Fanfic - Destinies Intertwined by Fate, Chapter 3, Part 1/Halloween Costumes/Dream Houses/More!

[star_ocean_fan]

Halloween Costumes, ,Part Three - Claude C. Kenny and Bowman Jeane

Okay, I admit. I only know about Bowman because of Star Ocean wikia. Still, he's human, and he's part of the Star Ocean 2 cast. I'd like to include him.

First up is Bowman. From what I've learned of him on the Star Ocean wikia, he's generally a nice guy, and he's intelligent. He runs the pharmacy that Claude and company can use so that gives me a fair idea of what, as a child, he'd dress up as for Halloween. I personally believe that most children, if they, at an early enough of age, show an interest in certain fields, it is what they grow up to be as adults. I can see Bowman trick-or-treating as a doctor or many variations of a doctor, i.e. vampire doctor, zombie doctor, dead doctor, etc . . . He's relatively easy for me since I'm running with what I've learned from one website and not from playing the game (yet).

Second is Claude. As the son of a well respected, heroic captain, Claude would either want to emulate that for trick-or-treating . . . or he' d want to steer clear of such an image entirely. Vampires, zombies, ninjas, samurai, cowboys . . . those are the kinds of costumes I can see Claude wanting to be for Halloween.

By the time Claude and Bowman are born, I can see candy companies making a return. Theoretically, as was mentioned in The Last Hope segment, we might not see a return to the Nestle, Hershey's, M&Ms/Mars, Brach's, Reese's, Russel Stover, and whatever major candy companies exist in Asia and Europe. However, I believe we definitely would see the return of manufactured candies and chocolates for mass consumption. I believe the characters would even see candies that don't even exist right now. (Chocolate covered mixed berry cremes? Citrus delights? Mocha chocolate mints? Sounds delicious to me! Yes. I invented those right off the top of my head.)

Tomorrow, when it comes to Halloween, I'll be discussing the kinds of treat bags people could be using in the Star Ocean universe as well as the conditions our chibi heroes and heroines would encounter in their neighborhoods. For the next Halloween Costumes segment, I'll break it into smaller sections and focus more on the individual characters.

Thus concludes today's entry on Halloween costumes.

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Dream Houses, Part 4 - Meracle Chamlotte

Here is the final, solo installation of Dream Houses. The next three segments will coincide with the Ask the Star Ocean Character, Facts about the Character, and Character Study segments scheduled for Fridays.

Meracle is actually fairly easy for me to figure out when it comes to what she'd want in her own home. It wouldn't be an overly elaborate place to live, but it wouldn't be overly small, either. Meracle's home would be quite simple in design, perhaps in homage to her time living with Eleyna Farrence.

I also think Meracle would like for her home to either be a boat on the ocean with glass plating at the bottom of one section of the ship . . . or able to be under water. Meracle likes fish. I think she'd have fun just sitting there, watching the fish as they swam by her. If not on the water, then she'd definitely have several chicken coops in the yard. She likes chicken as much as she does fish. Her home would reflect her ability to fish/be a chicken farmer in that respect.

Meracle's home would also be rather standard . . . a few bedrooms, a kitchen, a place for her to groom herself like a shower or something with a sink, and a room for her to play around in with her guests and her family. The walls would have paintings of fish and chickens . . . and Lady Eleyna and Edge, whom Meracle just absolutely adores.

Yes. Meracle is quite the simple Fellpool when it comes to what kind of dream home she'd want . . .

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Fanfic: Destinies Intertwined by Fate
Chapter Three of Twenty, Part 1
Chapter Title: Bittersweet Reunions
Pairings: Luther Lansfeld x Fayt Leingod, Maria Traydor x Lieber, Albel Nox x Mirage Kaos, Cliff Fittir x Nel Zelpher, one-sided Fayt Leingod x Maria Traydor
Summary: For Fayt Leingod and Luther Lansfeld, the end of the final battle is only the beginning. Worlds collide as the rebuilding begins.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Ocean 3 or the characters from the game. They belong to Square Enix and Tri-Ace. I do not profit from the writing of this story. All OCs presented within belong to me, and I will protect them zealously from any and all unauthorized use. Please ask me first before writing them into your stories. Thank you.
Warnings: Some chapters will contain adult content and adult themes. Other warnings include yaoi, or, for the anime-lacking in their lives, at least one male/male relationship, some language (Fayt is no saint), implied torture and hints of sexual assault, science fiction and fantasy elements, momentary scenes of intense and graphic violence, and potential character deaths, be they of the original character or main game character variety. Also, Albel and Luther can both be dickheads when the mood strikes them.
Author's Note: I'm going to treat this like I'm at fanfiction.net . . . there will be implied adult content as opposed to actual adult content. Not that there isn't any adult content in the story itself . . . I'm just covering my behind when it comes to potential minors finding this journal and reading something that perhaps their parents don't want them to read. :) That's all.

 

For several long minutes, Fayt’s breath felt trapped in his chest. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the person on the stretcher. His knees wanted to give out on him, and the urge to flee overwhelmed him. Still, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything.

 

Luther’s gaze remained fixed on him for those moments, too, as equally shocked as Fayt. The blond’s breathing sounded harsh, ragged, and shallow to his hearing, and it wasn’t lost on him how the other man shivered or how his flesh glistened in the early morning light. A fever of some kind had taken hold of the man, and it wreaked havoc on his body. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the spell of shock cast over them disappeared, and Luther disappeared into the back area with the four Elves. Fayt heard a door open, the last empty room for the ill and wounded. In the next few seconds, the Elves returned, bowed to him, and exited out the door, leaving Fayt alone, still shocked and unable to move.

 

“Data such behave as such.”

 

Fayt closed his eyes and inhaled a sharp and deep breath. For months now, Luther’s voice, his words, and the coldness in his blue eyes had haunted and tormented Fayt, adding to his guilt and robbing him of rest and sleep. The knowledge, the truth about his universe and why it was created, often had him questioning his existence and why he continued with it. Life had been simpler before the Vendeen attack on Hyda IV. Before that, the most Fayt had ever worried about was passing his midterms and final exams for high school and college and being good enough to be able to join his schools’ basketball teams. He never knew about his father’s decision to delve into forbidden research, and he certainly never would have guessed that the keys to saving the entire universe would fall to him and two other people. Finding out about 4D space, the truth about who their Creator truly was and the depths he would go to just to ensure a perfect simulation nauseated Fayt, pained him in ways he never imagined could or would ever hurt, and he wanted to forget the cruel things Luther said in those final moments.

 

“You’re kidding me. They’re nothing but data. The cosmos of the Eternal Sphere is a toy. It’s just a game!”

 

‘Stop it,’ he told himself. ‘Just stop it.’

 

Tears threatened to leak from the corners of his eyes, and a great heaviness settled in Fayt’s chest. It hurt to breathe, despite trying to inhale as many deep breaths as he possibly could, and his hands started to shake. He couldn’t stop himself from remembering the cold words spoken to he and his friends or the calculating disdain he saw in Luther’s eyes . . . the overwhelming despair at feeling Luther’s pain after Fayt had delivered the final blow to free the Eternal Sphere from the Creator’s tyranny.

 

A strangled cry of pain and alarm from one of the rooms broke the spell of the memories settling over Fayt, and he opened his eyes, gasping once. The sound had come from Luther, the only one who hadn’t been treated for whatever ailed him just yet. Fayt recognized the timber of his voice from their confrontation several months prior. His desire to save a life, to heal, kicked in, and he set on water to boil then walked to where he grew fresh herbs. Further examination would tell him if Luther possessed any physical injuries that could threaten his life, but he needed to get into the room first to find out more.

 

As he reached his herb pots and started to pluck the ones necessary to reduce fever and ease pain, a thought entered Fayt’s mind. It wasn’t the kind of thought that normally entered his mind, either. It wasn’t charitable, it wasn’t merciful, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of thought. He had all the proper ingredients. One . . . “accidental” picking of the wrong herbs for the tea Fayt knew he needed to give to Luther, and it would be over. His death, while not quick, would be painless. The other man would simply fall asleep and never wake again. Autopsies and drug tests were probably a long way off for this planet, if they’d even consider performing such things to uncover suspicious deaths. No one would think to question his death in Fayt’s care. It was true he had a better success rate then most other herbalists and healers, but he wasn’t always successful. There were still some things he couldn’t do, couldn’t cure, and some did die. It couldn’t be helped, and Luther’s death would be no different. No one would ever suspect he of wanting to kill someone.

 

“Who are you to decide who lives and who dies, Fay?” The voice sounded like his father’s, and it sent a jolt of pain coursing through his spine.

 

‘He would deserve it,’ Fayt thought. ‘He’s caused so much pain already.’

 

“That doesn’t matter . . . even criminals are given a chance to correct their mistakes.”

 

‘He doesn’t see that he’s made any errors . . .’

 

“You don’t know that . . .”

 

‘Do I need to know it?’

 

Fayt stood in place, breathing in deep breath after deep breath. His chest ached from the pain and despair of the last several months. To even imagined he heard his father’s voice in his head sent a fresh wave of guilt over his heart and soul. He missed his dad. He missed his dad more and more with every passing day, all too aware of how short their time together had truly been. Luther’s decree of annihilation ultimately robbed him of both of his parents. He still didn’t know if his mother lived, but he didn’t hold out much hope for her survival after the attacks on the Pangalactic Federation’s bases and ships. His father’s life had been stolen by the Vendeeni. It would be his luck the Executioners had robbed his mother of her life, all because of Luther’s decree. The Eternal Sphere would be better off for losing him. He wouldn’t be a threat to anyone ever again. For several seconds, which felt like long hours stretching by, Fayt stood still, hands poised over his herb garden, the indecision warring within him.

 

Finally, his compulsion to save, to heal, won over him. While no one would ever suspect him of intentionally poisoning a patient, the truth was Fayt would know what he’d done and why. Too many innocent people had died because of him, of him simply being on the same planet as them, and he wanted Death to stop following him. He’d already cursed his luck for finding himself embroiled in the middle of yet another war, though he still didn’t recall how he’d come to Irish VII in the first place. It wasn’t Luther’s fault that Fayt had ended up where he had or that he’d somehow become violently ill. He needed help, and Fayt had sworn to heal, not kill.

 

Another strained cry from the blond-haired man sounded out, as if he were trying to fight against the screams and the pain wracking his body, and he gathered what he need as quick as he could. He’d already ordered that his helpers, the people he imparted his knowledge to, keep two separate pots water either boiling at all times or cooled. Heat drew out infections and poisons, especially when paired with the right herbs and ointments. Having hot water available at all times ensured that wounds were cleaned quicker, teas could be brewed while cold compresses could help to reduce fevers. With practiced efficiency, he placed everything – the herbs, two pots, one with cold water and one with hot water, a bowl with cold, two cups, a small spoon, some white towels, and a few potions for good measure – onto a tray and headed into the room where Luther rested. He inhaled a deep breath to calm his nerves since he noticed a slight shake in his hands as he reached for the tray and then walked the short distance to where Luther rested.

 

His eyes were closed when Fayt appeared in the doorway, but he opened them the moment he heard him enter. A blanket covered him up to his chin, but it didn’t stop him from shivering. Despite the slight sheen on his forehead from sweat, his blue eyes were clear and focused, and he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows.

 

“It isn’t a trick,” he said, his voice hoarse and raspy. “It is you. I thought . . .”

 

“Your mind was playing tricks on you?” Fayt finished. He kept his voice low, sitting in a chair next to the bed. “Believe me, I thought the same thing when I first saw you. I have a tea that will help with the fever . . .”

 

“I’m fevered?” He pulled a hand out from under the blankets and touched his forehead. He sounded confused. “How can I be fevered?”

 

“I don’t know,” Fayt answered. As he spoke, he placed some herbs into one of the cups then poured water into it. One of the cloths went into the cold water. “We’re not exactly on a planet where doctors can run some tests to find out. All I can do is treat the symptoms and hope that whatever ails you doesn’t kill you.”

 

“Where are we?” He watched Fayt as he worked. “And what is that?”

 

“This,” Fayt said, lifting the cup, then used the spoon to stir the contents, “is the tea you’re going to drink to help reduce your fever. And we’re on Iris VII.”

 

“Tea?” Luther closed his eyes and shook his head. “How do I know it isn’t poison?”

 

“In all honesty?” Fayt tilted his head, checked the tea a second time. It wasn’t the color he desired just yet so he pulled out the cloth in the water, wrung it out, and reached for one of the potions. “You don’t. I could reassure you all I want, but reassurances mean nothing if you don’t believe me or want to believe me.”

 

“And I’m sure the thought never crossed your mind, right?” Groaning, Luther fell back into the depths of the mattress.

 

“It did cross my mind,” Fayt answered. He placed the cloth on Luther’s forehead then pressed the potion bottle to his lips. A sight of relief escaped the man. “And I know no one here would be the wiser for it.”

 

Luther drank the potion, grimacing the entire time. The moment it was empty, he pushed it away, albeit weakly.

 

“You couldn’t make that taste better?” he rasped out. Fayt shook his head and poured some cold water into the extra cup.

 

“I haven’t quite mastered that just yet. My biggest concern is saving lives,” he murmured. “Here, drink . . . This will help with washing away the bad taste.”

 

Once again, Luther drank, a look of relieved bliss appearing on his face, and he drank greedily, as if he hadn’t had any water in some time. He fell silent after that, and he allowed Fayt to administer more of his medicines, including the tea when it was the desired color. When he finished, Luther lay back in the bed, exhaustion creeping in on his face, but he still looked distinctively uncomfortable to Fayt. The Creator’s eyes fluttered, as if he fought sleep.

 

‘I’ll find out what’s bothering him soon enough,’ he thought. ‘He could be injured somewhere. In fact, he could still be injured from the final battle.’

 

With such thoughts to add to his guilt, Fayt gently lowered the blankets to Luther’s waist. He still wore the same white, black, and gold clothing from their first meeting. Fayt saw the rips and tears from where Maria’s bullets grazed him and his, Albel’s, and Adray’s swords connected as well as dried blood. Had Luther’s wounds healed before they could be treated? Fayt decided the only way he’d know for sure was to remove the clothing and armor. Taking a deep breath, he slid his arm under Luther’s back and lifted the other man so he could finish his work.

 

At the contact, Luther’s eyes opened. Sleepiness clouded his blue eyes, and he tilted his head a little. Fayt froze under his gaze.

 

“What are you doing?” he murmured.

 

“Checking for wounds,” Fayt replied after some hesitation. “If there are any, I need to clean them . . .”

 

“Going to undo the damage?” There were no hints of mockery in his voice, but that didn’t stop the guilt from stabbing at Fayt in his heart.

 

“I’ll try to,” he whispered. He wanted to look away, to somehow try and avert his gaze away from the intensity he saw in Luther’s eyes, but he couldn’t manage even such a small thing. A hand grasped his wrist, weak yet strong like an iron vice. Fire flared in Luther’s eyes, driving away some of the exhaustion Fayt had seen mere seconds before. He sat up with no help from Fayt.

 

“You’re feeling guilty,” he said. He spoke in a low tone, and it contained a hidden edge that sent a shiver running along Fayt’s spine. His breath hitched in his chest, the fire, intensity, and overwhelming sensation of absolute danger emanating from Luther. “Why?”

 

“I . . .”

 

“Answer me . . .”

 

The tone reminded Fayt of their first encounter in Luther’s Workspace. It contained all of the arrogance and ignorance that only Luther seemed able to muster, and he narrowed his eyes at the Creator.

 

“Why do you think?” Fayt asked, hissing out the words more than speaking. “People died because of me, because the Vendeeni were chasing after me, because . . . because . . .”

 

The words faltered, and he choked. His guilt, his pain, which remained like a large ball of something in his chest, refused to dislodge themselves from his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to say that he couldn’t reach Luther in those final moments, that he’d wanted a peaceful resolution to the conflicts between the Creator and his creations, but instead only received disbelieving indignation and insult after insult.

 

“Because of what I am . . .”

“You’re feeling guilty over the choices of others?” Luther blinked, shocked. “Over things which you had no control?”

 

“Like the way you had no control over this universe?” Fayt whispered. “And no control over me and my friends?”

 

Stunned, Luther stared at him, as if he hadn’t expected such a response. He also released his grip on Fayt. Refusing to allow his emotions to get the better of him, Fayt willed himself into action, and he begun to remove the clothing and armor from the other man’s torso. Luther’s muscles quivered under his touch, and he inhaled sharp, small breaths, possibly from the strain of sitting in an upright position. A cursory examination showed no open wounds on his arms, back, and chest or any signs of improper healing and infection. There were scars from the final battle . . . Fayt knew each wound he saw and who’d given it to Luther . . . but there wasn’t anything to indicate what caused his current illness. Finally, he guided Luther back into a laying position, satisfied the wounds from their fight had healed properly, but still confused as to why he’d fallen ill. The examination continued, the ragged pieces of Luther’s clothing and armor landing on the floor in a pile.

 

Once he’d lain back down, Luther dozed and shivered as the air touched his fevered skin. Fayt covered him with the blankets as soon as he finished his examination and changed the cold compress. He didn’t doubt Luther needed to rest. Whatever ailed him had weakened him considerably, and he’d need to rest in order to recover.

 

Fayt had just finished with his tasks when Luther opened his eyes. They were out of focus and glazed over with exhaustion and . . . something else. Then he started to speak.

 

“I was floating . . .” he murmured.

 

He’d spoken so softly, almost inaudibly, that Fayt thought he’d imagined the words. He paused and gazed at the other.

 

“Say again?”

 

“I was floating,” Luther replied. He turned his head towards Fayt. “There wasn’t . . . anything there . . . it was just me . . . and it was relaxing . . . I’d never felt so relaxed before . . . and then I saw you . . .”

 

A chill stole over Fayt. His words sounded like the ramblings of the seriously ill, but something about them also contained hints of truth.

 

“You should rest now,” he said, but Luther continued.

 

“There was nothing, and then there was something . . . I felt the sun on my face . . . I felt everything around me . . . and then I couldn’t breathe . . . I had to tell myself to breathe . . . I could feel the sun on my face, smell the grass and the dirt and the flowers . . . and you . . . I felt you close by, but I couldn’t see anything . . . did you not sense my presence as well?”

 

“No . . .” Fayt stared. “I didn’t . . . Why would I . . .”

 

“We can’t exist without each other, you and I . . . There is no way you could defeat me, and I can’t defeat you,” Luther answered. He inhaled an exhausted breath. “It’s impossible.”

 

“I don’t . . .”

 

“Perhaps now you don’t see it,” he murmured. His eyes were almost closed once more. “But, in time, you will . . . and then perhaps you can tell me how much time has passed . . . since the battle . . .”

 

Luther inhaled a deep breath then quieted once more. From the steady rising and falling of his chest, sleep had finally won over the Creator. There were no signs of peace on his face, but there were also no signs of distress. He simply looked . . . tired. Fayt inhaled a deep breath of his own, suddenly aware of the chill coming from the pit of his stomach. Tremors threatened to send the contents of the tray crashing to the floor, and Fayt exited the room as quickly as he could before he lost his grip on his tools. Something about what Luther had told him, about them being connected to each other in some way, set his nerves on edge and the notion frightened him in ways he never thought possible. There was a truth to it that he felt and recognized. He didn’t want to be connected to anyone. Those he held dear in his heart died and violently so. While he didn’t trust Luther, he didn’t want the other man to die. Fayt paused near the counter with his supplies and set the tray down. He inhaled a deep breath.

 

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Birthday Wishes - Robert Leingod

Happy birthday to Robert Leingod!

I know, I know. I assigned today to him for the celebration. It could very well be wrong but I'll take my chances. Here are some ficlets for everyone's reading pleasure.

Breath of Life

It wasn't how he wanted to celebrate his birthday. Robert Leingod stared, mournful, at the prone form of his fifteen-month-old son, his only child, as the boy slept. A slightly pained yet peaceful expression was on the boy's face. Monitors were attached to the little one's chest and forehead, oxygen and I.V.s to his face and his arms. Everything indicated his son was faring well after everything that had happened.

He and Ryoko had told their families Fayt suffered injuries in a near fatal accident, that they needed to keep him on Moonbase to recovery. Most of the "injuries" were internal, and they didn't dare risk moving him home so he could recover there. It was easier to tell the lie about their fragile son than it was to tell them the truth.

Fayt was a little more beyond human now, and it was all because of Robert, Ryoko, and their friend and colleague, Clive Esteed. They'd done what they needed to do, an unforgivable sin, and they'd given Fayt, along with Jessie Traydor's daughter, Maria, powers outlawed by the Pangalactic Federation. Fortunately for Robert and Ryoko, Fayt was still too small to remember much of anything, and they'd tell him the same lie they'd told their families until he was old enough to understand why they had done what they had done. Robert just didn't expect his only child to ever forgive him.

"Hey there," Ryoko said. She walked up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I brought some cupcakes for us to eat when he wakes up . . . Happy birthday, Robert."

"Thank you, my love," Robert murmured. He grasped one of Fayt's hands as he placed his other hand on top of hers. "You don't know how much that means to me."

"Oh, I think I do," Ryoko replied. She kissed his cheek. "You want to make as many good memories for him as possible with what time we're able to give him . . . and so that we have something fond to remember for when he hates us for what we've done to him."

Robert smiled, albeit weakly.

"You know me better than anyone," he said. "How did I get so lucky in finding someone like you?"

"That's a good question, Professor Leingod," Ryoko said, smiling in return. "Maybe someday we'll have an answer. For right now, let's just enjoy the day. He should be waking up soon."

"Of course," Robert said. He felt marginally better but not by much. It wasn't how he wanted to celebrate his birthday, but then what life dictated for them wasn't always what they wanted. So long as Fayt lived and grew strong, Robert felt he could live with his son hating him for when he finally learned the truth.
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The Life of a Famous Symbological Geneticist

There wasn't much Robert wanted in life - the love of a good woman, a family, and a career. He never expected to become a symbological geneticist. He never expected to become the universe's leading authority on the subject. He never expected to find Ryoko Kenny and fall in love with someone from a famous family, but it was what had happened.

When he was in high school, he discovered a love and passion for symbology and genetic engineering.

When he was in college, he excelled in his studies. He also met Ryoko Kenny and fell in love with the beautiful, brilliant, kind, and generous woman that she was.

While in college, he published his first paper, only for it to be rejected.

After college, he married Ryoko. Together, they took the universe by storm with their papers and their research. Within the first two years, they were recognized as the leading, and the only, authorities on symbological genetics.

Five years after their graduation and success, Robert and Ryoko were told they were expecting their first child. For the first time in his life, Robert felt as if he'd truly accomplished something great.

Six months later, Ryoko miscarried. The child was a son. With their world ripped into thousands of pieces, Robert and Ryoko both buried themselves into their work, but always making sure they had time for each other.

Two years later, Robert, Clive, and Jessie Traydor reached Styx. The Creator pronounced their doom. Robert returned home, only to learn Ryoko was expecting their second child.

Seven months later, on July 4th, their child, another son, entered the world. Because of the heavy decisions they've reached, they named him Fayt. For the next nineteen years, Robert continued his research, spending as much time with his son as he could, when he could, the secret of what he'd done eating away at his soul.

In 772 S.D., Robert sacrificed his life for that of his son. He died feeling like a failure for not telling his only child sooner the truth and wondering if his son hated him for what he'd done.

October 24, 775 S.D.

Fayt stared at the tombstone with his father's name on it, a bouquet of yellow, gold, orange, and red roses in his hands. It was one of the rare times he stepped out of hiding to visit with family. He placed the bouquet in front of his father's name and offered a wan smile.

"Happy birthday, Dad," he murmured. His fingers ghosted along the dates and the name. "I just want you to know that I didn't let your efforts and your sacrifice go to waste. We fought the Creator and won our right to exist. It wasn't easy. It didn't go the way I'd wanted it to, but I can't be too unhappy with the end results. I'm here, talking to you. I love you and I miss you.

"I know you're probably expecting me to say that I hate you for what you did, and that I couldn't ever forgive you . . . for a while there, knowing what you did and why you did it screwed me up in the head . . . but I've had a chance to think about things in the time you've been gone . . . and I know deep down that I don't hate you . . . at least not as much as everyone thinks I should . . . but you're my dad. I do love you and I do forgive you . . . mostly. I hope that, wherever you are, you can hear me and know that . . . because the alternative isn't something I want to think about or even accept.'

Fayt glanced at the sky and let out a heavy sigh.

"I hate to cut this short, Dad, but I can't stay here for too long. I'm sorry that I stayed away for as long as I did, but I couldn't risk Mom or Sophia being hurt because of me. I hope you understand. While I've mostly forgiven you, I'm now a wanted man by many people and races. That's the one thing I can't forgive . . . Anyway, I've got to go . . . please watch over Mom and Sophia for me and keep them safe . . . God only knows that I can't anymore."

He rose to his feet.

"I'll talk to you again, someday . . . Until then . . ."

Fayt walked away. From behind the tombstone, the spirit of Robert Leingod watched.