Soulmating

S O U L M A T I N G ============================ by reid

||||||||||||||||| || DISCLAIMER || |||||||||||||||||

This story is meant to imply nothing about the sexuality of the real people involved. Anything mentioned from this point on is purely fictional and not meant in any way but the highest regard.

The lyrics used within are not meant to imply anything about the individual preferences, practices, or lifestyle choices any of the musical artists mentioned. The lyrics are not used for any personal monetary profit...

If you have any objections to my writing, then why in the name of Jesus are you reading this? I know some of you might like Hanson but I don't buy the whole "I didn't know it was a GAY STORY!" defense. So shut up and don't send me any more hate mail you stupid, obesessed little Christian girls.

As always.... Comments, Suggestions, and Criticisms can be sent to saboteur_98155@yahoo.com

I'm trying hard to stay away from the "sophomore letdown" with my second story. I hope you're all liking it and eagerly anticipating further chapters. Or you can just enjoy it and that's fine too.

WARNING!!! My stories contain mature themes and may project images or scenarios that are inappropriate for younger or sensative readers.

I can be reached on ICQ at 70639912... Or on AIM at Reid00005992...

Enjoy!

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| || Protect & Serve- Chapter 1 || ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

110 feet... 100 feet... 90 feet... My reflexes were razor sharp and my steely eyes narrowed in on the target, my internal aiming system working like a polished steel supercomputer. The mirror-like steel of the gun barrel glistened in the light of the shooting range as my right index finger slowly curled around the trigger. I fought with the temptation to lick my lips, as it would cause a breach of concentration. The palm of my left hand held the handle of the gun as I waited for the target to enter the narrow canal. Not a muscle in my body moved and the only sound I heard was the soft steel slide of the target on the rails.

My teeth clenched as the target came slowly closer to the yellow lining that indicated the start of the range. The wooden shape, painted white and striped with the seven dark blue objective points, slid along silently. In my subconscious, it took on the appearance of everything wrong with the world. All the hatred and crime, racism and sexism, sadism and cruelty... it all stood in my face when I looked down the barrel of my firearm. Inhaling slowly, my eyes narrowed just slightly.

It was in bounds. Click-WHAM! Objective Point #1 has been removed... Click-WHAM! Objective Point #2 has been removed... Click-WHAM! Objective Point #3, gone... Click-WHAM! Objective Point #4, no more... Click-WHAM! Point #5, he ain't alive... Click-WHAM! Point #6, dead... Click-WHAM! Point #7, gone to heaven. Not a droplet of sweat, not a hair out of place. Slowly, my body rose from it's kneeling posture and I stretched, letting the smoking gun point downwards as I waited for my status to be read.

The hollow voice came from the speaker, "Ensign Agent Cameron. Gun Range #3. Score: 75 points out of a scale of 75. Objective Points have been successfully removed under the time dimension of 00:00:30 seconds. Total time of successful completion: 00:00:18 seconds."

The performance of a Gladiator. Then again, that was me... or at least it was my code name. 20 years old and already an agent of the United States government trained and licensed but not yet assigned to any real duty. It was common practice for "prodigies" like myself to be held back for as long as a year, but I didn't want that. The last thing I wanted was to wait and allow crime and pestilence to overrun the world, a world that I had sworn to protect. If I couldn't apply what my instructors had described as "advanced tactical intelligence" to helping society, what good was it in the long run?

My shoulders relaxed and I exhaled in the cool, sterility of the shooting range. Carefully removing the used cartridge from my .44 Magnum, I holstered the weapon under my left arm and went about rolling down the sleeves of my shirt. It had been nearly two months since my graduation from the training center in Quantico and already, I was nearly chomping at the bit for active duty. My desire to help and do good was just unquenchable. They had told me that with my "precocious abilities", I would most likely be considered by special assignment that would "utilize my abilities to their fullest potential". But I wasn't holding my breath. All I could do was continue top-notch performance in extended training and situational simulation activities.

"Hey Cameron. You make the rest of us look bad."

I glanced up as I finished buttoning my cuffs and smiled. My senior-advising officer, Agt. Janos, had walked into the shooting range. He was a nice guy and I looked up to him. Mid 40's, family man, nothing too spectacular and he'd told me that was the way he liked it. He was also one of the few people I saw during the day who seemed to understand that while I may have been "extraordinary", I was still a person. He respected that and didn't treat me any differently which I liked.

"Just doing my job." I said and pulled on my Government Issue black coat.

"Yeah, well... you keep that up and we'll all have to come up to your level."

It was a compliment that made me smile. Everything was in order and I made sure not to forget anything, but it wasn't a worry since I'd been blessed with a photographic memory. My back felt a little stiff as I clipped the ID to my lapel and walked out through the doors to the range, hearing them swing shut with a rush of compressed air. Agt. Janos walked beside me and from the speed of his steps, his pace told me that there was something on his mind.

"Hey, let's stop for a minute." He said and directed me over to a small alcove in the windowed hallway.

"What's wrong?" I asked, leaning against the wall.

"I was talking to Valley today. They said that they want you to go on case for the first time."

I tried to contain my obvious excitement, "You want me to go on duty?"

"Calm down, Reid. This situation isn't what you think. I was sent down to the range to bring you to see Hatch. He wants to brief you on the specifics of this case before we go any further. I'm just talking to you now because I don't want you to accept this case if you aren't ready. From what I've been told, it's going to be a challenge but Valley said that your status reports would suggest that you're the best man for the job."

I blushed a bit, "Can you tell me what the case is?"

Janos shook his head, "No, I can't. Hatch wants to see you directly so he can discuss it with you."

My mind reeled and my stomach fluttered. He was talking about Gerald Hatch, the man in charge of our division. If he wanted to talk to me about it, there was something real serious going on. It was an honor but still very frightening at the same time. I bit my lip and smiled slightly.

"Let's go."

Minutes later, I was sinking into a black leather upholstered chair in the office of our division head. The room was dark and only lit by two corner lamps at opposing corners of the room. I rubbed my forehead gently and my heel tapped faintly on the manicured white rug underfoot. When the itch on my head had been neutralized, my hands returned to my lap where they remained clasped motionlessly. If you had looked at me right then, I could have been an oil painting.

Gerald Hatch was a tall man. He had to be at least 6'5" and he had an intimidating nature. Maybe he needed it after hearing about "affirmative action" being the reason for his success. All I knew is that I wasn't going to challenge him. Sitting across from me, behind the oak desk, he looked like a calculating Mafioso. No one knew much about him and he liked it that way.

Hatch was looking down at a folder, "Cameron, Reid Lewis. Code name: Gladiator, for what reason I'm not entirely sure of. Born October 30th 1980 in El Verano, California to John and Susan Frye Cameron, both deceased. Siblings: Reba Leanne, Royce Lawford, Rico Landon, Robert Linton, and Ryan Lee. One adopted nephew named Reid, as well. Hair color is brown, eye color is green. You stand 5'11" and at your last weight in, 179 pounds. Gained your GED in 1996, emancipated from your parents in the same year. Entered Quantico Training Facility in 1997, graduated in 1998 with stellar marks. According to reports from your supervisors, you're gifted in human relations and protection-type situations."

He stopped and looked up at me, I shrugged.

"You don't know?"

I wasn't understanding, "What do you mean?"

"You're shrugging. I assume you don't know or don't understand what I'm talking about."

"No. No, I understand. It's true... at least the facts. I've only been told about my 'gifts'."

"Well, if you don't realize or believe in these gifts, then you're excused. We don't have time for someone who isn't able to do what we ask. Now I'm going to ask you... are you for real?" Hatch leaned forward and looked at me.

"Yes, I'm for real."

"All right, then," He sat back and pulled out a second file folder, "I'm going to give you the specifics of this case and I don't want to hear any complaints. If you complain or have a problem with it, then you're excused. You're young but I expect you to be mature and I'm banking on you to be able to handle this."

"I'm listening."

"Are you familiar with Caligula?"

I nodded, "Roman Emperor in the mid-to-late zero century. Popular when he first took office but after an illness, became hated and raised doubts about his sanity. Set Christians on fire and alienated Judea. Tried to marry his sister and made his horse a senator. There was a movie, extremely pornographic and exploitive, made about him in the 70's that was universally panned by the critics."

Hatch seemed impressed and almost smiled, "Seen it?"

"I own the DVD. What about him?"

"You know your facts, Gladiator. I'm talking about Johan Romaad, he goes by the name Caligula. In the past six years, we've connected him with easily five thousand hate crimes in the United States. They've ranged from simple harassment to mass bombings and terrorist activities at every kind of equal rights or pride related event you can imagine. He's insane and proud of it."

"Scary guy."

"It doesn't get any prettier. In the past several months, he's made it a point to target celebrities. His activities haven't gone beyond harassment or threats... until now," Hatch handed me his file, which included a disturbing mug shot, "About 12 hours ago, Zachary Hanson was attending a convention in Norman, Oklahoma, he was accompanied by two bodyguards. They were accompanying him because of threats received from an anonymous source at the time, who we now know was Johan Romaad."

"I see."

"He was accompanied into a limousine where one Mr. Romaad was waiting. He murdered both bodyguards in the space of twenty seconds with a length of piano wire. When it was done, he grabbed Mr. Hanson and told him that he would, quote, 'cut his diseased queer heart out and eat it on a waffle'."

I took a deep breath and tried to think of what it had to have been like, "Why am I here?"

"Until we can apprehend Romaad and make sure he isn't a threat, Mr. Hanson is going to be under heavy protection. The kind of protection that the Oklahoma state patrol can't provide on their own. They've requested our assistance on the matter."

"Wait a second," I said and tossed the folder back on the desk, "I thought that we didn't deal with that sort of thing."

"Johan Romaad has been on our most wanted list for years. If protecting a possible victim can lead to his being apprehended, then it's the sort of thing we deal with."

I shifted in the chair and struggled to find words, "Wait, so what am I doing?"

"This is what I was concerned about, Cameron. Are you mature enough to handle it?"

"What?-- Yes! Yes I am... but I don't know what you want me to do."

"I'm putting you on protection," Hatch reached into his desk and tossed a plane ticket to me, "You have a flight leaving Washington to Tulsa in two hours. Once you're there, you'll meet with Sgt. Aker of the Oklahoma State Patrol. In four days time, Special Agent Haynes will join you in Tulsa and she will act as your supervising officer."

I was more than a little overwhelmed, "All right..."

"You're directly in charge of Mr. Hanson's safety. You go everywhere he goes. You're going to make sure that this sick bastard doesn't get his hands on him. I've chosen you because of your age and what your status report has said about you. Now I'm going to ask you once, can you handle this?"

"Yes."

He nodded approvingly, "All right, then. While you're in Tulsa, you'll be living in the house directly next to Mr. Hanson's current place of residence. I've been in contact with his parents and they're familiar with your statistics. As for your relationship with Mr. Hanson himself, I'm counting on you to 'work your magic' as we say."

"I'll do that."

"What do you know about him?"

"Next to nothing. I'm familiar with the song he's famous for."

Hatch looked at a sheet of paper, "Hanson, Zachary Walker. Born October 22nd 1985 in Arlington, Virginia to Walker and Diana Lawyer Hanson. Siblings: Isaac, Taylor, Jessica, Avery, Mackenzie, and Zoe. Hair color is blond, eye color is light brown. Standing 5'8" and weighing 144 pounds."

"Well, that helps me. How am I going to relate to him?"

Hatch tossed down the folders, "You're both young. Talk to him and get to know him."

"Yes, sir."

He pulled out a steel briefcase and handed it over to me, "This contains everything you'll need. Oklahoma State driver's license, enough money to purchase everyday clothing, a written briefing of this case, maps and information on Tulsa, the number of our field office there and I expect you to notify them when you arrive. There's a full profile of Romaad and I expect you to read it. Also, I've included more written data on Mr. Hanson. Read it and you'll be able to at least know what you're doing."

I took the briefcase and stood up, feeling a bit of excitement at my first assignment. It was a big one.

"You have your Magnum?"

I nodded, "Never leave home with out it."

According to the sheet, his name was Johan Stellar Romaad. He was born on an indeterminate date in 1970 in a town near Stockholm to a Syrian father and Swedish mother. Studied at Oxford and went into the military but was kicked out because of his extreme prejudices. Just reading about the guy made me feel dirty all over. It made the airplane I was riding in feel unsafe. Just knowing about him made every dark corner seem threatening and it takes a very unique kind of person to do that. Especially to me.

His psychological profile read like a collegiate textbook in behavior and thought disorders. They were the kinds of things that you hoped you'd never see in a human being. Among his numerous counts of disturbing behavior, he had been abused terribly as a child, which didn't surprise me in the least. He'd been discharged from the military and had nearly gone to jail in 1989 after he nearly beat to death a black college student in Florida. Every piece of written information was more than half filled with accounts of his harassment and supposed terrorist activities. He hadn't been apprehended due to lack of evidence, which told me that he covered his tracks. And done a damn good job it which made me shudder. Not only was he crazy but he was smart.

I kept trying to tell myself that catching him wasn't my responsibility. Moving the papers to the side, I decided to forget about "Caligula" for a while and read up on the person I was protecting. Up until that point, my knowledge of Hanson went about as far as my knowledge of Star Trek, which wasn't much. I had heard MMMBop a million times with the rest of the country but had never really encountered Hanson again, save for a few random glances on an assorted TV show.

Regardless, my heart went out to this kid. There was no way I could even try and imagine what it was like to see two people killed right in front of you and then have your life threatened. I couldn't imagine it in real life, anyway. No simulation could have prepared me for this and at that point, I realized that I'd have to put all my knowledge to use. Still, I felt a bit of trepidation as to what would happen if this lunatic known commonly as Caligula actually came after him and I was the last line of defense. Was I ready for that? Was I ready to put my life on the line for another human being? Those questions had seemed so insignificant until now.

"Excuse me, sir?"

I looked up at the stewardess, "Yes?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink? You haven't asked for anything the whole flight."

"No, I'm fine."

She walked away and I turned my head back down to the sheets of paper on the tray. The first sheet was the main profile of Zachary Hanson. It was accompanied by a picture of him that looked like it was taken during a photo shoot. He was certainly a striking young man. Definitely not the kind of person you'd see in the halls of any given public high school. I made a mental note of his features: strong, very prominent jawline defined chin, full lips, slightly large nose, and expressive eyes. Interestingly enough, his long hair didn't lend a feminine quality to his looks. I'd heard some of the girl comparisons to Hanson but as far as I could see, this one most certainly did not resemble a female.

There was a smaller list of general biographical facts: homeschooled, broken nose, very close with his family, lived in South America for a time during his youth. As I read on, I felt myself identifying with him in a way. With the empathy came a feeling of anger that at such a young age, he was being forced to deal with this. It didn't seem fair.

All of my life... where have you been?

My thoughts were interrupted by the tinny blare of music from the next row. I looked over to see a girl about 15 years old adjusting her Walkman and turning down the music. She looked at me sheepishly and I smiled forgivingly, nodding that no harm had been done. I hadn't heard the song that she had been listening to but it sounded nice. Something in it sounded foreboding. I told myself to stay focused and remember the goal of my assignment. You're finally out in the field, Cameron, don't let yourself mess this one up. They're all watching you.

Many of my muscles had tensed up remarkably during the flight and when I leaned back against the seat, it felt as though I'd been sent through a spin cycle and starched heavily. Rolling my neck around a few times helped to alleviate some of the stiffness and the empty seat next to me allowed me to stretch my arms a bit. Say what you want about my employers, they knew when to fly one of their men first class. The extra legroom was a nice luxury.

"Do you know anyone in Tulsa?" The voice was coming from the seat next to me.

I looked over at the girl with the Walkman, "You could say that. I'm going there on business."

"Oh," She nodded, "Hanson is from Tulsa."

"Really... that's something."

"Do you know who Hanson is?"

I smirked slightly, "I've heard of them."

"Did you hear about what happened to Zac?" She said and her tone became hushed and reverent.

"What did you hear?" I realized this was a good opportunity to get another side of the story.

She leaned towards me, "This guy killed his bodyguards and then he told Zac that he would kill him. They found Zac hiding in the trunk of the car. They talked about it on MTV and everything. I heard that they're going to get him a bodyguard until they find out who did it. It's really freaky."

I sat back, "Very much so."

My mind nearly reeled at what she had told me. Over the course of my training, I'd been told several times that even the most hardened agents manage to be unsettled every once in a while. I had taken some pride in not allowing myself to be knocked off balance, but this might have been it. Just the thought of having to hide in the trunk of a car to escape a maniac seemed so perverted. He was, according to the sheet, 15 years old. He should be rollerblading, slacking off, watching PAX and dating... apparently not girls. I rested my head against the cushioned airline seat and started to get lost in thought.

Visualizing in my mind as best I could, I tried to reconstruct what had happened. From the pictures and psychological profiles of Romaad, I did as much as I could to try and figure out what was going on. Even though my job was to protect this Hanson kid, or Zac as he liked to be called, I still knew that very possibly, the job of taking down Romaad could come down to me. If he moved on his target, myself as the official shadow would be the one. I'd be the last armed line of defense. I still wasn't sure if I could honestly put my life on the line. Before then, I'd always thought I could do it without hesitation. But there's a large and very profound difference between what you tell yourself mentally and what you believe when the time comes.

Minutes, maybe even an hour, passed as I stared at the back of the seat in front of me. The logical part of my brain was working as fast as it could, trying to put itself in the place of Romaad and trying to figure out what his next action would be. He was the kind of psychopath that wouldn't give up. Every word in his profile said that he was focused, highly intelligent, and deadly. The list of his problems was long and frightening. He suffered from multiple control and judgment handicaps, severe genocidal hatred, and as if that weren't enough, he had a God complex as well. That's great, another crazy who thinks that he's the avenging angel come back to judge those who had sinned. Times like that made me glad to me a nonbeliever.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and calmly opened my eyes to look at the stewardess.

"We'll be landing momentarily."

She didn't need to say much more. I nodded and gathered the papers from the tray and slid them into the steel briefcase that Hatch had given me. Once my area was secure and not likely to necessitate a foamed runway, I fixed myself up straightened my tie, ready to look formal and demand respect. If respect did not respond to my demands, then I looked ready to take it anyway. It was stupid little truisms like that which sometimes made me feel just a little ashamed to be in a line of work where people often got involved because they got off on being a bully. I despised people like that.

A voice over the speaker, "Welcome to Tulsa, Oklahoma. The weather outside is a pleasant 69 degrees. Thank you for flying America West Airlines."

Long walks down jetways are always seen as an opportunity to swagger for agents. It wasn't ever something that appealed to me since the only thing I could ever imagine being on my mind would be getting to work. Actually doing it was no different as I tried to ignore to people around me, noticing my suit and briefcase. I cleared my throat and once the line progressed out into the terminal, I took a cautious look around. Scouting the terminal, there didn't seem to be any immediate threat, at least from no one that resembled Romaad or the picture of him that I'd been given. Always look out for the changelings, Janos had told me.

A happy family reunited to my left, which made me smile automatically. I liked that. I didn't need to see drug dealers get blown away and I didn't need to get pissed if I could like their blood and brain tissue off my lips like many agents. It was the human element. That relief. It was a nice thing to see. It almost made me wish that I had someone, anyone at all, there to meet me and hug me and be glad to see me when I got off the plane. It just reminded me of what a lonely life I really led.

I sighed and got back to business, scanning the area for this Sgt. Aker I was supposed to meet. There was a small bank of signs that I looked through before seeing "Agt. Cameron" computer printed on one. It was being held by a uniformed officer of what I could glean was the Oklahoma State Patrol. As I walked closer, I realized that he couldn't have been older than thirty and had a carefully manicured look. For an instant, I was somewhat concerned that Hatch had stuck me with one of the "bully types" without knowing it.

"Agent Cameron?" He asked, and smiled, holding out his hand.

"Yes. Are you Sgt. Aker?" I responded, shaking his hand but noting a look of surprise.

"Yes... yes, I am," His manner was so appreciative and respectful that my concern went away quickly.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

"Yes. Everything is fine," He looked down quickly and smiled guiltily, "It's just that I'm somewhat taken by surprise. When I was told you would be young, I didn't think you would be look so young. Do you mind if I ask how old you are?"

"I'm 20 years old," We started to walk out of the terminal, "I am, however, fully trained and certified."

Aker nodded, "Is this your first case?"

"Tehnically, yes. I've been through every simulation you can imagine."

"This isn't any simulation," Aker said morosely, "This is the real thing. You're dealing with a very volatile situation here. I'm not going to try and intimidate you but I will tell you that you're on my turf. I fully expect you to operate with the utmost respect and care towards the Hanson family."

I digested his words as we went through the automatic glass doors and out into the sun. I was directed over towards Dodge Durango which had been painted and sealed with the Oklahoma Department of Public Safety insignia. Right away, the logo struck me with it's nod to the Native American culture and I smiled, already liking it there. It was an arrowhead with a covered wagon. I smiled again and opened the passenger door to the Durango and climbed in, noticing the brown leather upholstery. Sgt. Aker started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot and headed onto the highway.

As I put on my sunglasses, Aker said, "Normally, I don't agree to government intervention."

"Why's that?" I said as I opened the steel briefcase and inserted the necessary ID into my wallet. My old badge photo had been used for the card and it immediately made me wince. I looked like the backwoods cousin of Matthew McConahuey.

"I've seen things."

"Like what?" I said and counted the money in the small tan envelope. $2500. Very nice of you, Hatch.

"I've seen things," He paused and looked at me briefly before turning back to the road, "Things that make me not feel so quick to agree to allowing you to get involved."

"You didn't answer my question," I said, "I want to know why you don't normally agree to let us get involved."

"I don't agree to it because from what I've seen, when you and your establishment try and protect somebody, they usually end up dead. I've seen many people who are under what your people call 'protection' end up with bullet holes in their foreheads while an agent is asleep in the next room," He paused and squinted at the bright asphalt rolling down under the Durango, "I've seen too many people die because your organization doesn't know what it's doing."

As I checked the map of Tulsa, "You sound very involved."

"I've known the Hanson family for years. My daughter is friends with one of their girls."

I stopped and looked at him, "I see."

"As unprofessional as it may sound, I'm slightly attached to the family. I don't want to see anything happen to them."

I changed the subject, "So what am I getting into with Zachary Hanson?"

"Zac." Aker said.

"Who?" I didn't comprehend immediately.

"If you're going to be his 'best friend', then you have to call him Zac."

"All right. What am I getting into with Zac?"

Aker smiled amusedly, "I'll let you find that out for yourself."

His words unnerved me, but only slightly, "All right."

He looked at me, "What help do you need from me?"

"Zachary... Zac. Zac has suffered some emotional trauma and what I'll need is to be left alone while I try and connect with him. I need him to know that I'm here and I'm devoted to making sure that he's safe and remains safe for a long time to come. That won't work if in his presence, I'm being second-guessed and dismissed because of my age, looks, status, or any other factor that might drive you to challenge me. If you ever feel like I need to be taken down a notch, you can call my supervisor in Washington."

Aker was silent for a moment, "All right."

"I was specially selected for this assignment," I paused to check my watch, "If you disagree with my methods, then you can take that up with Special Agent Haynes who will arrive who will arrive the day after tomorrow. She will be my senior officer in this situation and she is aware of my status on this assignment. If you have a problem with my methods, she is the one you're to talk to."

Aker nodded and I could tell it was respectful, "That sounds reasonable enough."

"Regardless of my personal feelings," I adjusted the Magnum under my arm, "Your authority over this issue has officially come to an end. My assignment is to protect Zachary Hanson. Whatever help you suggest to me in private will be appropriately noted and considered. All right?"

"All right," Aker paused as we turned onto the offramp. When we turned onto a smaller road, he pulled over and looked at me with intent seriousness, "But if anything happens to Zac, if this sick bastard get his hands on that kid, I will see to it that you and your Special Agent Haynes are court marshaled and I will see to it that your reputations are ruined. You may think that my 'dumb Okie ways' may not work but I haven't lost anyone yet and Zac will not be the first, understood?"

I leaned to my side and nodded, "Understood."

We went up the front walk, side by side and casually, I tried to register any signs of resentment from Aker. We hadn't said anything else to each other since he'd pulled the car over and reasserted himself to me. The temperature had risen about twenty degrees since I'd gotten off the plane and it had to be at least 90 degrees. It was a cloudless, blue sky day which left nothing to filter the sun as it beat down. I noticed the grass in the front yard as yellow and dead looking. It had been a long time since the last rain.

I mopped my brow with a handkerchief as we stood in the welcome shade of the front porch. From what I could tell and from what I already assumed, the Hanson family was more than a little well off. Their front porch was tiled with brown bricks and the front doors were two massive slaps of oak carvings. I put the handkerchief away and stood holding the briefcase in my right hand with my left hand hidden in my pants pocket. The sunglasses had stayed on because they gave me a necessary look of authority along with my suit that my age didn't normally project.

Motionlessly, I checked myself for any offensive smells and found none. Only the smell of Ivory soap, Johnson & Johnson No More Tears shampoo, unscented Speed Stick, and the polished leather of my boots. As neutral as possible. Since my first day there, I had never smelled of anything else. Neutral scent merits undetection. Clean shaven and clear skinned, as well. Quite possibly the ideal government agent and proud of it. With only slight sweat on the forehead, everything is spotless and perfect as perfect can be.

Aker rang the doorbell and through the frosted glass panels on either side of the large front doors, I could detect movement. The door on the left opened but it was held tight by a chain. I stepped back and didn't want to intrude as Aker leaned in and talked through the small crack.

"Diana, it's me." He said, the door closed again and I heard the chain come down.

The door opened just enough to let us both in and we walked into the cool, dim foyer of the house. From my research, the woman who had opened the door was Diana Hanson, Zac's mother. She was approaching middle age but still quite attractive. I could tell by looking at her that the past few days had been quite hard on her. A mother who would die for her children without a moment's hesitation. She was unkempt and looked quite tired, and I could tell she hadn't slept for quite a while.

"Hi Ron." She said as warmly as she could to Sgt. Aker.

Aker smiled and beckoned to me. Mrs. Hanson looked at me with a steely suspicion. After removing my sunglasses, I stepped forward and offered my hand.

"My name is Agent Cameron," I said as she shook my hand and nearly hurt it with an iron grip.

"Agent Cameron," She said and squinted at me, "How old are you?"

"I'm 20 years old. Fully certified and endorsed."

She didn't seem impressed, "Interesting."

Interesting. That was all she said. She turned and walked through the foyer into a smaller room which from the look of it, was the sitting room. A nice, comfortable looking place with three quite different couches. One of which was a remarkably kitschy white leather loveseat. In seconds, I took in the layout of the room and had noted mentally the exits and windows, two large bay style windows that afforded a wide-open view of the large backyard. Good for looks but bad for protection. There were three exits, one of which in my left, I could see led into the kitchen, the door we came in from, and a third on the right side of the room beyond which I could see a stairway.

"Please sit down." Mrs. Hanson motioned to both of us.

For the next 45 minutes, Aker allowed me to explain the situation in my own words to Mrs. Hanson. Several times during the conversation, assorted younger children came into the room and were quickly ushered back out. I told her about Romaad and the danger he posed as well as what I had told Aker in the car. She was quietly horrified as she heard about Romaad and I knew that if it came down to it, she and I might have to draw straws to see who would put the bullet in him. I was as tactful as I could be, explaining the kind of work and the kind of environment I would need to do that work in. For the most part, she was agreeable but I could still see distrust in her eyes. She didn't want to, but she had to put the safety of her son in my hands.

Mrs. Hanson stood up rather abruptly, "Ron, would you mind waiting here for a moment?"

Aker nodded, "No problem."

To me, she motioned to follow her. To where I didn't know but after I put down the briefcase in Aker's care, I followed her. She led me out of the sitting room into the kitchen, and from there, out onto a small deck in the backyard. It was covered by a large shade and she stopped just short of the large wooden railing that ran around the deck. For a moment, she searched for her words and I could see that she was trying hard to hold herself together emotionally. She turned away from me and leaned against the railing.

"Can you keep this man away from my son?" She said finally, her voice was flat and expressionless.

"Yes, I can."

"I'm not in the mood to lose him."

"I won't let you lose him." I said, and I could tell the strength in my voice was heartening her.

"If it comes down to it..." She paused and took a deep breath, "Would you die for him?"

"Yes, I would."

She turned her head slightly, "Do you have a first name?"

"Reid."

"I love my son very much, Reid. I'm putting all my faith in your ability to protect him from this lunatic. I'll ask you one more time and that will be the last of it," She turned around and looked me in the eye, "Can you protect him?"

I squinted momentarily, amazed by her mix of being a mother and a realistic thinker, "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Hanson nodded and put her hand on my shoulder, "Then I trust you completely, Reid. I can tell that you mean what you say."

We walked back into the house and she told Sgt. Aker that things were under control. Before he left, Aker gave me a stern look that immediately made me think back to what he had said earlier. I knew that he was by no means not an intelligent man and it was pretty clear that if this ended in any way other than the best, he would follow through on his threat. As the door swung closed on him, it became crystal clear, not that it wasn't before, that this assignment had a high emotional value attached to it. Zac was very important to quite a few people if he could bring out this deep-set loyalty.

Once the door closed, I went to action. Dialing the number included in the files, I connected with the field office in Tulsa, letting them know I'd arrived and had reached the destination. Unlike a number of cities that were commonly seen as "more modern", the people working in Tulsa were very prompt and knew what they were doing to the second. It was a refreshing change. Among the information I was given was that Special Agent Haynes had been contacted in Los Angeles and had taken a sooner flight, meaning she would arrive later that day. It gave me an added bit of security to know that my partner for this particular job would be arriving sooner than later. After all, I was still young.

After I had called the office and had made arrangements to meet Haynes, I noticed that the house was quiet. Mrs. Hanson had been hovering in the background as I made the phone call and when it ended, I looked at her as I put away the contents of the briefcase.

"Where is everyone? I thought this was a large family."

"It is," She said and sat down, "I've sent everyone except Zac to stay in Oklahoma City."

My head jerked up, "Did you notify us?"

"Yes, Reid. They're being taken care of by the state patrol."

"So it's just you and Zac?" I asked.

"And yourself. Zac's in his room, in case you were wondering."

I closed the briefcase, "That was my next question."

She got a serious look on her face once again, "Will you be careful with him?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you carrying a gun?"

I looked up, "I am armed."

"Will you take it off?" Her voice sounded less composed.

"It's safer for everyone involved if I have it available at all times."

"I realize that I have no authority over you, after all I'm just his mother, but I would feel comfortable if the first time you met him, you weren't carrying a weapon. You can leave it outside the door for all I care, but I would rather you go in there as a person instead of your job."

I was surprised at the abruptness, "I'm here to do my job and nothing more."

"No, you aren't. You're in charge of the life of my son and you're here to take care of him. I want you to relate to him on a humane level, not just as some government suit with a cheap tin badge," She stood up and approached me, "I'm putting his life in your hands. I won't let you pretend to involve yourself with him. You're in way too deep for that."

She had me cornered, and all I could do was concede, "All right."

I took off the black coat and set it carefully across the arm of the sofa. Mrs. Hanson was looking fairly wide eyed at the Magnum holstered under my left arm and when I unhooked it and set it down on the coffee table, she seemed to breath a sigh of relief. After undoing the buttons on my cuffs, I took off the white shirt and folded it carefully over the arm of the sofa as well. I was left wearing my white T-shirt and the lack of the gun weighing under my arm, I felt helpless. Pushing the discomfort down, I locked the gun in the briefcase and set it under one of the end tables on either end of the sofa.

She smiled at me, "The orthodox look doesn't fit you."

I put my watch back on, "Until I can get new clothes, this is as casual as I get."

"You look better, even if it is as close as you can get."

"Where is he?" I asked as I rolled my neck back and forth, trying to loosen up.

"In his bedroom. Up the stairs, last door on the left."

"Thank you," I went towards the door that led to the stairway and turned around, "If anything happens, tell me."

She didn't say anything and as she walked away with her back to me, she raised her hand to indicate she'd heard. I sighed and went up the stairs slowly, observing the house and getting a feel for its dimensions. My feet creaked softly as they stepped their way up and I turned into the hallway, nearly hurling myself back down the stairs. I was startled by the sight of a uniformed police officer sitting at the end of the hall in a folding chair. The rush of my motion alerted him and he looked up, somewhat skeptically.

"You're Agent Cameron?" He asked coolly.

"Yes, I am." I said and walked down the hall towards him.

He looked at me, "Sorry if our old time country ways startled you. Around these parts, we don't leave a threatened person, particularly one that we all love, alone and waiting for either a killer or his protection to arrive."

I bit my lower lip, "Apparently, you're all not trusting me so quick."

"You're not on your turf anymore," He stood up and I went on guard against his hostility.

"How about letting me do my job before you judge me?"

He didn't say anything. I stole a quick look at his nameplate. Apparently this man named Coppinger was in the same boat with Aker. They were distrustful and not openly but still noticeably hostile and I knew that my job wasn't going to be so easy. After a momentary stand off, Coppinger stood aside and allowed me to go to the door. I could feel his glare in the back of my skull and I looked up and down at the door, noting its specifics. Among the white paint were a number of out of the ordinary drawings and comic strips depicting all sorts of scenarios. Several looked like portraits done by artists who were still learning to hold a drawing utensil.

I knocked twice.

"Yeah?" A voice came from behind the door, it was deep and was unmistakably the tone of teenaged speech.

"Zac?" I asked in my gentlest voice.

"Yeah, who is it?" His voice sounded tired and gaunt.

"My name is Agent Cameron. Can I come in?"

There was no sound for a few seconds and then I heard a rustle and the thunk of feet hitting the floor and walking over to the door. Something heavy sounded like it was being moved and the door clicked open softly. Coppinger looked the other way behind me as the door opened and I saw him for the first time. The picture I had been given, while accurate, had obviously been taken in a different situation. The person, Zac, who opened the door was dressed in only a pair of ratty cutoff shorts and wrapped in a bright red comforter. His hair was scraggly and hung down below his shoulders, his face was slightly pale and his eyes looked red and slightly swollen.

"Are you Zac?" I asked.

"Yeah." He said and rubbed his eyes.

"Can I come in?" I asked again.

"Sure." He stepped to the side and beckoned me in with an exhausted grandiosity.

I stepped into his room and immediately, my nose was hit with the smell of a teenaged bedroom. It brought back some flashbacks as I looked around and noted the window at the side of the room, curtained by a thick black cloth. If not for the small Garfield lamp in the corner, it would have been almost pitch black inside. No natural light had gotten inside for at least 10 hours or so, and I understood why. No observation from the outside.

His room was humid and slightly fetid with the scent of his anxiety induced sweat. As I looked around the room, Zac closed the door and moved his bleached oak dresser back in front of it. He groaned slightly as he pushed, and I quickly came over and helped him push it back. As he pushed on it, his face contorted into a tired determinedness before he rested, and stood panting for a second. During the task, the comforter had fallen to the floor and he seemed to forget about it. Zac walked back over to his bed and laid down on his stomach, pulling the light blue sheet up over him.

He looked up at me, his brown eyes looking expressive and vulnerable, "Want to sit down?"

"Yeah, that would be great." I said and sat down on the desk chair which sat in front of a computer. I swiveled slightly to face him as he laid, breathing softly and staring at me absorbedly.

"So... do I have to tell you what happened?"

I shook my head, "No, not if you don't want to."

He thought for a moment, "Can I ask you some stuff?"

"Sure."

The questions came like rapid fire, "How old are you?"

"20."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Do you know anything about me?"

"A little."

"Are you going to keep me safe?"

"Yes."

"What's your first name?"

"Reid."

"What movies do you like?"

"Anything by Paul Thomas Anderson or Michael Bay."

"Cool..." He paused and took a breath, "Did you like 'Gone In 60 Seconds'?"

I smiled, "Yes, even though I wasn't supposed to."

Zac smiled and I was forced to admit that he had a radiant smile, "Me too."

"Any other questions?"

"Yeah," He sat up cross-legged against the wall, "What am I supposed to tell people that you are?"

"What are you comfortable with?"

"I don't know." He said softly and looked down.

At that moment, all the pain and fear that he had experienced in the past day became all too clear to me. The fear that had to have come from being harassed for something he couldn't control had gone momentarily forgotten. My heart felt an odd sensation not unlike empathy. As I sat there, looking at him, and seeing everything he had gone through, for the first time since I'd been given the assignment, I truly understood the magnitude of my job. Seeing how much he meant to others was part of it but actually seeing him and seeing his room and seeing a small example of who he was put things in perspective.

Zac lifted his face up and looked at me, "You won't let him get me?"

"He'll get you over my dead body, Zac."

Reassuring like that seemed to open him up to me. For the next hour, it could have been more, we just sat and talked and got acquainted. He told me about various things that were important to him and as he became more comfortable, he seemed to relax and it did him good. From what he said, he was still keeping a positive outlook, which was amazing to me. I had expected him to be a basketcase but he wasn't. He didn't say anything about what had happened and I wasn't about to push him into it. It wasn't my job. My job at that point was, above anything else really, to be his friend and help him learn to trust me for the immediate future. I could tell that he was a very deep and very intelligent person, which helped my job tremendously since I wouldn't have to explain things a hundred times.

"Who's this?" I asked and held up a framed picture.

Zac took a deep breath and wavered for a moment, "That's Jason."

"Ahh... all right." I set it back down, not asking him any more about it.

"That was from when he went with me to see The Hollow Man. Mom and dad didn't want me to see it but he took me because I really wanted to go to see it."

I nodded, "You and he were pretty close, huh?"

"Yeah... he took care of me," His voice started to shake, "He took care of all of us."

In the soft light of the lamp, I saw two shining trails stand out on his cheeks. There wasn't any real sobbing or crying because I could tell he was too tired for that. Just the tears letting themselves release, it was a perfectly natural physical reaction. He let his head rest back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to get his mind off what had happened. Silently, I stood up from the chair and walked over to the mattress before sitting down next to him and leaning my own back against the wall. He was only sitting about half a foot away to my right, allowing enough space to make him feel unsuffocated but still making it clear that I was there for him.

Almost unnoticeably, he moved over slightly closer to me. He was starting to let himself trust me. That was a very good thing. Regardless of it, I gently put my hand on his bare shoulder and rubbed it firmly. He sighed and his legs straightened out in front of him as he looked up at the ceiling. Either the smell in the room had gone away or I just wasn't noticing it anymore as we sat there, and eventually I was distracted by his toe idly playing with the laces of one of my boots. He had quite large feet, I noticed.

"They said you came from a large family." He said, wrapping his arms around his folded legs.

"Second oldest of six."

"Third oldest of seven."

"We have that in common, at least." I said and for the first time, wondered about the world outside the room.

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"Our command post is in the house next door."

"Oh..." He trailed off.

"Is that okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, but... I mean... I'd feel safer if you were here, you know? Like not standing guard but... here."

I nodded, "I'll see about that."

"Okay, cool."

The trees were a good hiding place. Made even better by the darkness that had just rolled in over the area, allowing him to sneak in undetected to observe and watch. Everytime a car went by, he had to step back into the trees until it passed, but once the headlights were out of range, he stepped back behind the stone wall. Crouching down, he reached into his bag and pulled out the binoculars, a special military brand, capable of of crystal clear viewing from as much as a mile away. He had to stay at least a mile back, or the officers would see him.

They couldn't see him. Leaning against the wall, he focused the binoculars and switched on the infa-red filter, giving him a perfect view of the hotel room. He could see inside flawlessly. Somewhere behind him, he heard a noise that would scare anyone else. But he was special even though no one knew it. He was their messiah and their emperor and it would only be a matter of time. All he had to do was remove at least one of the dirties. One of the filth that insisted on living their dirty life. A young one with plenty of life energy that could spread over the world and help them see. They needed him. Their children needed him.

Movement in the room. The lights came on the curtains were pulled back in the humid, early evening heat. He didn't have to worry about the more capable law enforcement to see him because they were all taking care of the intention. He wasn't ready to kill him yet. He was going to wait until the time was right. He had no problem waiting because it would all be worth it in the end when they realized what he was trying to do.

More movement... the movement that came from four young children moving about. The binoculars saw two little girls and a little boy, and seconds later, a toddler. He scanned the room and saw two more people, one was a tall, slender young man and the other was an older, but slightly shorter, person. They were his siblings. They were the family related to the dirty. They all seemed tense... and for good reason. He smiled in the darkness as he watched them moving... not knowing that they were under a very different kind of surveillance.

Soon he would move on them. He would find out exactly how to infiltrate the lines being drawn around the dirty and he would finally cleanse the world of the filth. He knew that no matter whom they stuck with the intention, he could not be stopped. Nothing of this earth could stop him. Nothing could stop him from cleaning up the mess.

Being an agent results in being told many, many things about what to do and what not to do. Every agent had his or her own vices and things that they couldn't resist. Personally, my vice that I could never resist was home cooking. Later that night, after I'd persuaded Zac to take a short nap but not before promising to stay in the room, Mrs. Hanson had called us downstairs. Before we sat down to eat, I had used a handy copy of a local mail order clothing catalog to acquire some more normal clothing, paying the extra charge to have them delivered right away. When they arrived, I hastily changed into a combination of a red T-shirt and black cargo pants, noticing that when Mrs. Hanson saw me, her prior wonder about my age hadn't been helped much at all.

I didn't really notice as much, since my nose was being pulled to the smells coming from the kitchen. In order to try and make things as comfortable as possible, she'd fixed an absolutely amazing meal of chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, and biscuits. It was heaven for me. It also seemed to appeal to Zac who dug in like he'd been starved in a POW camp. As we ate, I kept my holster far enough away to not seem threatening but still be close if I needed it in a hurry.

It was almost 6pm and the sun had just started to go down in the sky when my pager beeped, telling me to call the field office. A slight sense of worry hit the room when I stood up, but I reassured them. I knew that they were going to tell me that Haynes had arrived and that she would meet me later. I got up and walked to the phone, dialing in and having my assumption validated as they told me that she would come by the house later that night. Like a well-oiled machine, I thought as I walked back to the table and sat down.

"Everything all right?" Mrs. Hanson asked, she and Zac both seemed to be breathing easier.

"Yes, everything is fine." I went back to eating and when I felt something bump my foot, I looked up sharply.

Zac looked at me, "Sorry."

"It's not usually this quiet?" I asked as I took a drink of water.

Mrs. Hanson smiled, "With seven kids, it hasn't been this quiet since before any of them were born."

Something about this house and this family was starting to chip away at the wall I had built up around myself. It was alarming to think about and realize that all my notions about being related to by a person, were being made to seem not as airtight. I wasn't sure that I could handle it. It was the first hint of self-doubt I'd felt in a long, long time, really. As soon as the self-doubt started to grow, I remembered that my help was needed here. There wasn't any room for me to doubt myself and I hadn't given myself a reason to deserve doubting myself.

Slowly, the mood around the table relaxed again and Zac continued making little mechanical noises as he speared the food on his plate with his fork. I'd only been in this house for half a day and it already felt like the most stable family environment I'd ever experienced. With all the tension surrounding it, that seemed kind of twisted to me. Everytime my mind started to agitate on the issues before me, all I had to do was remember how uncomfortable I was in my new "everyday" clothing. The shirt, while 100% cotton, was like a garrote around my neck and I just didn't feel the same without my suit and tie. The clothes made me feel... human.

So the meal continued. Mrs. Hanson took a fascinated yet gruesome interest in my job, asking me certain details that didn't exactly seem like the kind of thing a mother of seven would ask about. Fairly quickly, it became apparent that her inquiries were meant to see if I could handle my job. She wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing and hadn't just been thrown into this while still being wet behind the ears. I didn't mind. In fact, I was a little disappointed that it hadn't been more glamorous.

"When does this other agent arrive?" Mrs. Hanson asked as she cleared the table.

"Anytime now."

"I hope Ron doesn't mistake her for anyone bad."

"What do you mean?" I looked up.

"He's been sitting out at the end of the driveway since you got here." She said it so casually.

"All day?" I asked, amazed at this show of loyalty.

"All day," She said from the kitchen, "Mark has been parked on the road that runs out by the back of the house all day, too."

For a second, I didn't comprehend until I realized that Mark was this Officer Coppinger. I said softly to myself, "Wow."

Shaking my head, I turned back around in the chair and looked over at Zac. He had laid his head down on the table and fallen asleep, his soft breathing making his back rise and fall evenly. He needed the sleep. Mrs. Hanson came back in the room and smiled the smile of a mother when she saw him. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang and it sent a jump through both Mrs. Hanson and Zac, who sat up like a bolt, looking around guardedly.

"That's Agent Haynes." I said and stood up, walking towards the door.

"Wait!" Zac said penetratingly, "Shouldn't you take... I mean... protection?"

"No, I'll be all right." I said and walked out of the dining room and into the front foyer.

Since we had started dinner, night had fallen and the front hallway was dark except for one of the mounted hallway faux candlelights. Approaching the doors with some caution, I looked through the small lens on the door. Instantly, I knew that nothing was there to fear. After undoing the chain and the two padlocks and deadbolt, I opened the door and smiled. Agent Haynes was in her late 20's, very tall, and had all the trademark looks of an Amazon. She was dressed in the trademark government suit and when she saw the door open, she smiled.

"Agent Cameron?" She asked.

"Yes. Agent Haynes?"

"Yeah," She stepped inside the house, "Wow, so this is the place?"

"This is the place." I said as we walked into the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hanson?" Haynes asked and held out her hand.

"Yes," She said and shook it, "Call me Diana."

Haynes smiled, "All right."

I watched Haynes introduce herself to Zac and I was impressed with her. She was a very naturally calm and self-possessed person. There wasn't any impatience or gratuitous rush to what she did. Everything was calculated but still very effortless for her. I felt very calm knowing that she would be here to help me if I needed it. I did notice that Zac seemed to give her an odd look. I hoped that he could learn to trust her. I really hoped above all else that he would be able to trust society again after what had happened to him. It would be a miracle if he came through this without some serious social handicap.

When dinner had ended and Zac had retired into the living room, Haynes and I sat at the kitchen table and came up with a plan of action. She had been given the same files as me and she'd read them thoroughly on the plane ride from D.C. Our first order of business, we decided, was to make sure that Zac was never out of our sight at any time. I was the main protector while she was to be considered the orbiter. She would stay a safe distance away, close enough to back me up but far enough away that she wouldn't seem imposing. The more I talked to her, the more comfortable I felt. She was very agreeable and she trusted my instincts, it was a very nice, very welcome change. My age didn't see so significant to her.

"When should I head next door?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"We're staying next door, right?"

"I am and the two surveillance agents are but you're staying here."

I didn't think it was serious, "I can't... stay here."

"Well, you are. This is your territory."

"I was told that I'd be staying at the house next door."

"No," Haynes sounded surprised, "You're staying here."

This was a development I wasn't prepared for, "I'm staying in this house."

"What's wrong, Cameron? Afraid you'll turn human?"

"No." I said it sharper than necessary.

"You're his shadow," She indicated towards the living room, "I can stay here, instead."

I was resigned, "No, I'll stay. It just doesn't seem like good protocol."

She smiled, "This isn't the kind of situation we deal with everyday. It requires special, one on one protection at all times."

"Great."

Regardless of her insistence, I declined Mrs. Hanson's invitation to sleep in one of the empty bedrooms and decided to sleep on the foldout bed in the living room. It would give me a ground floor advantage on anyone who tried to break in. Before she left to go next door, Haynes had helped me set up several motion detectors located at intermediate points on the grounds of the household. Several had been set with directives that wouldn't allow it to be set off by anything above 110 pounds, meaning no animals could trip the alarm. When I finally went to bed at 1am, with the holstered Magnum closeby. Three more motion detectors were set at the front door, back door, and the gate at the front of the driveway. It was a lot of work but it would ensure little risk of attack.

The midday heat had only gotten slightly balmier as night had fallen and after only several minutes of lying under only a sheet, sweat had begun to stand out on my face. Despite the heat, I managed to fall into my usual light sleep, staying alert enough if my services were needed. When I slept, I rarely ever dreamt but this time was an unusual exception.

My mind began to work and I was soon trapped in some medium sized stone walled room with only a murky purple light shining down. Immediately, I withdrew my gun and made a circuit of the room but something had prevented me from using logic. It felt like some odd warm sensation was trying to enter me and the more I tried to dummy up again it, the harder it tired to get inside me. An ensuing worry hit me as the new sense rifled into my body and no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't let me think my way out. My knees felt like jelly and slowly, I fell the floor and heard the clank of the gun as it smacked the stone and was pulled away from me, as if it was on a rope. The heat kept blanketing over me and somewhere, bouncing off the stone walls, came the laughter of children. It was carefree joyous laughter that carried no responsibility and no fear, and it sounded like some abnormal foreign language. Sweat rolled off me and created a large puddle on the floor and my body swam in it, trying to realize what was happening.

The bottom of my stomach shook and my heart felt... warm. It felt like it was beating for the first time. My lungs inhaled the warm, sweet scent of the room and the stone walls began to melt away, and a bright sunlight came into the room. I jerked around on the floor and managed to get back up to a standing position. The purple murkiness floated away and I looked around into the warm, bright sunlight, flailing and trying to get a handle on myself. When I looked down at my feet, I saw that my boots had disappeared, my feet were standing on a field. I could feel the grass sticking up through my toes.

More laughter came from all around me and my eyes burned and watered from the brightness of the sun. I tried to shield my eyes with my arm, but some gentle force pulled my arm back down and more of the heat swirled into my stomach. From somewhere, I heard a heavy breathing and moments later, I was bowled over by what felt like a large and bulky yet warm and fleshy being. It hit me in the chest and stomach and sent me sprawling into the grass. Whatever it was clearly didn't want to hurt me as I felt a pair of lips over mine but the sun prevented me from seeing anything further. I tried to struggle but the same gentle force held me still against the ground as the thick, blond mane of hair flew over my face and I felt the lips kiss down my body. Hands unbuttoned my shirt and I felt a hot tongue slashing over my skin, sending anxious jolts through me. The tongue swirled in my belly button before the same hands yanked down my pants and instantly, I hissed as the lips wrapped around my dick. A divine hot sucking plastered itself to me... but it was interrupted... the ground moved...

My body jerked upwards out of the dream and in the darkness, my right hand instantaneously flew to the floor beside the bed and drew the Magnum up at the speed of light. My left hand collared the other person on the bed as I brought the gun up and pointed it at objective point #1. Right between the eyes. The gun was steady and unmoving and before I knew it, my finger was ready to pull the trigger.

"Oh God..." He whimpered.

My eyes focused and I realized it was Zac. My muscles detensed and I immediately let the gun fall and I set it on the floor next to the bed. I released my left hand from his shoulder and mopped the sweat from my brow. I tried to regain my wits as Zac sat motionless, looking like a deer in the headlights. When my breathing had gone down and my blood pressure had eased, I looked at him and saw the fear in his eyes.

"Jesus Christ..." I said and felt my shoulders relax.

"I'm sorry... I just..." His voice was shaky and he sounded scared to death.

"What are you doing?" I whispered loudly.

"I didn't feel safe... I just didn't feel like it was safe in my room..."

I softened and rubbed my eyes, "You didn't do anything."

"I didn't know if you were awake and I wanted to talk."

"I'm sorry, Zac." I said and I truly felt horrible.

He smiled in the sparse light provided by the hallway, "Hey, I always wanted to see a gun up close."

I shook my head and fell back against the pillow, looking at the clock and noting the time as 7am. It was the morning. Zac was obviously alive. I had done my job, save for the small brush with killing him. Quickly trying to forget about the dream, I rubbed my eyes again and sat back up, my elbow brushing Zac's leg. The feeling of his skin against mine felt odd to me. He took a deep breath and leaned back on one elbow against the other pillow, moving his foot from side to side and watching it. We didn't say anything but it was awkward, it was comfortable in it's own odd way.

"So... do you use the bullets that blow the guy's head apart?" Zac asked and it was with such a genuine yet morbid interest that I couldn't help but smile as I leaned down and relocked the safety.

Suddenly, the mood in the room changed when I looked up and Zac was only a few inches away. For the first time, I seemed to notice that he really was eye-catching in his own idiosyncratic way. In the light of the hallway, his eyes seemed darker than I had first noticed and they almost... pulled on me. The lines of his face were very curvy and easy on the eyes. To my relief, he didn't seem all that traumatized by my earlier hair triggerness. He looked up and smiled slightly, and I felt my face moving forward and my ears picked up the soft rustle of the sheets as Zac did the same, he was smiling. It felt like we were going to kiss...

I leaned back and tried to change the subject, "They're the kind of bullets that save lives."

"Or take them." A voice said from behind me and I turned and saw Mrs. Hanson standing in the doorway.

"Hi mom." Zac yawned and laid back on the bed, stretching out comfortably.

"Everything okay?" She asked and I could hear the unease in her voice.

"We're fine, mom." Zac said idly.

"Okay," She looked skeptical before turning and shaking her head as she walked into the kitchen.

I took a deep breath and exhaled heavily and sat up, turning my back to Zac and leaning over to find a clean pair of pants. My hands were actually shaking as I searched through the plastic bag and tried to find a respectable outfit for the day. I felt scared. Something didn't want me to turn back and face Zac because I knew that what had almost happen would surely happen for real and it was too terrifying to even think about. The same warm sensation that I felt in my dream returned to my stomach and it had the same effect. Cold sweat ran down my forehead and my vision almost blurred. I was scared at myself for feeling such blatant human emotion... it wasn't the kind thing that happened to me.

"Reid?"

"Yeah?!" I jerked up and looked behind me, seeing Zac smiling amusedly.

"You okay?" He asked so innocently.

"Yeah... yes, I'm fine," I grabbed my shower kit and the first shirt and pair of pants I could find and stood up hastily, "I'm fine. I'm just fine. I just... need a shower. I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Okay." His smile became one of genuine amusement.

"Yeah," I stumbled out of the room and nearly tripped over the rising step into the hallway, "Yeah, I'm gonna go shower."

"Who's gonna take care of me?" He pouted.

"Haynes!" I said just as the doorbell rang, "There she is! She'll take care of you."

Zac stood up, "But she's a girl. Can I come with you?"

"What?!" My voice cracked.

"I wanna come take a shower with you!" He said gleefully, my knees weakening at what he'd said.

"No... no no no," I shook my head and tried to play it off as a joke, "You stay here."

Haynes wandered into the room, "Hey there. What are you guys up to?"

"Nothing!" I squeaked and leaned back against the wall, abruptly finding myself cornered.

Haynes looked from me to Zac questioningly. Zac shrugged and walked past me into the kitchen where I could hear his mom making breakfast. As soon as he was gone, Haynes looked back to me with an incredulous face. Right away, I knew what she was thinking and I shook my head vehemently. My lips tried to form words but just moving them made me think about what had almost happened. Just thinking about that made me feel weak in the knees again.

"Did you and he..."

"No! We did not." I said, my heart pounding like a... drum.

"Agent Cameron," She said in a flat warning tone, "That's a no no."

"I know that!" I blustered in an outraged tone.

She smiled and walked over to me, "Then again, this is as human as I've ever seen you. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea if you and he fell--"

"Noooo! No... no need to say that," I trusted my legs to work again and I walked towards the bathroom, "That is not going to happen. I respect the protocol and the rules of this assignment."

"I just think that if you and he fall in--" She said but a warning look stopped her, "If you and he want to be friends, then you should wait until he's safe before you pursue anything. Before then, it could get in the way of your performance. It could cloud the issue here and that would be a major stepping stone."

"Yes, Special Agent Haynes. I realize that and that's why I stopped myself from doing anything before you ever so graciously walked in," I stopped stood in the doorway of the bathroom, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower."

She stepped back and made a hands off gesture, "Hey Cameron?"

"Yeah?"

"You want me to tell Zac to wash your back?"

"Amusing, Haynes, very amusing." I said and let the door swing shut.

The shower I took that morning wasn't the most relaxing of my life. As I stood under the spray, hotter than most people could stand, I tried to get my mind back in order enough to do my job. It felt like everything had been turned upside down. More like I had been thrown into a drum, shaken until everything I knew had flown out, and then shaken some more until nothing with recognizable. Using harsh whispers to try and get control, I rinsed the soap off me and did a quick check to make sure nothing smelled out of sorts. My hands were still shaking and it scared the hell out of me.

I switched the water off and stepped into a plain white towel and dried myself off in a hurry. The pounding of my heart forced me to stop and I leaned against the wall, breathing deeply and trying to ignore that my once robotically efficient body was suddenly... feeling. I shook my head and clenched my teeth, trying to mitigate the feelings. Everywhere I searched in my mind tried to give me some logical explanation but nothing was working. Nothing was doing the job. My whole body was shaking and it was threatening to make me vomit all over the floor, which wasn't the first impression I needed to make.

For the first time, I noticed the clothing I'd pulled out. I don't know how I'd ordered a tan Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt but it looked horrifying... but it would have to do. It would help me fit in. The clothing clung to my skin as I put my soap and shampoo back in the small leather bag. My feet were still getting used to the sneakers I'd ordered. They didn't feel as natural as my boots. My whole damn life had become unnatural and it scared me.

"Stop it!" I condemned myself and clenched my fists, "Get a hold of yourself."

Running my fingers through my wet hair, I contorted my face and tried to tell myself one more time that I had to get control. There was no way that I could do my job properly if I couldn't keep control. Whatever that happened out there was a mistake. It wasn't real. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't anything that needs to be obsessed over or let to ruin the day. He's your responsibility and no matter what everyone else says, it's your job. It is your job. Do your job, agent.

There was a knock at the door and it sent a shock through me. I gasped and jumped in the still steamy air of the bathroom. My heart pounded and when my hand flew to under my arm, the distress of not having the gun nearly sent me through the ceiling. I took a deep breath and tensed up, reminding myself that I needed to stay under control.

"Reid?" Zac called from behind the door.

"Yeah?" I said, my voice mercifully not cracking again.

"Can I come in?"

I reached over and opened the door. He smiled somewhat apologetically and walked in a few steps and looked down. Something was wrong. I stood my ground and didn't back up. Not allowing myself to be cornered or intimidated or anything of the sort. I stayed strong. My shoulders toughened and I put on my best confident stance.

"Hey, I'm sorry about what happened. Sometimes my gaydar goes off a little weird sometimes."

My features softened, "It's okay, Zac."

He looked up and smiled, "So we're still cool?"

"Yeah, we are. I'm the one who should apologize to you. I shouldn't have put the gun in your face like that. God knows you've got enough going on."

"I shouldn't have snuck up on you," He walked out of the bathroom and I followed him down the hall towards the kitchen, "I mean, it may be surprising, but that isn't the first time that's happened. I've startled many a hotel security guard."

Something about that comment made me chuckle softly as we walked into the kitchen were Mrs. Hanson looked quite busy. My stomach growled at the scent of cooking in the air but I had to get out of the way as Zac hustled to the table. He was a very eager young man. Very in love with life. That also meant he didn't want to lose it. This whole thing was becoming more and more complicated by the minute as these feelings were getting bigger and more pronounced. It was made all the more awkward because something in me didn't know how to deal with it. I was a perfect government machine but something about Zac had started to bore through my armor and it was so scary but the tiny voice told me that it was good. The voice wasn't staying so tiny.

"Hey Cameron." Haynes said in a scolding tone, I turned around.

She held out my holster, "You left this by the bed."

I grimaced and strapped it around my waist and pulled the shirt down over it, "I forgot about it."

"Yeah, you did." She looked at me skeptically.

I bristled and tried to cover my tracks, "It was a mistake. An oversight."

Haynes leaned in and said softly, "It's okay just as long as you don't make mistakes."

I nodded and tightening the holster around me and took a moment to regain my senses. She was right. This whole assignment wasn't going to work if I kept leaving important things, such as a lethal weapon, lying around. I tried to chalk it up to first time nervousness but the tiny voice in me said it was something else. It kept repeating a four-letter word, which tried to come into the light of my brain, but I shoved it back. I shoved whatever I could in front of it. There was no way that I could allow it to come true or to happen or anything like that. It wouldn't work. I just had to keep reminding myself that it wouldn't work.

Swirling lights and techno music surrounded him. It was the closest thing to a decent harvesting ground that this God-forsaken hellhole of rednecks and flatland could provide. All around him, he saw dirties grinding their hips together and looking close to stripping down and contaminating each other right in front of him. Just the thought gave him a nauseated feeling in his stomach. It made him want to stand under scalding hot shower and scrub his blistering skin until it bled. It would bleed clean, however. Unlike all these sick dirties who thought that cavorting filthily with their own gender. It was to gag.

He knew they saw him. He could feel their sick appraising looks as he walked across the dance floor, darting his mascara costumed eyes about with a manufactured interest. They were looking at the leather-encased bulge at the front of his pants and the tight, wrapped mound of his ass as he walked. Forcing the bile down in his throat, he smiled like some common whore and searched the floor for someone he could take his frustrations out on. With a calculated gesture, he exposed some of his stomach and winked at them, trying hard to hook them in.

The blare of the music pounded on him as the lights switched colors. Red to blue, blue to yellow, yellow to purple, all in one big changing mess. There was no way that they could resist him. Gradually, he carried himself over to the bar and leaned against it, looking sultry and desirable. The lights glistened off the shined leather of his pants and he knew that they saw. They saw him. They wanted him. Oh, how they wanted him. Coating his lips with saliva, he let his eyes scan the room as he did his best to look like a harmless, effeminate Goth boy.

All the eyes were on him, and he knew it. Running the bar through his tongue slowly over his lips, he knew it was driving them crazy. They wanted him. They wanted to take him into their filthy bathroom and take his ass. Make him shove his face into the unclean crevices of their sick, diseased bodies. His fingers curled and he ground his teeth with fury at the thought, but to them, it looked like rampant sexual desire only barely hidden by his tight pants. He left his head fall back and he closed his eyes, letting the lights catch the flash of glitter paint he'd smeared on his neck.

Once more, he scanned the room with his eyes and smiled, knowing how it drove them wild. Turning around slowly, walking to the bathroom and knowing that they would follow him. He left his scent behind, attracting them like sick bears. His scent drawing them. Pulling them forward because their sick fantasies wouldn't let them stop. The rush came to his ears as he walked into the dark hallway towards the bathroom. If only the news knew the truth about him. If they had only known how often he had done this before...

The doors to the bathroom pushed open and he walked in, suppressing the gag in his throat at the smell. They brought themselves in here. They did their disgusting, diseased business in here. They infected each other and ruined the world for clean people like him. He stood at the other end of the wall and watched the door intently. He licked his lips again and slid his hand into the pocket of his pants, feeling the long sharp wire.

The door opened.

Over the din, "... Yeah, I'll come back out... I just need to pee..."

He smiled and nearly began drooling when he saw... it. A baby faced blond pixie no older than 18 years old had walked in. The little pixie was wearing disgustingly routine khaki pants and a white T-shirt, his spiked blond hair carefully groomed. Just the sight of him was to drool over. The pixie walked in and stood in front of the sink, shaking slightly and taking a deep breath. Was he on drugs? If so, this would only be easier.

"Hi." He said and watched the pixie jump nervously.

"Uh... hey..." When the pixie spoke, the light glinted off it's braces.

"You okay?" He said with contrived concern.

"Yeah," The pixie said and smiled, "I'm just a little nervous. I've never been to a gay bar before."

"Awww... it's not that scary."

"You look like you come here quite a bit." The pixie said, obviously trying to be flirty but failing.

"I do..." He said and walked out of the shadows and up to the blond angel.

"Ummm..." The pixie stuttered, "I don't think we should..."

"Shhh..." He said and took the boy by one of its golden hands, "Let's be alone."

"Okay..." The pixie trailed off and followed him into one of the stalls.

Once they were inside, he kissed the pixie. Such sweet, soft lips. If not for the vomit that nearly spewed forth from his mouth, it wouldn't be so bad. The little angel was making soft mewling noises, experiencing its first real boy/boy kiss. The pixie whimpered and backed against the side of the stall, overtaken by the new sensations. Slowly he slid his hands up the front of the shirt, feeling the angel's soft, warm torso and gently tugging at the pert pink nipples. When he played with them, the baby jerked and gasped with excitement... but then it him pushed back.

"Hey... can I at least know the name of the man of my dreams?" It asked and smiled innocently.

He didn't answer. Instead, he smiled and brought his head foreword in a lightning quick headbutt, catching the angel right in the face and knocking it completely out cold. The little blond one slumped to the floor of the stall, blood trickling from it's broken nose and ruined mouth, trickling down and staining it's white shirt a ruddy red color. In the stall, he heard the ragged breathing, which infuriated him. He brought both of his clenched fists down in fury, slamming the unconscious thing over and over again. He whined with hatred and kicked the diseased thing again and again, before removing the length of piano wire from his pocket. Slowly, he wrapped it around the thing's neck and pulled back, waiting for it to end. At least, when the breathing stopped and the body was still, he brought the wire to his mouth and slowly cleaned it with his tongue.

His voice was a rasping wheeze, "I... am... Caligula..."

To Be Continued...