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   'Now, please direct your eyes high up into the canopy as the 'Many magnificent arms of Ms. Moors' do their death-defying, high wire per-for-MANCE!'

   And the spotlights swing to you, awkwardly standing in a lime moo-moo that fits more like a cheap leotard, balancing fifty feet above everyone for their enjoyment.   They hush as you take your first step, this tiny wire the only thing between a pair of elephant sized feet and crushing hard dirt.   No, there would be no net for 'The 'Magnificent'.   Already you hear booing and the Bronx cheers.

   'Three poles to balance.   Nobody should have that!!!'

   So you watch in mute apprehension as one is ripped out of your hands by a pair of vultures, but they boo on, so the second is taken away, and they just won't stop, and there goes the last.   Never mind the fact that the wire is like, half, the width it should be for you.   They're still not happy, so the vultures come again, and tie your hands behind your back, leaving you only one pair of arms left.   These fickle people, little naked pink birds sitting so small below you, with their beaks in the air squabbling to feed.

   'There, you're like us now!!!'

   'No, she’s still too big.   Tare her down!!!'

   And you fall, down, down to the earth, and it takes an eternity to get there, and everyone stands over you, so high and mighty.   Meghan the pill bug, now to make her living out of the stuff of the earth....

   The glass coffee table was not as lucky this time.   Meghan's body thrashed on the sofa as it wiggled in her mind.   In one smooth motion, her bare shin slid underneath one of table's thin legs, and snapped it off with a sudden reflex.   She shot up from the sofa in pain as the table collapsed on her, wood and glass edging taking a layer of skin with it as she jerked.   Then flew a good deal of cursing and rubbing, even as she quietly thanked the pain for bringing her back to life.   At least she had managed to slip her slacks off before she had passed out, or they likely would have ruined as well.

   "Again?   Great, broken table...stupid dreams...I'm turning myself a cliché again...and I'm back to talking to myself...Fucking hell.   Nothing ever changes..."

   Meghan set its glass top aside, and picked up coffee table with a couple of hands to inspect the damage.   Perhaps it wasn't so bad, fix it all by herself and nobody would have to know.   Despite its beauty, she could tell it had been made on the cheap.   The steel bolt that affixed the leg to the table top had been shorn clean through the brace. She tried to wedge the leg back into its slotting the best she could.   "Now I'll have to pay for this too..."   Meghan tried setting the table back down gently upright, only to have it topple over hesitantly as if it feared to displease her again, but was just too weak.

It was the small hours of the morning according to the television, which had glowed silently on through the night.   Meghan had not meant to pass out as she had rested there prior, trying not to think, but it would seem that the strain of the past several days had caught up with her.   It was also not the only need of the body that had been neglected, and she shook her leg out, stretching it as she went to take care of another. The devil was in that bathroom mirror, and Meghan would try to avoid her, but fiery hair, frizzled and standing on end was in the corner of her eye; and there she was staring back, still in yesterday's blouse, half-buttoned and sweaty and wrinkled to death, along with the biggest granny panties money could buy off the shelf, almost as big as the saddle bags under her eyes.   She had no makeup to hide them.   She wouldn't know how if she had.

   "Well, I guess there must be someplace serving breakfast this early..."

   There would be plenty of time for sleep behind bars.   At least if she left early for court, she could avoid the public somewhat.   A shower and one fresh suit later, Meghan was making her way down to the front desk.   She was going to own up to this damage.

   "...oh...and Miss Moors, we found this in the dead letter box.   This arrived after your first stay, and we had no forwarding address on record.   Everyone had forgotten about it until now."

   It was a small package, not unlike the hundreds of boxes big and small she had received at her home in Havre de Grace over the past several months, some with tokens of appreciation, or lewdness, others filled with white powder or ticking clocks intended to intimidate, or contracts inches thick which actually did.   It was postmarked Reno, Nevada, with a date which would have almost been before she even knew she was staying there.   Curious to no end, she flipped it over twice.   There was nothing that seemed ominous about this one, and it had not killed anyone in all the months is had sat.   She opened it to discover a sheet of paper on top, which hid her view of its contents, folded in quarters to fit inside.

   'Stay strong, you are not alone.   Don't give up.'

                                                                  - 'The Invincible One'

   It was scrawled in big, bold letters that almost covered the entire page.   Meghan could still make out something colorful squished inside this box, but her over-sized fingers could not squeeze in to pry it out.   She gave the box a good slap, and out popped a little purple crochet octopus, fitting easily into another hand.

   "Why an octopus?   I have six arms, maybe my legs too?" Meghan shrugged, slipping the gift into a pocket of her slacks.   What a strange thing to have been sent so long ago, and only now finding its way to her.   Such a simple little gesture...

   There shown no progress yet of the inevitable rising sun as Meghan stepped softly towards the direction of the courthouse.   She would arrive there in time, but for now she had business that needed to be concluded first, south at a street corner restaurant which doors never closed.   On the bottom floor of an old brick, half-circle windows on the outside, it had been through many iterations over the years, its latest being a freshly furnished 50's style diner dressed in blue and lavender.   She sat in one of the cushioned booths facing the door, and ordered a coffee to sip on for a time.

   "Meghan, I assume this is for me?"

   "Yes, Garrison."   She had not looked up when the little bell was rattled by the swinging door.   She knew him by the slow rapping of his hard soled shoe, light but distinctive.   Just as she knew that someone would let him know as soon as she left the hotel. To spite the hour, he seemed even move lively than the night before, still dressed exquisitely in a light toned suit.   "I assumed you would find me."

   "Let's get out of here, I know of a much nicer place uptown.   Waitress..."

   "No."   His jaw slackened at this word he seldom heard, before a toothy grin was drawn across his face, at once both sheep and wolf.   Meghan sat with just her top set of hands clasped together loosely on the table, stoic.   "I like this place."

   Garrison took a seat across from her, his distemper fueling the excitement in his motions.   His hands reached for hers before something in her eyes halted him.   "Good enough then, I knew I liked you.   Now, to finish last night, let me tell you my ideas..."

   "No."

   "Little Lady, there is no white knight coming to save you.   You have no other option."   The scorn in his face wanted to be overbearing.   A little defiance from the shrew was cute, this was enough.

   "You had me.   More than I ever thought I would before, yesterday you almost got me.   Choice, coming from 'Freeman', at least Gary tried, despite himself, to let me have a choice.   So...this is my final choice, and I choose my own way.   Today, for the first day, and the last, I choose me."

Garrison spoke with a sneer, his eloquence quickly discarded.   "I still have everyone else.   I can do whatever I want with you today.   Have you thought of that?"

   "Do whatever you think you can.   In fact, I suggest that you leave, now, and do whatever the hell you want while you still can."

   "You'll see things otherwise in time."

   Meghan sipped at her little mug, "Time is something I have plenty of."

   Garrison stood, fumbling his button with one hand as he attempted to close his coat.
His glare could not be torn away from her, but he would not give him another moment of her day.   His pace was affectedly slow as he walked away, and slowed even more as he reached for the door, watching Meghan wave the waitress over with a couple of hands for her hearty order.   For once, he had nothing to offer, and they had nothing to fear.   There was something though he had to give her, something she had earned.

   "Meghan!   Where have you been Meghan?   I've tried your room, like, a hundred times!"   Lea waved her hand as she ran down the broad steps in front of the courthouse, tripping and almost rolling an ankle in her excitement.

   "What Lea?   I went out to breakfast."

   "Gary called me."

   "What?!?   When?"

   "He back!   He's testifying this morning."   Lea was forced to sidestep as Meghan only picked up speed, and worse, was taken for a ride as Meghan grabbed one of Lea's arms and drug her alongside.

   "Where has he been?   Did he say?   Have you actually seen him?"

   "No, oww!   He did not say anything but a promise that he would be her this morning, ready to go."

   Everyone who was anyone was already there, and the room still felt empty, everyone minus one.   A few spoke in the quietest of whispers.   None dared stand in fear of losing their seat.   The courtroom was finally brought to order.

   "Does the defense have any more witness to call?"

   "Yes, but if you would indulge us for a..."

   "Counsel, you were warned about this."

   "Yes, and we have confirmed that the witness will arrive at any moment."

   "You witness has one minute to get into that stand, or else I will end your case right..."

   One of the double-doors of the courtroom swung wide, and there he was.   Meghan was the first to throw her body around to catch him dressed in his best, and realized that he seemed even thinner than before.   His dark hair had a sheen from neglect.   Grey walked up to the barrier separating audience from participants, and handed David a manila folder, which was passed off for Lea to open.   She skimmed through a few of the papers, and understood their significance immediately.   Lea flew out of a side door of the courtroom to the curious eyes of everyone present, already fumbling with her cell phone.

   "Well, never mind then.   Your Honor, I would like to call Gary Freeman to the stand."

   ' "Can you please give witness to the events of that night, last December 25?"

   "I was driving the defendant to her home from Vermont that night.   We were having a heated disagreement, during which I exited the freeway in the City of Philadelphia, eventually stopping where the crime was committed.   It was wholly my intention to abandon the defendant there, and I knew the strained mental condition it would put her in.   Five men approached, and made veiled comments that I interpreted to be threats, implying that they were to rob myself or the intended to steal from the van or the van itself, either of these last two again threatened the defendant.   I deemed by this that they were to attack me, so given the odds against me I attacked first.   What I want understood completely is that I attacked first.   I am the one guilty of assault.   The defendant was only protecting me after the fact.   I was the one that attacked those five men alone.   I am the guilty party, and should be the one on trial today."

   "GARY, NO!"

   "Given what I was up against, I was unable to defend myself or Ms. Moors.   I was stabbed deeply, and did not become coherent again until days later." '

   ' "Let's pretend for a moment that what you say is true, it still doesn't excuse the brutality of the defendant that night.   You got away without a hospital stay, they didn't..."

   "Hold on, you say I was fine?   Far from it.   There is no simpler explanation than what I'm going to show you.   Here it is, here where the knife that was plunged into my body, still inflamed for some reason, maybe infected, even after all these months.   Yes, it's a scar, but I'm still not 'fine'." '

   Gary's testimony did not last long.   His voice resonated in the room, in its effect a broadsword in what had been up to now a rapier duel.   Lea had just managed to return in time to whisper something into David's ear as Gary left the stand.   Meghan noticed none of this.   She knew that was to be it, no vindication, or apologies, a little closure, an explanation, anything.   She could restrain herself no more as Grey was about to walk out on her once more through the side door, his movements stiff, his eyes frozen as ice.   She stretched out for him with her right arms as he passed, straining within inches of touching him, the conference table almost torn from its anchors in her need.   Finally he gave in to the pleading hands.   Grey's eyes said it all, and hers responded.   Nothing needed to be said, but one thing was mouthed as he passed away from her, 'goodbye.'   The moment was forgotten by all but two as David spoke.

   "Your Honor, I have some new evidence to submit.   If you would indulge me for another moment, I literally was just handed this, my paralegal knows more about it than I do, so I pass the floor to her."

   "I have come into possession of police reports for several of the prosecution's prime witnesses, the men that claimed that they were attacked by the defendant.   Two have just now been detained themselves and are awaiting their own hearings in connection to a string of convenience store robberies across Philadelphia, Delaware, and Maryland, mostly along the Interstate 95/Highway 40 corridor.   A third of those witnesses is being questioned for trying to pawn a 9mm soon after the date of the crime.   Evidence in this case will today be looked at to compare ballistics with this pistol."

   "This doesn't mean ANYTHING!   There have been no convictions!   We put men on trial before we pass judgement!"

   "I will allow this as evidence of the potential perjury of these witnesses.   Whether or not it is grounds for a mistrial will be up to a future court to decide.   Is there anything else to be entered into evidence?"

   "You honor, the defense now rests."   The crowd was intoxicated.   Here was that 11th hour, made for TV rescue they had hoped for.

   The DA could not collect herself in time for her rambling closing statement.   As in her opening, she argued for the facts.   How wicked were these new insinuations that were implied by the defense!   How disgusting it was that someone could be assumed guilty because of an arrest!   She screeched and flapped her hands as she tied to force the trial back her way which an hour ago seemed to guarantee a move into the big office at city hall.

   David Goldstein kept it short.   "Members of the jury, let's be honest with ourselves for a moment.   Bigotry is a real issue.   In America, in our shared history, we have struggled with the issue since the inception of our still young country, believing even then 'that all men are created equal', even if the methods were still decades away.   This country is, even today, more blessed and more ambitious than most, and still has yet to solve this problem or even define what is 'equal', but we still have not given up.   One-hundred and fifty years ago, six-hundred thousand of our own, those in the 'majority' of our society, died through gunfire, starvation and disease over the course of four years to decide the issue in part, but only in part.   It took another hundred years for the true meaning of equality to begin to be understood over the whole of this land, a process that continues to this day, ever changing, ever refining.

   Bigotry has never been the monopoly of one gathering of persons.   History is too often a history of hatred between peoples, and too many men have come to power by supplying a dream, with an archetype to love, and whoever did not measure up...well, everyone should know their end.   Those that do not measure up to utopian dreams are crushed underneath the heels of those who are more than willing to.   Some of the persecuted managed to find these shores of promise, Puritans, Irish Catholics, Cubans, from Eastern Europe and all around the pacific rim, too many to name.   Not because of what this country was, they faced many of the same problems here, but what it meant for them and their children.   My own parents came for the same reasons, and I stand here today because of the promise, when likely I would not be standing at all if they had not.

   The Bigotry that brought them here should never be taken lightly, but too often it is today.   Those ignorant of history, or those trying to carve out their own place in it, or perhaps for baser reasons, use bigotry to file us by age, race, class, religion, all for their own ends, and in this tare into tiny pieces the great promise of this land.   All are created with the opportunity for greatness.   No man should define themselves by the conditions of their birth.   No man should let another define them by the same.   We are The UNITED States OF America, that is the promise.

   This trial has ignored the simple fundamental truth that although we are created equal, that we are also created unique.   No man, no woman is a 'majority'.   We are individuals, blessed with freedom, imposed by liberty to make our own choices, and in those choices each creates a minority status unique to themselves.   You sex, your skin tone, your hair, your size, your birth, the code that created you, it does not define you, but to them it is the only thing that matters.   These people insist in categorizing each a every one of us, ironically believing that filing us in separate folders somehow brings us together.   This is bigotry, defining people by their differences.

   This is a case of bigotry.   Must my client live her life this way...white, Irish ancestry, 30's, single, middle-class, and why?   She is all of these things, but that does not lock her into a way of life any more than you.   Meghan Moors is unique, not any more than any one of us, but in a new and novel way.   She is also a steelworker, an artist, a daughter, a pet owner and a friend.   Bigotry is the fear of difference.   So let us end this on the merits of the case, and leave fear behind us.   Uphold that promise."   History now was left in the hands of a dozen of Meghan's peers.

   Two women like sisters leisurely walked the few blocks to Washington Square together, a little place of green growth and reflection defined inside low red brick.   Every step was an experience to remember as they spoke quietly of the weather, then about the history surrounding them on the common ground between man's forms and functions.   The smaller woman carried a small brown grocery bag to her chest, a little wax paper bowel of macaroni salad and plastic spoons ready to spill out it's overfilled top.   Good fortune shined on the little things of life.   Meghan and Lea had found a cement bench, and sat together to eat.

   "I can't regret what I did.   I didn't want to hurt those men at the time, isn't that enough to free me of guilt?   Does this make me a criminal?"   Meghan daintily unwrapped a simple deli sandwich down on the bench next to her, really for her just playing with it.

   "I wish I knew.   I'm a paralegal.   You need a philosopher I think."

   "The only thing I regret is that I hadn't grown up until now.   I've been a bitch to you, to David, to Gary and everyone who cared about me.   It's tragic that now, when my fate is being decided by complete strangers, that I finally figured it out."

   "I would cheer up.   The evidence that Gary brought broke the case open.   My guess is that whatever he's been doing for the past few days, it just might have been enough for 'reasonable doubt'."

   "It's not even that...but how did he get that stuff anyways?   Their records were clean, you said so yourself.   He was gone just four days."

   Each took a moment to eat, with nothing more than speculation for an answer. "Maybe he'll tell us later."

   "But he could be here now if he wanted to...but he's not, and he won't, just like I said."

   "Be patient.   He hasn't given up on you.   You don't want to give up on him, do you?"

   "No." Meghan took another bite.   "It's just the waiting.   You would think a woman made from a tree would have more patience, huh?"

   Sand falling in an hourglass, you never bother yourself with its passage until you are near the end.   The neck constricts, and chokes off the sand, and finally you pay notice as it appears to flow faster with those final grains, and zip, you are done.   Those tense final moments indeed came quickly.   Lea received the call, and before the sun fell away they were back in the courtroom.

   "Ladies and Gentleman, have you reached a verdict?"

   "We have."

   "And you have reached that verdict with the consent of all?"

   "Yes, we have."

   "Then could you read that verdict?"

   "In the case of City of Philadelphia vs. Meghan Moors, for the count of attempted murder, we find the defendant 'not guilty.'   In the five counts of aggravated assault, we find the defendant 'not guilty'.   For the count of fleeing the scene of the crime, we find the defendant 'not guilty'"

   'Not guilty.'

   Every person in that courtroom except the judge and Meghan herself leapt at the news.   A flurry of handshakes flew around her, Goldstein even accepting Fowler's hand, but Meghan would reach for none.   The spectators burst from the place in a torrent of activity, each trying to be the first to break the news.

   'Not Guilty.'   It rang in her head in a clear, duel tone, as if something about it had not rung true, yet with a power above all other sound.   She was at liberty to do what she wished and found right; she had no idea what exactly that was.   This startled her more than the words themselves, weak legs wobbled as she eventually struggled to her feet.

   "You are a free woman Miss Moors."   David offered his hand, and it was buried between the top pair of hers, bowing deeply as she did.

   "But what about that stuff about a mistrial?"

   "It's possible, but by the time it would come around again, the credibility of their witnesses will likely be ruined."   David scratched the back of his balding head unconsciously.

   "I have to pay you for this.   I owe you for my freedom."

   "No, I have been rewarded well enough already.   This goes down as a win, and as much as I will take credit, it was not my win."   David shoved his hands in his pants pockets, and glanced around.   "Look, I have nothing pressing going on; do you want me to see you to the hotel?   It's going to be a hornet's nest out there."

   "No, no more baby steps.   I'm ready for the deep end, so to speak."   Meghan took one last glance around.   The judge had not left his seat, and had gone unnoticed until now by the remaining trio.   He gave Meghan the slightest of nods, and then was gone.

   "Lead on then."   David beckoned them all to the exit, Lea and he each holding one of its doors open for her.   There were grins all around, two broad, one embarrassed and hidden by shy fingers.

   The police were there, the barricade, the crowds, the protesters, all the same sound and fury, and this final time a podium with a dozen microphones clustered together and aimed for the sky.   The flashes of light that evening on this shaded side of the building shined on her skin as she prepared to address them all.

   "I never wanted to be a public figure, but it doesn't matter anymore.   Now I am.   I came into public life with no agenda and no ambitions, and I intend to keep it that way. I'm going to go home now and try to enjoy my life, and stay far away from trouble and hope that trouble stays even farther away from me.   I ask that everyone please respect my wishes and let me live my life, however long that is, in peace.

   Even though I was not found legally responsible for the men I injured, I am going to, as much as I can, pay for their hospitalizations and rehabilitation.   I have decided this on my own, and without counsel.   Unfortunately, this whole incident and the past seven months have created a heavy demand for my work, and it is just wrong for me to capitalize on it for myself only.   I am not taking any questions.   Thank you for your time."

   And with this, she walked straight down the steps, through the reporters and everyone who had gathered, and down the sidewalk with a new confidence that passersby broke in waves in front of.   It was not fear anymore, but an awe at a woman who inside had finally caught up with her towering stature.

   Meghan took all of fifteen minutes to change into new jeans that fit her, complements of Levi Strauss, and an old plaid shirt, modified by herself, and to pack the remainder of her clothing tightly away.   For eight of those minutes she had seriously considered destroying her suit forever, but instead she wrapped it in the dry cleaner's plastic and slung it over a shoulder.   You just never know.   She took one last look around.   The coffee table had already been replaced, awaiting the next occupant.   No personality remained.   It was just like the room next to it, and across from it, and the room next to that one.   Life moves on.

   Her van choked hard and wheezed as it started, and Meghan patted the dashboard of this tired beast gently, and tried to cajole one final trip out of the old beast.   It was all that she would need.   Though this whole thing, no one had ever bothered to ask if she even still had a driver's license, and the thought of being pulled over and arrested again after everything sent her into a fit of near hysterical laughter.   Soon the freeway lie ahead, and she relaxed a bit as she eased onto the on-ramp.   The window came down in the July heat.   The wind played with her hair and soon two hands played with it.   It felt like freedom.   Night was falling, and she continued until the bright lights and neon of a movie theater caught her eye, recalling a promise she had made to herself a few days before.   There was still time for a show, and this one seemed interesting enough, something about a boy with a teddy bear who had come to life.   Why not?   How bad could it be?

"Mom...yes mom, I'm fine.   But how are you?   Are things getting back to normal for you?   Mom...I'm fine.   I just have a lot of things to get back to.   I know..it's OK, I'm fine.   No, I don't know what happened to him.   He's never called...I don't know where he is.   Mom...MOM!   I know.   Yes, yes I do.   Of course I do, there's just nothing I can do.   I'll talk to you soon, I promise."   Meghan slowly hung the phone back on the kitchen wall.   It was like her mother always knew just when to call for the maximum disruption.   It had been too long...

Work, there was always work and now more than ever, but it could wait a moment.   Meghan would enjoy the sun shining into her home.   She would prop the doors to the bay open with some railroad spikes, and enjoy the weather and let the breeze take care of the musty smell from so many years locked away.   She would listen to the intermittent rapping that that owl she never found made.   She would never forget it again.   With a two inch brush dipped in red paint, Meghan used the sheetrock as her canvas, and wherever there was space, she began writing this poem in her best cursive flourish.   It read in part:

   'Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
   Nor the furious winter's rages;
   Thou thy worldly task hast done,
   Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;
   Golden lads and girls all must,
   As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.'

   "Hello...Is anyone here?   I kept knocking at the door and no one heard."

   Meghan paused mid-stroke, and looked towards the small voice near the bay doors.   A young girl stood there near the edge of the doorway, squinting as she tried to see through the scattered shadows of the warehouse.

   "Yes, can I help you?"   Meghan took several steps into a sunbeam that shown through a window.   It was a strange thing to see.   Meghan had never noticed this little girl around before.   Perhaps little was not the best word.   She was very young to be sure, awfully young to be off on her own, Meghan thought.   The baby fat seems to have been too stubborn to have left her yet, but this girl seemed way too big to have so much still.

   "You don't look so big.   You do...but not SO big.   Are you really the biggest girl on the whole planet?"

   "I don't know."

   "I think you are.   You're just like me.   I'm the biggest in my class, bigger than all the boys."   This little girl rocked onto her tip toes, and measured her head against the air.

   "Is that so?   What is your name?"

   "Bianca.   I'm going into second grade and already I'm four-feet tall.   My mom is real tall too, but not like you."

   "Is that why you came?"

   "Yeah, you are so cool."   Bianca had slowly worked her way into the warehouse several feet almost unnoticed, skittish, and ready to scamper.

   "Something tells me that this is not the only reason you're here."   Meghan cleaned off her brush, and set it across the bucket, still watching this big, little girl.

   "I saw you on the TV.   Everyone was being mean to you..."

   "I don't think I can argue with that."

   "You could have hurt them."

   "Yes."

   "Why didn't you?   People hurt each other when they're mad at each other."

   "And why would you think that?   Come on, let me take you home.   You can come over anytime, but you can't wander around alone."   Meghan wanted to pick up this little thing, to cuddle her and brush her hair, and claim Bianca as her own.   Instead, she walked to over to her, and reached out with her lowest right arm, and Bianca reaching to her highest took it.   It was a slow walk home that day, and one of many over the coming years.   That night Meghan set up a twitter account under her real name, and balanced her little purple octopus on top of the monitor, its arms dangling off front and back.   If she could help one other by being there, it was worth all the other bullshit she was sure to get online.

   A few weeks passed before things really felt like they were getting back to normal, the phone calls were finally dying down to the point where she felt safe answering them again.   She was not having to assist the mail man every anymore with her portion of his daily rounds.   Except for the tourists that frequented the area during this season, Havre de Grace no doubt grateful now in have herself as another draw, few adults paid her too much mind.   This afternoon when the phone rang it was one of the local businesses.   Meghan apologized profusely, and thanked them for being so patient after so many ignored calls.   It seems she had orphaned all of her photos there, the ones she had taken of all the people she had passed a month ago.

   Meghan would return to her home a pleasant walk later with packages of photos, her mail, a rented DVD, and a few treats for the night.   Bills, bills, bills, these photos will have to wait.   It had all been a flight of unhinged fancy anyways, she would just toss them straight in the trash anyways but for the money they cost.   The contents of her many arms wobbled, slid or skidded onto the kitchen island as they fancied while she started into her bills.   It had been months since she had really taken a good look at where her money was going.

   It seemed that her phone provider was back to some antics again, their charges lately had spiked into a whole new realm of stupid.   Yup, there was some strange fee or another in here and, wait, what were this number, and this one?   She knew she had not called these people.   It seems that the little prick Gary had for good measure run up her phone bill before he had run away, and to New York of all places too, even the city itself.   Wait, New York?   With all the time they had spent together over the past seven months, she had never even thought to ask where Mr. Goldstein's law office was based out of.   She tapped the numbers quickly into her phone.

   'You have reached the law offices of Sutton, Goldstein and Kimble.   Our office hours are...'

   Meghan walked up the stairs to her filing cabinet, making mental notes of any suspicious numbers as she went. The phone bills over from over those past several months were pulled and she tried to make sense of it all while meandering back downstairs, skimming each bill in hand in turn.   There the number was time and again, going way back, to what, January first?   Wait, that was before she had even met David, and another number right after the first time it was called, in Oceanside.   She knew that was in Long Island.   Grey said he grew up somewhere on Long Island.

   For the first time in her life, Meghan became a spectator in her mind as she moved from point to point within.   All the clues, the misspoken words, and the insidious hints, fell together as inexplicably as if a jig-saw puzzle was thrown onto the floor and suddenly became one single whole.   She recoiled in physical horror from the chaos of her mind, and the many things that were brought home spilled all over the kitchen island and onto the tile floor.   One of several photos came to land face up in front of her cruelly, and Grey stared at her in his homeless garb.   The man passing out leaflets, the one she had bumped into that day and ignored, it had been him.   She heard a lone whistle before a single pair of hands clapping, a remnant form from months ago that had started applause, and heard his voice in the sound.   Even when he had not been standing next to her, he had been supporting her all the time.

      It was Grey that had sent David to her, and they both had kept it their little secret the whole time.   Grey had not left that day out of fear or pride, but to find the evidence he knew would free her.   Knowing him, he had spent those four days without sleep looking for someone, speaking to everyone from the highest executive to every homeless person on the east coast he had spent time with the last two years, probably even recruiting them, all and more to find what he did.   Only Grey would know to what extent he went, and the distances he traveled.   And this other number, the one he had called right after Goldstein's.   She feared what she knew was coming.   'Good Morning,   Freeman Financial.'

   One of the bay doors fell to the mercy of the breeze as the railroad spike which held it steady was yanked out violently, mercilessly from underneath, taking slivers of wood with it, and held as a weapon as it was carried up the stairs.   There stood her pride, wrapped in a canvas tarp to protect it, never lost in her confusion, just hidden for another time.   It was laid bare that afternoon to the sun.   The granite heart carefully removed from the steel riveted hands that still tore at it, and placed aside on the workbench.   In another hand was a twenty-pound sledge hammer, and with heavy swings she drove that railroad spike into the palm of each hand, piercing a jagged hole in each.   She returned the heart to its baneful cradle, and shipped it as is.   Why were the hands tearing at the heart?   Because the hands had sacrificed everything, even to give themselves up as ransom to free the heart, and the heart was too selfish to care.   The hands were now imprisoned, even as the heart was free.   She hated those hands that had selflessly freed her.   The hands must hate the heart after what it had selfishly done.

   "Yes, hello?   I need to make an appointment to renew my driver’s license."

   Meghan hoisted her arc welding equipment down into the bay where her van sat in wait.   For several hours sparks flew, and when she finally lifted her mask up in satisfaction, the floor track to the driver’s seat had been pushed back eighteen inches, and centered several more.   Her poor, tired steed was still needed for one more trip, if it would make it there.

Of what is important this is the end.