck sensuously. "I knew I made the right choice with you, cherie. You totally get me. The rest have just consigned me to the Out tray. I've been stuck in Nowheresville too long, like the embarrassing relative you never invite to the party. Once this goes down, honey chile, they'll have to sit up and take notice of me. Then I'll be the man and those pathetic losers will be exposed for what they are...All I needed was a chance to show myself...and here it is. Set out on a platter..."

"...I like how you think, baby. Make them squirm. Burst their stupid little self satisfied bubbles. I want to see you on the top of the heap. If you ask me, that's where this was all leading anyhow. Stands to reason this place is first and foremost a cyberconstruct. And you are the Cybergod...your time is now, Sid my beautiful man. Make them pay...."

Sid logged off and swung round in his large swivel chair spinning Myra at speed in his arms. "I think it's time to put the baby to bed...and then..." but he never finished his sentence. Myra had already started on her plan B....

He rolled the car forward into the drive with his usual careful precision, edging it almost to the bumper of Clarity's. It was a little neurosis he had. He hated the back end of his van hanging off the edge of the driveway. Easing himself out of the driver's seat, he jumped down from the Range Rover and slammed it behind him, flicking the remote lock and almost jogging up the path. It had been a hell of a long day since he had left at six that morning and he couldn't wait to get open the front door and slip into his own life again. Knowing that she was there waiting for him, with something hot on the table and then a quiet evening together, was just about the finest thing in life. He loved her so much. She had made him whole again when he had thought he would never get past what he'd lost. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

Just wait until the house deal was finalized, he mused to himself. He could hardly bear having to sit on this secret. But he wasn't about to say a damn word until he had it signed and sealed and the property was theirs. It was the only way he felt he could show her what he really felt for her. Clarity had always loved Provence almost as much as she loved him, yet she had given it all up for his sake. It was time for him to show her how much he appreciated her sacrifice and that he was ready to make a few adjustments of his own for her needs too. It wasn't exactly a hardship anyway. The Luberon was one of the most beautiful places on earth: the perfect setting for the most beautiful woman in the world.

His mind drifted back to the wedding and the crazy honeymoon they had shared in the region. It hadn't exactly been what he'd planned but somehow he still found the memories amongst the best he'd ever had. Despite that odd nightmarish dream he'd had during their stay. The strange thing was it seemed Clarity had dreamed it too. That had unsettled her, he knew, but he wasn't about to let something like that spoil what they had. To him it just showed how in synch they were. Even their dreams touched. They had both been exhausted and overwrought. Love was sometimes like that - it made you fear so much for the safety of the other that you could be paranoid. Somehow they had built a web of crazy hallucinations weaving in people they must have unconsciously observed during that week about the village. He wished he could have made her see there was a simple rational explanation behind it all. But she hadn't seemed to want to talk about it much and he had never pushed her.

Not to worry. Once they visited their new place and got to know the locals, she would soon see how absurd it was to imagine that sleepy idyllic place could hold any sinister dangers for anyone. It was time to put aside that uneasy feeling that had lingered from the time they had so nearly lost each other when Sid had returned him to Mystery. It was like they were fighting this fear that the good times couldn't last and that this existence of theirs was too perfect to be real. He wanted to prove to her for once and for all that, in truth, sometimes things just work out. It had been about time both of them got lucky and now they had to learn to accept their good fortune.

"Hey, Clarry...I'm home...!" John announced as he burst into the hallway with his usual enthusiasm. It was normal for her to run out and throw herself on him. On many occasion he just carried her into the lounge and they had a welcome home session there and then on the couch even before dinner. It was one of the plusses of not having kids around...

But she did not race out and launch herself onto him. Instead, she appeared at the door of the study. "We need to talk. About this crazy idea to buy a property in Provence..."

John paused, the smile dying on his face. "How do you know about that? You been looking through my private papers?" He wasn't sure why that bothered him so much. She was his wife; he had nothing to hide from her. But that was kind of the point. Didn't she trust him? He also felt suddenly deflated by her evident attack on him when he had been so looking forward to a very different reaction.

"I wasn't spying. I was housekeeping your desktop. You know how you never do it..."

"...You don't need to open files to do that..." he countered defensively.

"...I was just making sure I didn't delete anything important..."

"Oh yeah?" he winced as he said it. That had been too strong. He didn't mean to sound like he didn't believe her but...

"Yes, John. I opened up a few files and found all these houses for sale. What do you think you are doing? How can you buy a house without even consulting me? For a start we can't afford the prices. Are you crazy? I thought the plan was to move into a bigger house here? Mon Dieu...I just can't believe you would do something like this and not even tell me! What do you think I am? Just the pretty little wife who cooks and cleans for you but hasn't got the wits to make a decision about something major in our lives..."

He held up his hands. "Whoa...! Let's back up here. I was planning on surprising you. It was supposed to be a gift. Can't a guy make a gesture for his wife? Stop trying to make this into a male versus female thing. I thought you'd be over the moon about a place in Provence. We could go there for holidays. God's sakes, Clarry, it's your home...!"

"We are not buying a house in Provence...and that's that!" she exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"...because...because...we can't afford it..."

"Who says? I got a bit stashed away...okay, we might have to tighten our belts for a while but..."

"Stashed away? You mean you've got bank accounts you haven't even told me about? Do you tell me anything that matters? What else don't I know about you?"

John glared. "You know every fucking thing about me! Even my damn password on the computer so it seems...you think a guy who hands everything over like I do, is somehow taking you for granted? You got my salary, you run my accounts, you read my private mail...yeah, I really am a male chauvinist pig, aren't I? Jesus Christ...I only wanted to do something for you! Because I love you. More than anything in the world. That some kind of crime?"

He pulled on the jacket that he had thrown over the end of the stairs. Without another word he walked out, almost ran down the path and before she could answer, he was backing the car out of the drive and screeching off up the street. He'd had to get out before he said something he'd really regret.

Or he heard something from her that would only make things worse.

She stayed there, standing at the door of the studio, where she had been since she had heard John's voice, staring blankly at that door that had just swallowed him.

She didn't know how long she stayed there. It could have been two minutes, or twenty. What difference did it make? It was not important. Nothing was important. Except that she had done it. She had just done what she had to do. And nothing else mattered.

They were not going back to Luberon. Period. 

She finally moved. At least, her body did. She started to pick on the sofa some magazines they had left there, with the intent of putting some order in the living room. She stopped and stared at the cover of one of them, without really seeing it. It was a hockey magazine. She walked around the sofa and, without even noticing what she was doing, put back all the magazines where they first were. She went upstairs, avoiding carefully their bedroom, entered the bathroom, started to run a bath, stopped it. She turned open the sink tap, looked for a while at the water disappearing in the hole, finally put some water on her face. She took a towel randomly on the rack. It was his. She put it back where it was, without drying her face, and went back downstairs. Her feet lead her to the kitchen when her hands started mechanically an activity they were used to, and washed the mug she have had her coffee in, just... before. She opened the cupboard to place it where it belonged. Next to John's one.

The mug slipped from her hands and shattered in dozens of sharp tiny pieces on the floor. 

She looked at them through a blur, standing bare feet in the middle of the shards of glass. 

What had she done? What had she just done to him? 

She saw again in her mind each expression of his handsome face, all the changes in it, from happiness, surprise, incomprehension, doubt, disbelief, disappointment, pain, to... anger. Cold anger. Turned against her.

All that on the account of a dream. She couldn't stand the idea of going back where he had a chance, even a very improbable one, to be in danger. She couldn't stand the even infinitesimal possibility of any harm done to him... or of losing him.

He was a big boy, he was going to live with that, with her refusal. Just as she was going herself to live with the memory of his hurt and disappointed look. They would get over that. It was not the first time they were arguing. She was used to this habit he had of getting away when she was the one who started an argument and he knew she was past listening to his point of view.

But it's true that he generally didn't go very far, just looking for peace in one of his safe havens, such as the garage where he generally started a hard physical work on something, anything to calm his nerves, or the garden, when he wanted to shut down the fight. It was almost impossible to fight with him, unless he started it... and it was not very often. Generally, when he finally came back home, both of them had calmed down, they talked to each other, she or he apologized, they signed their treaty of peace, their own way, and that was it.

This time, it was more serious. It was the first time that he was leaving the house, going away. Away from her. And she couldn't forget the hurt in his eyes.

She couldn't help to think what terrible thing he had done to deserve such a reaction from her: a surprise, he wanted to offer her a surprise... because he loved her. His words still resonated in her ears and in her heart.... "That some kind of a crime"?

If her mind refused the answer, her heart couldn't. Of course no, it wasn't. 

But he couldn't understand. It was to protect him. For his safety. She couldn't give up, it was too important. She didn't want them to buy that house, for the same reason that he wanted to do it... love. Because she loved him.

She shook herself and thought that she'd better keep her mind occupied with something else, now that she had taken her decision. She was aware that she was doing exactly what he had been doing and that had made her angry:  an unilateral decision. But the difference what that she was right. 

She looked down and saw the mess she had just done. Lost in her thoughts, she had unconsciously walked around the kitchen and now, not only had she pieces of glass stuck in the sole of her feet, but the usually immaculate white tiles of the kitchen floor were stained with her blood. She'd better clean that before he went home. If he did.

She immediately rejected that thought and started to remove as much shards as she could from her feet, before wrapping them in clean towels. She didn't even feel the bite of the sharp glasses, as if her body had decided, like her soul, to shut down to any kind of pain.

She took a sponge and kneeled down to clean her mess. Then that horrible thought assailed her again and, this time, reached her mind... what if he didn't come back home? What if she had been too far? She had simply thrown to his face that she didn't trust him. Worse, she had made him feel like he was not worthy to be trusted, she had read this on his face, while all the harm he had done was working hard to prepare the biggest surprise he had ever done to her. She realized that she should have told him the real reason of her reaction, it was more fear than anger. It was more about him being in a possible danger than because he had done something without telling her. She should have told him. But no. She couldn't. He wouldn't understand. He would say that it was just a dream. So she kept cleaning, trying to empty again her thoughts and keep all the pain away.

She succeeded. For a while. For a while, she just scrubbed the floor as if her life... and his, depended on it. With no thoughts at all.

But suddenly, without any warning, the dams her body and mind had built against pain started to crack, all at the same time. Her feet started to hurt like hell, and even more, her heart. She sat down on the wet floor. Painful thoughts started to flow in her mind again. But, this time, it was not about her, about how she had felt and why. It was about him and it was so much more painful. She saw again his happy smile freezing on his beautiful face when he had to face her heartless comments. He must have put so much effort for a long time in this surprise, and looked so happy to offer it to her as a testimony of his love. How could have he felt about her unexpected reaction? And worse... about her apparent lack of trust. In fact, she trusted him with her life, had always done and will probably always do. There was no one on earth she could trust more than him, not even herself. Her reaction had been out of fear, but how could he have known? The words that she had spit at him had been harsh and unfair. She was totally aware of that. And she hated herself for that.

She wondered with a fear that gripped her heart what damage she could have done to him, to his feelings, his trust, his love. What consequences would this have on him, on them, on their present, their future? She knew that, sometimes, even only a few words, few little harsh and uncontrolled words, could do the biggest damage.

But then, reason, her reason, came back. When he would have quieted down, he would understand. Understand? Understand how? He didn't even know why she had reacted that way! Understand what? That she was putting their love and trust in each other, what they have had from the beginning and that was getting stronger and stronger with time, in jeopardy just because of a dream she had made in that place a few months ago? A dream where he was in danger, that's true. But still a dream. A stupid dream.

And it's when the dams broke down for good. And so did she. She started to cry uncontrollably, with big sobs, like a little girl, without being able to stop, seated in the middle of the kitchen, a bucket full of shards of glass and towels stained with blood beside her.

Again, time ran and she couldn't have said how long she cried. But she stopped suddenly, as fast as she had started. An unique thought was in her mind now: she just couldn't let a dream destroy what they had. She had hurt him because of it. She had to do something, to put aside her own fears, which were probably unfunded... that were surely unfunded. She had to forget it all and tell him how much she loved him with or without house in Provence. Of course she loved that place, and of course she would have loved to be able to go back there for the holidays with him... if there had not been that dream. But, more than that, more than the house, it was what he had done that counted. For her. He had done it for her. Alone. In secret. She could imagine his smiling face when working on this and his probable impatience to tell her, like a little boy. Tears came back to her eyes again at the thought of this sweet and strong, loving, caring man who had done all this just to make her happy. And how had she thanked him?  What reward had he gotten from her for expressing his love in such a sweet way?

She wiped angrily her eyes, not wanted to cry again, because it was not getting her anywhere. She had to do something to stop all this. She knew that she couldn't erase the harm that she had done, but she could still try and make it better, or less wrong? She had to find him and tell him that she was sorry, that she was thankful, that they would do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted. That she loved him.

She tried to think positively. The first thing was to find him. Where to call? 

The pub. That thought reassured her a little. At least, if he was there, the worst he could do was drink to forget what an ungrateful woman he had married, under the watching care of their friends, then someone would drive him home safe and sound. She didn't mind if all their friends thought that she was a heartless bitch. That's what she was anyway. What counted was that he was safe. But no, she was sure that, even after she had hurt and disappointed him, he wouldn't say anything as bad to everyone. He was just not that kind of man.

Then, she thought that, instead of showing his pain to all his friends, he could have looked for the support of a few friends of his instead? But no, he wouldn't do that, not in that state. He generally faced their quarrels alone. And his biggest pains were silent.

She realized that the best she could do for him was to leave him alone and wait for him, let him cool down by staying away from her as long as he needed to get rid of part of his anger. Then he would come back home, she knew that, she wanted to believe it. Because he usually did, and usually forgave her. And all was fine again. Because this is the kind of man John was. Understanding, forgiving, loving.

She sent a simple written message to his cell phone: "I am sorry", so he would know that she admitted her fault, that he could come back home whenever he was ready to face her again.

Then, her feet still wrapped in stained towels, she sat on the soft carpet of the stairs, facing the entry door, and decided to wait here until he went back home, so the first thing he would see then, was her, ready to make amends for her stupid behavior. She would then tell him endlessly how much she loved him, how much she trusted him and that she would follow him wherever he wanted to lead her, to the moon or anywhere, even in Luberon, even if it was the end of them both, as long as they were together.

Levon had waited several days to renew his surveillance over the people from the ranch ... where he was convinced the remaining answers to what had happened to his brother William would be found.

Now as he slid behind the wheel of a new rental car he'd picked up in Baton Rouge the day before, he adjusted the rearview mirror ... and caught a glimpse of his eyes just before he placed the sunglasses over them. In that moment, he saw a long, cool flash of William.

William who had eyes that were identical to his. In fact, William and he shared many attributes ... same shape to the jaw, same lopsided way of grinning, same body type and height, same color hair. But William was ten years his junior.

Levon paused before putting the key in the ignition. Why had he left it until now to really matter in William's life, he wondered. But he knew why. His own life had taken precedence over everything. His father had disapproved when he left college and joined the Navy. He disapproved even more strongly when Levon devoted himself to becoming a SEAL. And when he left the Navy, he never bothered to tell his father why. His father's disapproval of his first born no longer mattered to Levon. That's what he told himself ... though he could, to this very day, remember where he was when his mother called to ask in her soft voice what he would do for a living now if he was "quitting" the Navy. Quitting the Navy? The tone of her voice told him what he needed to know ... the supreme irony was not lost on him ... that his father who'd once so disapproved of him joining the Navy now disapproved even more strongly in him leaving it after so many years. They never knew he only left the Navy because he was recruited by the CIA.

Levon could remember the last visit he made to his family's home, while he was still in the Navy. He could remember William at that age, about to graduate from high school. He remembered walking into the house when he'd come home, seeing William for the first time in years. It had been like looking at himself at that age, same eager need to be out in the world making his way ... except William had been far too influenced by his father where Levon had rebelled so intently from an early age that his father had never failed but to be disappointed. William was the golden child.

Except he wasn't. It's just that his parents had not ever known the real William. They went to their graves believing William was the attentive, doting child who had really made something of his life.

Only Levon had not been fooled. William had been like his father in terms of moral choices ... and maybe that's the real reason Levon had kept his distance.

However, he had kept tabs on his younger brother, always willing to step in when he knew William needed the kind of help a man with Levon's connections and abilities could deliver. Fool that he was, he had believed that when William went to work for the Mephisto Corporation, it had signaled that William had realized he needed to do something with his talents that was on this side of legal. William's definition of moral was as dangerous as his latent sociopath tendencies. How to reconcile that aspect of William with the brother who would occasionally seek out Levon in good times rather than only when something bad had happened and he needed his older brother's protection?

Those times were good but they could not fool Levon. William would step back into Levon's life, seem wistful over his as-yet-undiscovered abilities to build a life that included a wife and children ... envying how Levon had carved out that family life for himself.

Those times never lasted long, though. Pragmatic that he was, Levon guarded his own family's expectations when it came to Uncle William ... always aware that his wife and daughter had adored William, the relative who'd breeze in at the most unexpected moments, bearing extravagant gifts and full of exotic tales that Levon knew were wholesale fantasies.

Levon had always been convinced that someday it would be William who would be his family's downfall.

That this is not what had happened in the end was bittersweet for Levon. For the first two years after the deaths, Levon had found himself unable to think beyond the edges of his personal, deep losses ... and in that time, he'd lost total interest in William. He wasn't even sure that William knew that he no longer had a sister-in-law or a niece.

And then, out of the blue, William had emailed him. At first, the new job had seemed the perfect fit for William. He was going to be a "suit" now, he'd emailed Levon. One of those corporate types, he'd said. He was going to work for some huge think-tank place that needed his abilities to operate outside the box, William had said. Levon had hoped this was a new William, a William he no longer had to watch over and a William he no longer had to fear would one day wind up an untimely corpse, victim of his own reckless criss-crossing of the line between normal society and the underworld. William told him that for Mephisto, he would be working in the client development division, establishing relationships and seeking out alliances for the company's expanding business base.

Levon had arranged to be in London about six months later, at the same time William went there for his new employer. He did not announce his plans to William in advance; he'd just gone, spur of the moment, when Williams mentioned where he was next off to for Mephisto.

This was when he learned that Mephisto Corporation was not a place where William was turning his life around. He followed William in London; because, in his gut, something was feeling odd about what William did and did not say about the company.

What Levon determined within two days of being in London was that for Mephisto, William would still be the message man, as he'd been for others before. A message with a bullet. Or a knife. Or another means of threat, coercion, force. In one fell swoop, Levon found himself both worried for William and deathly angry at him. And Levon also began seeing Mephisto as a malevolent firm ... no ordinary company would clothe themselves as software developers and Internet gaming pioneers yet hire a man like William for the work he was doing for them. Levon did not trust Mephisto; he did not trust William.

Levon walked away from William at that point and would have nothing to do with his younger brother until he made changes in his life. And then that day came ... when William reached out to him, several months ago. He'd been woken by a call ... and heard William's voice. His younger brother told him he was into something so sweet, so unbelievable, so weird. William had been drinking, heavily, Levon could tell. He listened but William made little sense. Something about science fiction and making his fortune in one bold move of screwing over Mephisto.

That was the last he'd heard from his brother.

When Levon's return calls to his brother in the next few weeks went nowhere and his visit to his brother's condo turned up nothing but silence, Levon realized that screwing over Mephisto might have been the final act of his brother's life. Inquiries at his brother's office elicited only a hasty interview with some slick suit who was far too glib and far too curious about Levon.

Levon had long since lost any trust in Mephisto Corporation. His brother's disappearance did not seem to arouse any open concern to his company yet they dispatched someone immediately to begin stalking Levon's every movement. They didn't know who they were dealing with when they messed with Levon. He toyed with the tracker for a few days and then shook him off his tail.

That was when Levon launched his own investigation into his brother's disappearance. Mephisto could say William was simply away on business; Levon knew better. He read the glib suit's eyes well enough to know he was hiding something; but Levon also read the unease and fear in the voice of the co-worker he tracked down, seeking leads or suspicions.

Something had happened; Mephisto either knew and was covering up ... or, William really had screwed them over, he was in hiding and they were after him.

Either way, Levon was going to help his brother. He was all Levon had left in life.

It was ironic, he thought to himself as he eased away from the curb, supremely ironic that as it all turned out, that it ended up being Mephisto that Levon was now working with to find out what happened to his brother.

He still didn't quite trust this company but they were not exactly what he'd first thought they were, either. They were proving to be of more use to him than he could have imagined.

Good thing he had thought to call them when he was in France and faced with something so bizarre that he only knew one thing: this was bigger than he imagined, whatever it was that William had found himself involved in.

Several weeks before he'd gone to France, he'd taken another side trip to the Mephisto headquarters in Knoxville. They had known he was there. He was impressed by that. However, he was not impressed that they showed their strength too quickly, too easily. They thought they would shock and awe him this time around.

He didn't get shocked. He didn't get awed.

Or so he'd thought.

That had been before what he'd seen in France with his own eyes.

Amongst the people getting out of the small airport in the heart of Provence, only a few were not speaking French. And amongst these, an unusual couple could have attracted attention if people here were not so used to different people coming from any part of the world to take vacations in this beautiful region of France. The man, tall and burly, with long chestnut hair and a short beard, and the woman, small and slender, her brown air tied in a pony tail that had been in better shape, were talking... or rather exchanging a few words, in English.  One of them was talkative, relaxed and smiling; the other one was rather quiet, and looked tired and worried.

Usually, it was John who had troubles with flights, and Clarity enjoyed them. This time was different. She had been trying to sleep in order to shut down her stupid and unfounded anxiety, but all she had been able to do was toss and turn restlessly on her seat when she thought he was sound asleep, during the different flights they had to take. She had tried to answer him as naturally as she could each time he asked her a question, but, in fact, she had hardly talked to her companion. She needed sleep, wanted it, but her body denied this relief to her, probably controlled unconsciously by her mind. Deep inside her, she feared she could see in her dream a dreaded face she had already seen, smiling a devilish smile at her, and saying to them with an almost sepulchral voice: "Welcome back." That image was so strong that she almost could believe she had really dreamed it when she finally fell asleep during a short while. But no, it was just a trick her imagination had played on her. When totally awake, she could have almost sworn that her short sleep had been dreamless. But the uneasiness was still there. Fortunately, she managed to hide it from John. Or so she thought.

So, she was tired, jetlagged and in a very bad mood when they arrived in Avignon. John, on the other hand, was happy and looked almost as fresh as if they had traveled only a few hours in a limo. He had been catching a nap each time he could, and, now that he was close to his aim, he was beaming with joy. At last he was going to discover the result of these weeks of hard and secret work... and, at last, he was going to offer it to the woman he loved, in spite of the reluctance she still felt but was trying to hide now. She thought that he didn't notice, but he did. He knew her well enough to see that something was still not right. But she was trying so hard that he didn't want to make it worse for her by letting show that she had failed. He still couldn't understand why she was not so happy about this house. Her reasons were not good ones, he knew it, and she knew it too. He was expecting her to say it was because of that dream she had had during their honeymoon, but she never mentioned among her reasons. So he didn't either. He smiled to himself, he knew she would forget it soon; he was going to make it good for her. He knew she was going to love that house, that place. Even if he had only seen it on pictures, he already did. And she loved him.

They picked up the car they had rented... that John had rented to be precise. Clarity was usually the one who was taking care of these material details, because of the language when they were in France, but also because, just because he liked her to do it for him, and she knew it.  But today was different. This trip was different. Today, he was doing it for her. In this trip, he was completely in charge, even if it was her country... because it was her country. All he allowed her to do was to help him when French people were too lazy to try and understand his approximative French, or when their singing accent of the South, full of sun, made it impossible for him to understand them.

He had insisted that it should be a French one. The car. They were in France, he wanted a French car. Most of them were too small for his big frame to feel comfortable in, but he wanted her to really feel home. She looked at him and, in spite of her bad mood, couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm and contagious good humor. He was joking, holding her hand, stealing kisses each time he could... she had to love that man.

Before she could get into the car, he held her arm and stopped her. 

"Just a minute, young lady. I have something for you."

"Something... for me? A gift?"

"Sort of..." he said with an enigmatic smile

Uh oh, she thought, I know that smile, John Biebe, you are up to no good. 

And she was right. He made her turn her back to him and asked her to close her eyes. 

"What...?"

"Just do what I say," he said softly with that deep voice she had never been able to resist. 

So she did what she was told, obediently. And he simply, slowly blindfolded her with a scarf. 

"Hey! What are you do...."

"Shhhh... it's part of the gift. It's a surprise, remember? I want you to discover our future love nest only when we are there. I want it to be a total surprise for you. You will love it. Trust me. Do you trust me?"

How could have she said no? The tissue of the scarf was pleasant and soft on her skin. Very soft. She recognized the feeling. Velvet. One of her favorite tissues. But also a thick one. She had not any chance to see through. Unless she cheated. But why would she? He had obviously prepared all this thoughtfully, why would she disappoint him? Again. She'd better enjoy the ride... wherever it would lead her. She instinctively turned her head to follow the noises around her, doing her best to guess where he was, what he was doing, trying to get used to the sensation of being deprived of one of her senses. The sudden honk of a car nearby made her jump and she raised her hand to her eyes.

"Don't even try. I am the only one who will remove it. When it's time. Besides giving me ideas for later, this will keep you from temptation. I do not trust you to keep your eyes shut until the end of our trip."

"But John, we're only at the airport!"

"Precisely. I don't want you to know where we're heading to. Total surprise, I told you."

She felt his fingers brush softly her cheek, followed by his warm lips, just a chaste kiss. It made her smile again. 

"Now, let's get you inside that car. You put yourself in my hands totally ... you won't be disappointed."

"Well, the mayor said that a wife should follow her husband everywhere. I'd better obey, before you also cuffed me, sheriff." 

Her mind got distracted during the whole trip by her attempts to guess where they were, thanks to the sounds, the odors, the movements of the car. But she didn't know the area well enough to really identify the places. And her mind also got distracted by John's hand that always kept contact with some part of her body, as to remind her that he was here, watching over her.

The car finally stopped. John helped her to get out of it, then let her hand go, slipping silently a few feet away from her. She reached out to try to catch his hand again, needing to feel his presence in these unfamiliar surroundings.

But, almost immediately, she was bombarded with different sensations that slowly seemed to be taking possession of all her senses. All but the one John had deprived her of. She felt as if the place was trying to bewitch her. And it did.

The weather was still warm for the season; Indian summer had followed them until here. She opened even more all her senses and let her whole being be overtaken by the sensations: the soft touch of the Mediterranean sun warming her skin, the song of the Mistral, the most famous Provencal wind, playing its melody in what were probably olive trees branches, the light scent of pine trees and lavender, still lingering in the air in spite of the late season, the so slight, maybe only imaginary, salty taste of the yet far-distant sea on her lips. All these familiar reminders of that Provence so dear to her heart both soothed her mind and excited her senses.

John was watching her intently and the smile that was slowly appearing on her lips made his even wider. He knew then that he had won already his bet, the bet that she would be seduced by the place. Without having even seen it, she was, like him, already in love with it.

He stepped back behind her, untied slowly the scarf that was blinding her, slipped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, whispering in her ear...

"Welcome home, Mrs. Biebe. Let me introduce you to our little Provencal love nest."

She blinked several times quickly, getting used again to the bright sun of this late afternoon. And looked at last at that house that had haunted her nightmares lately.

It was an old stone house, a "bastidon" as they called it here, not in very good shape, like she had imagined, even if she couldn't remember having seen it in the pictures that were in John's computer files. Not very big, but surprisingly not so small either, surrounded by invading vegetations and old trees typical from Provence: pine trees, olive trees, cedars trees, wild lavender, and many others she couldn't name but that looked familiar to her.

The whole sight was positively charming, illuminated by this light particular to that part of France and that time of the day, that attracted so many artists, that short moment when the sun, just before setting, brushes the landscapes with its last rays, bathing them in this special atmosphere. The only thing that was missing to this perfect image was the song of the cicadas, but she knew that they would have to wait until next summer to hear them again sing their love song.

John was now by her side, holding her hand and smiling at her, with that smug smile of his, and "what-did-I-tell-you" written all over his handsome face.

She squeezed his hand, gave him her happiest smile back, invaded by a deep feeling of peace and safety, all her fears forgotten. 

Two days later, she was watching him proudly, while he was gulping down the drink she had just brought him. Her eyes followed the drops of lemonade that got lost in his beard stained with paint and plaster, then reappeared on his strong neck, joining there, in spite the time of the year, beads of sweat and ran together along the curves of his muscular naked torso, to disappear again in the hair of his lower belly. She licked her lips unconsciously, lost in her little fantasy.

"Hey, what are you thinking? Don't tell me now... keep it for later."

"Why keeping for later what we can do now?" she asked with her best temptress tone. 

"Because, little devil..." he wiped tenderly plaster stains from her own face with an amused smile, "... because we have work to do, and not much time to do it. Only a few more days and we'll have to go home... until the next time. I want to take advantage of each minute that the sun gives us to turn this old thing into the house of our dreams. For my little wife. But, after the sun is gone... the night is ours. I can stay all sweaty and dusty if it's what's turning you on."

She swatted his arm playfully and shrugged. "It's not the wrapping that counts, but the gift itself." She stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him and went back to the kitchen to wash their glasses.

"Hurry back, slave, I have another door for you to paint, and then, four or five more shutters!" he shouted at her, laughing. 

"I'll hurry only if you promise me a reward, and a worthwhile one, slave driver!" she answered him, smiling. 

Yes, she thought, they had been working hard since the first day, from dawn to sunset. Yes, she had her hands in plaster, paint and was carrying stones, buckets full of dirt and other pleasant things all day long. Yes, there was no part of her body that was not aching, or scratched, or bruised. But it was worth it. And she had loved every minute of it. Because they were doing this together. Even if they didn't even have the strength to do anything more than snuggle in each others' arms at the end of each day, right after dinner, and fall fast asleep for a dreamless night.

She relived again in her mind these first moments when the house and they were like... measuring, learning to know each other.

After he had untied her blindfold, once her first surprise passed, he had proudly showed her what he had himself only seen on pictures and through the computer. He had made all the contacts and transactions, helped by her friends, his too now since the wedding, and now, also his accomplices. These weird phone calls in French were theirs.

While they had been walking, hand in hand, amongst the sparse stones and overgrown vegetation, around the house, which, even if full of charm, was also full of holes, he had been explaining to her, his eyes twinkling with anticipation, a big grin plastered on his face, all he had planned for each part of the house and its surroundings. She could already see how it would look, how it already was, in his mind.

After a while, she was still hearing the so particular music of his captivating voice, but wasn't listening to the words anymore, she was just looking at him, enjoying immensely the pleasure of seeing him so happy and enthusiast.

She had suddenly stopped without letting his hand go. 

"John?"

He had turned to her, surprised, had raised his eyebrow quizzically.

"What?"

"I love you." 

He had said nothing, just stepped back to her, lifted her in his arms and carried her inside the house. If she hadn't had her eyes glued to his all this time, and her feelings overwhelmed by his closeness, she would have noticed the almost empty and dusty rooms they passed through, with only the necessary things for them to live in there a few days. She would have heard the old wooden floor creak under their weight, as if to welcome them. She would have smelt the lingering scent of beeswax with which an old wooden table had been polished, a long time ago already. But the only thing she had really noticed was the ancient and beautiful wooden bed that was standing in the middle of what would be their bedroom. That bed must have seen the making of generations of little Provencaux. And this is where they christened their new home their own way, the most beautiful and pleasurable way they knew. Endlessly.

Could life be better?