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   David Goldstein had an interesting take on the goings on of a courtroom.   Most would compare it in grandiose terms, a sparing, or a grand performance, and that all efforts should be directed on a thorough preparation for the moment.   He was not so romantic about it.   Sure, he would do his homework, and work his witnesses over, but his was a much different if not a unique view.   He would compare it to preschoolers fighting over a toy in the sandbox, suddenly deemed the favorite of both.   Cases were won over emotion, and he wanted that emotion in his client to show instead of beat out with soulless repetition.

   He shared this with Meghan as they sat in the courtroom moments before her trial was finally set to begin.   The same courtroom, with the same decorations, cameras, judge and persons, even seemingly the same audience sitting behind her; it all lent to the same feeling that she had never left, and in truth she never had.   Every teeth grinding moment over the past six months had been for this, and the dozen people that sat in the box to her left, the ones that David had joked were in the book deal sweepstakes.

   There was one more besides this morning.   Gary say behind her in the audience, close enough to touch if she dared.   She had to admit, he looked good in that Italian cut suit, better than she felt in her own, dark green approaching black; its six long sleeves always seemed make an embarrassingly loud noise every time they rubbed across one another.   Much to her chagrin, it had been insisted on that the suit be as normal and professional as possible, somehow even on her many exaggerated curves, and that her accompanying silk blouses have six sleeves as well.   At least she got her way with the slacks instead of some skirt.   Meghan watched how the fabric moved, with its slightly sheen look and feel, as she rocked her leg back and forth in her own specially made chair, until the swaying cloth fell to rest again, then studied her new matching shoes, trying to make up her mind if she liked them or not.   The Bailiff's call to order only partially captured her attention.

   "All rise for the Honorable Judge Herold Williams."   Everyone in the court obeyed, Meghan very conspicuous as the last to return to her seat, still preoccupied with a new angle on triviality.

   "Alright, this is the case number 346781: City of Philadelphia Vs. Meghan Moors.   As before, the court recognizes the extraordinary circumstances surrounding this case. Still, this is a court of law, not a circus, and this trial will be in accordance to that law.   If you have any trapeze acts, or knives to throw, do it now so we can get it out of the way."

   "Your honor, I move that this trial is forgone in its entirety.   We would not hold a trial for a rhino that gored somebody.   The fact is, the defendant is simply not human, and not subject to our law,"   The DA's tone rung as harsh as her words.

    This got Meghan's attention immediately, her jaw dropped as Davin leaned over her to whisper.   "Wow, Ms. Fowler seems a little angry still about the arraignment."

   "I want to hurt her so bad."

   "Stop, it's what she wants."   David handed her a stress ball under the table to take those feelings out on.   "If you become provoked, she wins the argument, and the trial.   Save the hostility for later."

   "Well, it doesn't get more stunt-worthy then that.   What does the defense have to say about that?"   The judge seemed amused himself by this, his salted mustache already twitching over dark skin.

   "Your Honor, the courts have never focused on a person’s humanity per se, but their competency.   Persons are denied a trial because of their ability to comprehend the charges against them, or even their understanding of crime itself.   Neither I nor the prosecution has questioned my client’s competency, not even now.   To that I think the court can indulge a moment for Ms. Moors to speak for herself."

   "Ms. Moors, do you have anything to add?"

   "It's a little trite, but I think of nothing more appropriate here."   Meghan spoke with a plain confidence that was lacking months ago.   " 'I am a Jew.   Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?   If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?'   Do they, David?"

   "Yes, we do."

   "But do you, Miss Moors?   Does anyone here want to testify to that?"   DA Fowler retorted in sarcasm.   Some sneered, some laughed, but all took note that this was not the language of a monster.

   "I don't think this courtroom is ready to lay down the precedent that law is strictly human, or more to the point, who benefits from its humanity.   So until little green men are proven real, or leprechauns are held into account for their mischief, I think it's safe to deny the prosecution’s request and continue the trial."

   The prosecution's opening statement was a blitzkrieg, long on the evidence, long on its claims, long winded.   It was the facts that would win this case for the DA.   The truth was the facts, and nothing else could logically be drawn from them.   However, baked inside this, insinuations of hate, subtle comments delivered with a furtive glance, half-whispers to the jury; these were drawn out of inflection her haggard voice, never dared to be stated outright, and denied in horror if you tried accuse her of deviating from those facts she gloated over.   Her motives were inside information between the prosecution and the jury, and they were wise to understand them.

   Then it was David's turn.   His statement was brief.   He did not deny the evidence.   Five men were assaulted, and sent to the hospital, two with a lengthy stay.   His client had fled the scene afterwards, and never reported the incident.   These were facts, not truth. All he asked was for the jury to keep an open mind to the reasons behind the evidence.   That with reason an alternate story could finally be told.

   The prosecution's story began with the first responders:

   ' "Triage was required on the scene as we arrived.   Despite the status of the older Jones, with burns over his chest and arms, the younger Jones was first to receive aid, with lacerations and blood loss stemming from the broken glass window.   All the victims showed evidence of blunt force trauma, bruising, broken bones, and the like."

   "And how were you alerted on the crime scene?"

   "A bystander later called 911."

   "And how long were they left to bleed on the streets before you arrived?"

   "About 25 minutes, perhaps.   We really have no idea at what time the incident occurred."

   "So, they were just left to die?"

   "No one prior had attended to the injuries." '

   ' "By the time we arrived, two of the injured were conscious and ambulatory."

   "So could they could have had time to tamper with the evidence at the scene?"

   "It is possible.   That's not what a paramedic worries about."

   "So these men that were assaulted, they had blunt force trauma, from punching, etc?   No puncture wounds, no great loss of blood?"

   "Largely, yes."

   "Then was there any evidence of blood that could not be easily accounted for."

   "Yes."

   "Could this blood have been from another person no longer on the scene?"

   "That's not a part of my job as a first responder.   That's left for the police forensics." '

   ' "As you can see in these photos, he came into St. Joseph's with three cracked ribs and a broken collar bone, along with multiple lacerations and glass fragments in the skin, severe contusions and a concussion." '

   ' "The second man, Johnson, arrived with a broken right wrist and forearm, appearing to be crushed, contusions over his chest and torso, along with a six-inch shallow laceration along his stomach."

   "And the crushed forearm, how did it appear to have happened?"

   "It was unusual, the bruising appeared as if someone had wrapped a segment of rope around it a few times and then tightened it with a large amount of force."

   "Could it also have been done by a grip of a large hand?"

   "I guess it is possible, but it would take a high amount of strength to do this." '

   ' "He was found to have a concussion and broken ribs, along with a contusion around his neck."

   "Like if he was choked?"

   "Yes, by his shirt." '

   ' "To review, Erik Jones arrived on a stretcher with third degree burns over the right side of his chest extending to the neck, and over his right shoulder and upper arm, along with lesser burns elsewhere." '

   ' "As you can see here, the storefront role-down gate had been severely compromised, shattering the glass storefront window behind it.   It was from this store that we analyzed the video camera footage that eventually led us to the license plate of the accused's van, and the arrest."

   "Have you ever seen that kind of damage before in your years of police work?"

   "By a car, once." '

   ' "And the man thrown against the storefront cage, what would have happened to him if he would have struck a solid wall?"

   "It is possible that his injuries would have been more severe."

   "So your saying that the cage cushioned his fall?"

   "...Possibly"

   "So he was a lucky man, or could it have been that even in the heat of the moment, my client was still trying to not cause grave injury?"

   "If this scene was trying to avoid injuries, I for one am glad to have missed that massacre." '

   ' "After a thorough search, no weapons of any kind were found on the scene. No evidence of a shell casing, or of a bullet."

   "How long was it before Philadelphia Police arrived on the scene?"

   "45 minutes."

   "That seems to be an awfully long time. And it's not possible that those things could have been hidden or destroyed?" '

   "Objection! Speculation."

   "Overruled..."

   "Yes, but there was no evidence found for that."

   It was a procession of captioned images of carnage.   Many times, Meghan looked back at Grey in the audience with the need for comfort, once slipping a hand behind her to hold his.   The realization of what she had done that night was her greatest terror become real.   It left her wondering to herself if a cage was best after all.

   The second day was the arrest and forensics:

   ' "So when you arrested Ms. Moors at her home, you didn't bother to collect any evidence?   Including securing my clients van, the 'getaway' vehicle?"

   "We had determined on site that the all the officers present were needed to secure the fugitive, and we were told that she was alone."

   "So afterwards, anyone could have come in to tamper with potential evidence?"

   "Securing the site was ultimately the responsibility of the FBI, who had already been contacted.   It simply was not our jurisdiction."

   "It seems to me that there was a lot of lack of responsibility to go around here." '

   ' "So, after Ms. Moors was transferred to Philadelphia custody, no one at the station bothered to try to interview her to attain her side of the story, or gather evidence to collaborate that story?"

   "It was a busy night, and it was deemed that whatever necessary manpower to secure Miss. Moors interview could not be allotted.   It was assumed that as she had been read her Miranda Rights, and that no information would have been forthcoming anyways."

   "And still after her counsel arrived, you still never attempted an interview even in his presence?"

   "There had been a...miscommunication at the police station." '

   ' "The forces seen here were of the type you see with a large, heavy club.   To have been done with bare hands would be with a force beyond human." '

   ' "To have thrown a man of that weight the distance reported would require something more along the lines of a small catapult than a man, or woman."

   "But the average person, such as a mother, has been witnessed to have superhuman strength in situations...say, lifting a car off of their trapped child." '

   ' "Did you find any evidence that would suggest the firing of a pistol?   Powder residue on the skin or shirt, the burn of a shell casing"

   "The burns made that determination impossible."

   "Those burns though seem to originate from the right shoulder or right pectoral region, where the burns are the most severe.   This is the location where a casing was most likely to fall if a person fired from a reclined or semi-reclined position.   Is this true?"

   "It is impossible to tell.   It could also just as likely be coincidence" '

   ' "One source of blood was determined to belong to someone not originally not known to be on the scene."

   "Later identified as Gary Freeman Jr. Correct?"

   "Correct."

   "This was the largest pool of blood?"

   "Correct."

   "So it's safe to say he was injured critically, and needed professional care immediately."

   "Objection!   Leading the witness."

   "My apologies, so were there any other fluids of interest found?"

   "There were a few drops of a crimson substance that we thought might have been blood, but we could not identify it.   The problem with piecing together this case has been that half of the evidence fled the scene." '

   And that was the crux of Meghan's problem.   She had run in fear, as a result, destroying the evidence that might have freed her.   It had gained her nothing in the end, buying her a week to only end up in chains once again, these literal ones that others controlled.

   The third day belonged to four of the assaulted men.   Apparently, the fifth was still too injured to testify:

   ' "So you were on your way home to take care of your mother?"

   "Yeah, and so we see dis guy and his broken van and thought we would see what up, you know...to help.   Dis guy he jus' freaks out on us.   Calling us all niggers and to step off his van, den he tries to stab me and Jamel.   He gets us all turned around, den somthin' huge hits us from behind.   I never even seen it commin'." '

   ' "So you don't know how Grey's blood got onto the pavement?   He was not stabbed?"

   "You know, I don' know what happened der.   I was knocked out wit' a consuss'n.   My memory is all blurry 'bout dat night."

   "Do you know the penalties for being found guilty of perjury?"

   "Man, I ain't even worried about dat." '

   ' "You honor, I have a sworn deposition from Mr. Jones, who still could not be here due to his injuries, testifying to the fact that Ms. Moors purposefully used the fuel line of the van to douse him in gasoline, then lit him on fire with the cigarette lighter, and laughed as he burned." '

   ' "So she jus' grabs Michael and laughs.   Says, 'You're goin' to fly now black bird', and next thin' I remember he's layin' on top of me and it was quiet.   I mus've been out for a while."

   "And you were awake for the ambulance."

   "No."

   "That's not what the paramedics said."

   "I guess I was.   Yeah, I sat up when I heard them."

   "That seems to be a happy coincidence, and alleviates you from any responsibility for the condition of the crime scene.   But the paramedics testify you were up and about and quite lucid." '

   And that was how it went, truth by numbers. David did what he could to break their story down, but there had been too much time to perfect it.   Meghan worked that stress ball until it split; David was ready with another.   Their records were almost clean, except for the one convalescing at home.   Strangely he was the one with multiple felonies.

   The fourth day focused on her motivation:

   ' "A person who is physically isolated for an extended period of time become disconnected from society.   They tend to lose their empathy, becoming erratic and paranoid."

   "Could this have happened to Miss Moors?"

   "Likely, Miss Moors as she isolated herself from society would have become lonely and even resentful...perhaps even showing evidence of sociopathy even before the isolation."

   "Objection!   Speculation."

   "Sustained."

   "So, you take it as a possibility that a person in Ms. Moors situation..."

   "They would become resentful, and in isolation, even blame society irrationality, feeling that their rules do not apply to her anymore.   Certainly possible if she had some reason to believe that she was superior in some way."

   "So, this hostility could be directed irrationally towards a certain segment or group that she blamed for her problems?"

   "Objection!   The prosecution had ample time to interview my client, or to have an evaluation of her mental state, and did nothing."

   "Well, if you client wasn't jet-setting, perhaps we could have."

   "That is absurd!   All you had to do was have it ordered.   You never even contacted our offices, let alone the court."

   "Do you have anything relevant to ask this witness?"   The Judge was clearly angered.

   "So in you expert opinion, Miss. Moors, after years of being in seclusion, took out the perceived source of her resentment at the nearest 'acceptable' opportunity."

   "OBJECTION!!!"

   "I withdraw the question."

   "Miss. Fowler, I have had just about enough of this.   There are no hate crime charges in this case, precisely because you had no evidence of such.   I for one find it distasteful, the mockery that has been made of justice in this regard.   I will be the judge of what rises to bigotry in this court, something I'm certain that I have more experience with, personally and professionally, than you." '

   ' "So, me and Sammy were just hanging out on the dock watching the moonlight on the bay, minding our own business.   We thought it was just used for storage.   No one in town ever thought about that abandoned old warehouse as trespassing.   She started breathing heavy on my neck, you know, and things were getting hot back there.   So, next thing I know, there's a scream, and something clubbed me on the back of the head.   I woke up.   I must of had a concussion, I know that because of I had a couple that year playing linebacker in high school.   So I wake up, and I'm on the ditch in the road away from the warehouse, and my clothes were gone, Sammy wasn’t there.   I had to run home naked that morning.   Thank god my parents were still asleep, you know?" '

   ' "Did you even see your attacker?"

   "Well, no."

   "So, your claim was that you were raped that night by someone while you were unconscious."

   "Well, yeah, I think so."

   "Your honor, I have a sworn deposition from Mrs. Laine, Mr. Campbell's 'companion' that night, that states that he was attempting to force himself on her that night, and that someone intervened on her behalf that night after she screamed for help.   So, care to change your story?"

   "Well, maybe...but I WAS violated that night."

   "Perhaps you were, but not raped.   It sounds like you got less than you deserved." '

   The Ritz-Carlton had been happy to see Meghan return, and gave a room similar to the one from her first stay.   This room was cheerless that Friday night, the television was soon hushed; almost down the line it was heaping praises on the DA and her prosecution of this case.   Lea sat with them, called in from the office where she had worked frantically the past week.

   "I almost feel like I DID do it."   Meghan stood, head hung, her six arms spreading slightly as they fell at gravity's mercy, as she tried to kick the rug straight.   She did not want to sit, she had been sitting for the past week passively, and biting her tongue as insult after insult had been flung at her, catching a sensational whisper from behind her, watching the jury nod in approval at her assassination.   She knew why it was called a trial.

   David wanted to chide her, but even he felt the pressure, sitting on the sofa uncharacteristically hunched over with his elbows dug into his thighs.   "It always looks the worst at this point, we'll have our chance."

   "At least it will be over soon, I guess.   Those guys tried to carjack me and I'm on trial.   They started it, in the middle of a city, no one saw it?!?"

    "The problem is, they have no criminal record other than a couple of misdemeanor possession charges and curfew violations.   The worst I could dig up were suspensions in high school for fighting."   Lea looked much more unkempt than usual with the tails of her blouse untucked, her hair coming undone from its stylish bun.   She had ditched her heels at the door, running nylons as she claimed the over-sized chair.   "Over a million people and no one saw anything.   No one will admit to witnessing anything."

   "But I was there."   Gary had seemed until now to have been paying no attention to the conversation, instead reviewing clippings and transcripts at the desk.   "Put me on the stand first."

   "I don't know..."

   "We need to reverse the story immediately; you can back-fill everything afterwards."

   "As the actual lawyer, I would recommend against it."

   "I am not p..."   Gary caught himself mid-anger and mid-statement.

   "Leave him alone, it's your fault we are in this shit anyways," Meghan cut everyone off.   Despite the words, her voice had been dispassionate.   She had moved on to watching birds flying past the far window in the dusk.

   "Why would you say that?"

   "Are you kidding me?   You saw it, everything you told me to do just made things worse.   That vulture-woman bitch...shark...thing, she just tore it apart!"

   "Ms. Moors....Meghan, I can get a professional to testify in all seriousness that you are a duck if needed.   It was a poor attempt at a motive, and really the least of our problems, and the insinuations that you wanted to be famous, if you needed to do anything but step out the door."

   "I don't care.   He's made things worse with all of it.    You’re always trying, and making things worse!"

   "It may seem that way now, but it will work out..."

   "Shut up David!   Gary knows what I mean."   He voice erupted into a terrifying fury.   Only Gary refused to budge against it.   He left the desk, and walked over to her at the window, waiting patiently for her to break down, to look into his eyes so far below hers.

   "Please, stop."

   "No Grey, or Gary!   Who the fuck are you today!   I can't tell anymore.   Who the fuck are you breaking into my life, running my business, manipulating me into everything, and why, because you could?   I was fine, alone in my warehouse.   I was fine."   Her arms became wild as she paced the room in frustration, almost striking him several times, but he would not move, shades of months ago.   She wanted him to cower, to feel what she felt, to break as she had broken.

   "No, because I cared...because I love you."

   "Meghan, you need to stop this."

   "Oh, now you want to get involved Lea?   Defending one of yours 'cause you want to get in the sack with him?"

   "What are you talking about?"

   "Leave her alone.   She just cares about you!"

   "Oh my God, you ARE fucking her!   Did you coke her up too?   Probably didn't need to..."

   "What!?!"

   "Ms. Moors, you are hysterical.   You need to sit down."

   "No!   For this once, I'm going to do what I want!   I'm going to stand if I fucking want to!   And if I go out that door and break something and hurt people, it's because I felt like it, and to hell with all of you!   I'm sick of this.   I'M SICK OF ALL OF THIS!   I'm sick of the shit from every...single...one of you.   And most of all I'm sick of you Gary Freeman!   I should have left you to die..."

   "Meghan, you are right.   It's all right, David.   It IS my fault, all of it."   She was not expecting him to admit it.   It reminded her of Grey, and she halted mid-tantrum, her arms slowly forgetting to fight off whatever offenses she had imagined against her.   "I have failed you, again and again, and I know that.   But I won't this time, I swear this to you.   It has already cost me everything else, what is the last?"   Grey grabbed his windbreaker in silence, a silence that carried him to the door, and through it outside.

   "He will return, he just needs to cool off, all of us do."   David finally was the one to speak.

   "No, he won't."   Tears were welling up in Meghan's eyes as the entirety of her crumpled onto the floor without a sound.

   Grey tossed the chaff and bits of bedding out of Betty's feed bowl, filling it fresh food and topping off the water bottle.   He had been able to handle her many offspring, but Betty herself he had never been able to tame completely.   She was born wild, and although she had stopped snapping at him, those instincts would never leave her.

   But this was incidental.   He had returned to get his things, no less tired of berating himself now then he had over the past two hours that he had not brought them with him.   A mere backpack full, and he had left it behind?   Why?   He knew better.   Grey sighed as he closed the gate to the cage.

   Another month and this would have been the longest that his head had ever rested on a single place since he had left Manhattan.   He pulled his dirties from the wash, his effects from the bathroom upstairs.   Grey was meticulous, he wanted nothing to remain behind for her to find.   Not because he hated her, but of out care.   Once every scrap was rolled up, he came back downstairs to stand roughly to the spot where Meghan had encountered him that first night, so fevered and delirious he could barely remember that day, at his wits end and even perhaps his entirety.   He closed his eyes, and tried to recreate the soundscape of the last six months in his mind.   It was shifting extremes, silence as it was now, or the breath of a dragon that melted metal, shredded and shaped it with the power of steel to the ideals of her mind.   Now look at the place, the evening light shined bright through the clear windows, real sheetrock walls that they had played with and painted together.   It was a home.   It had been his home for a time.   It would never be again.

   "So you're him?   You're the one that got Meghan all worked up.   I thought you were older on the television."   A willowy woman, and tall, about six feet as could stare at him eye-to-eye, stepped out from the distant, darkened corner of the warehouse.   She did not wait for his reply, but continued.   "After you came along, she would call me.   That had never happened before, even after all this trouble she still kept in touch, and even asked for my advice."

   He could not tell her age, but she looked young, even modelesque in her form and features, noticeable even through the thin, loose, over-sized dark tan sweater and matching loose knit cap that piled high up on her head.   He face was much like Meghan's, except for a longer with its smooth curving jaw and a thin and straight nose.   The way she swayed lithely towards him in a somber rhythm, she was close before Grey realized it.   But her eyes, even from here he could see the age behind them, and Grey knew who this woman was.

   "How did you get in here?"

   "Son, if I want to, there are few places that I can't go," she stated flatly, "and besides, I have a key.   Enya Moors, Meghan's mother."

   "Charmed, Madam, she spoke often of you."

   "I highly doubt that.   Meghan already told me all about your silver tongue.   At my age, I guess I'm a little fonder of flattery.   Anyways, her father was always her favorite, more so after.   He had no idea how to teach her to cope with her new body.   I became the slave driver and she hated me for it.   I can't blame her.   He could just love her, bless him."   Her hands crossed her chest, hand touching her shoulders as she looked away at some nick-knack that Grey never understood before.

   "She is a woman of strong beauty and convictions, once you finally learn to understand her."

   "And why are you here?   Why are you not supporting her when she needs you the most?"

   "She no longer desires me there."

   "Nonsense, whatever it is between you two, she needs you the most right now."

   "She blames me for causing all of this, and she would be correct."

   "And she would blame me if I was next to her, and she would be just as correct."   She took off her cap with one hand, releasing on at first appeared to be dreadlocks from her head, which fell loose down past her shoulder blades.   Far thicker than hair and sleek, you could notice a vibrant green through a black die meant to hide it.   The majority of strands refused to lie down flat, resting instead to wherever it willed in a throwback to the 80's.   "I feel like a hippie in these clothes, but what can you do?   You must be used to this..."   Her sweater was pulled over her head and tossed onto the kitchen island with a couple of right hands carelessly, establishing that beyond a doubt this was indeed her mother.   In contrast to Meghan she seemed too thin, in a white sleeveless blouse and khaki slacks, shoes with only the slightest of heels for the effect of illusion, and six long, thin arms in a row, one of her gifts to her daughter.

   "Meghan used to call me 'She-Hulk', mostly when annoyed at me.   I haven't had a chance to cut my 'hair' lately, keeping a low profile and all, or to die it like I should.   It does grow like a weed."

   "I am sorry about that."   Grey's attention's was on her more then he would have liked, he should have been used to this. But Enya did not seem to mind.

   "It can't be helped.   And I'm not worried about myself.   I've been in hiding a long time very effectively, and can take care of myself.   But my daughter..."   A hand came up, partially outstretched, palm up as if to offer him something.

   "I vowed to get her out of this.   That's why I came back, I needed my clothes."

   "Then why do you linger in this spot, what happened here?"

   "I do not believe that I will ever return."

   "Do you love her?"

   "Absolutely!"   He had not meant to yell.   Someone had to believe him.   His hand rubbed the back of his neck.

   "Would you die for her?"

   "I already have."

   "I believe you.   You stare like you see you own death.   How old do you think I am?" She took a step closer to him, uncomfortably close.

   "You look like you're in your late 20's, but Meghan looks my age..."

   "I'll save you the trouble.   I can get in cheap at the movies, but no one believes me.   I am getting a long perspective on things, the kind that age affords.   Personally, my husband thinks I'm losing a piece of my humanity every day."

   "Is the condition progressing?"

   "I don't know.   What difference does it make?"

   "I worry about Meghan.   Maybe you should be seen too."

   "Perhaps, if we all see a happy ending, I have skin like bark, limbs for arms, feet with roots for toes...vines for hair that power it all." She jerked her head to whip her hair around her shoulder, smoothing it down with her top arms.   "I don't even have to eat if I don't feel like it on a sunny day.   I've become very patient and accepting, and distant to most, normally.   It only matters to them."

   "And Meghan..."

   "And my other children, all of them grew up different.   Any one of them I would give my own life for as well.   I am proud, very proud for the way she has stood up for herself. Be warned, I have no intention to let my daughter rot in jail."

   "If you have any ideas to stop it, I need to know.   I could use any ideas."

   "Let's just say I have my own ways, bad ways." Enya walked over to him, and picked him up to set him on the kitchen island with no more effort the Meghan would have.   "See, son?   I never did find out the upper end to my growth, or how much the plant side would take over, but here in Maryland, with the summer and plenty of water; I would give it a month before there was nothing short of a tank that could slow me down.   It's the attack of the 50 foot birch.   It's just the way it will be.   I have no more control over it than nature itself."   She handed him her backpack with one of her lowest arms.   "Go now, take you things and save us all."