It took Luka a long time to fall asleep; every time someone went down the hall or rode the elevator, every little creak, every tiny thump, every little noise made him jump. He knew that the door was bolted, it was almost impossible for anyone to get in, but still his mind played tricks on him, still his nerves were on edge.

Finally he drifted off, dreaming of Emma and Viktor and Maja, together and happy, with toy cars and dolls and books and needlework, just playing and laughing, the way it should be, all safe together in the sun.

The sun- it felt so good on his face. Luka reached for Emma, smiling beside him, just wanting to hold her. But the pain in his side jolted him awake, back to the present, back to reality. In his revelry he had rolled to the left, onto his wound; now he had to lay back and let the pain subside. He could still see all of them- it was such a nice dream, a nice feeling to have them happy; he didn't want to pack it away in a box just yet. And he knew that one day it would be like that again, they would be together again in the next world; he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that ever again.

Luka had left the blinds open, and the sun was streaming through the window, flooding the room with light. It was going to be a good day, he decided; it had started with a good dream and now it would go well, no matter what was waiting for him- he was prepared for anything, could face anything at all today. He pulled himself out of bed, feeling stiff and sore, yet confident. He went to the window and looked out at the people heading for work or school, heading to life, going about their business, not knowing he was watching. Suddenly Luka felt uneasy- it felt as if someone were watching *him*; he looked at the buildings across the street, but the windows were all in the shadows, all dark, and he couldn't see anyone. But he couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on him, following his every move. He closed the blinds and quickly backed away from the window; he didn't need a sniper picking him off in his own apartment. He sat back on the bed; the confidence of the morning draining away. He rubbed his head; he must be going crazy, his moods were swinging so fast- a sniper in Chicago? Not likely. He shook his head, regathering his thoughts. He'd be glad when his injuries were completely healed, when his mind started working right again. Work- that's what he needed, to get back to work; he needed to distract himself, needed to push Karel and Radic and bullet wounds far back into their boxes, far back from his consciousness; he needed to have less time to think, less time to contemplate what could go wrong.

Luka did his leg exercises, carefully stretching and flexing, making sure no scar tissue would form around the wound, then climbed into the shower. He let the hot water flow over him, washing away some of the stiffness with its warmth. Work- he couldn't wait to get back, yet he knew what it would mean: questions. He had started to feel comfortable at County General, started to like the people there, started to fit in- and then Karel had come and torn his world apart. Now there would be all questions to answer, from the doctors, from the nurses, from everyone. They'd all be careful, of course, would tiptoe around the shooting itself; but they'd ask. They'd ask about Karel, about not knowing him, about why he would shoot him, about Croatia, about everything. Maybe it was time to leave again, time to move on to where no one knew him, to where the questions might be- easier.

But it wouldn't be that simple, Luka knew. The investigation into Karel's death wasn't over, though John Sullivan, the detective, had hinted there would be no indictment. But Luka knew he'd have to stay until the hearing was done. Besides, he wasn't strong enough to leave, not physically, not mentally, at least not yet. But come summer- summer, that's when he'd go, before August and the worst of his memories came back, before the anniversary of it all. The inquiry would be done by then; he'd be stronger, healthier; it would be long enough after the shooting so that it wouldn't seem like he was running away. No one would really miss him; he'd just be remembered as that poor guy who got shot...

Luka felt better again, knowing he had made the decision, knowing he only had to face things for just a little while before he could retreat back into himself. He dressed and made his bed, then checked to be sure the rest of the apartment looked presentable. He had called Mecheal the night before, needing to talk to someone- their shared past seemed to draw them together; he found it so easy to talk to her. Somehow he'd ended up inviting her to come over; he hated to be alone, especially now when he felt someone was watching him. He had warned Mecheal that it might not be safe, he had told her someone had been in the apartment, but she wanted to come anyway. For some reason he felt excited, nervous- he hadn't had any visitors in a long time, certainly no women had come, and he was unsure what was expected of him by way of hospitality.

Yet it was just Mecheal coming, he tried to tell himself, just a friend, nothing more. There was still so much he didn't know about her, so much she had left unsaid at the hospital, so much she was keeping from him. Maybe that's why she was so eager to come today; she needed to tell him, needed to say things she would never dare speak of in public. Luka set out some of the fruit and cheese Kerry had bought for him, thinking about Mecheal and what she might tell him, preparing himself to face his own horrors again.

"Sorry I'm late," Mecheal said when she arrived, "I had to drop Stephan off at nursery school."

"You're not late," Luka assured her, "You said around nine- it's just after now. I wasn't worried yet." Wasn't worried yet? He really didn't know why he said that.

Mecheal was looking around the room, just checking things out. Luka studied her face for a minute. Mecheal had been very beautiful once; he had seen her once or twice back then, but never met her. But her hurt, her anger about what had happened to her, all the things she'd been through, had drawn deep lines in her face. Luka had seen how hard her features could become, especially at the mention of Karel or Radic, he could sense how deep her pain must be, could almost guess what she hadn't been able to tell him.

"I have to sit down, " he told her apologetically, "I've been busy all morning and need to stretch my leg."

"Do you need me to check it?" Mecheal offered, but Luka shook his head no.

"It's okay," he assured her, "Just a bit tired." He wasn't about to take his pants off for her to see.

"Okay, " she smiled to him as she sat across the coffee table from him. "You have a nice apartment," she offered. Luka knew she was fishing for things to say- his Spartan quarters didn't offer much, just books and a TV and stereo. He really didn't need anything else.

"Thanks," he answered, "It's a lot better than my boat was." They sat awkwardly for a minute, neither quite knowing what to say.

"So," Mecheal finally said, "Did you sleep well last night?"

"It did take awhile to fall asleep," Luka admitted, "But then I slept very well- the best I have in a while."

"It's good to be out of the hospital, huh?" She asked. Luka nodded.

"Yep- nice to be in my own bed."

"No calls or anything?" Luka knew what she was asking for.

"No- I haven't heard from anyone. Radic hasn't tried to talk to me, as far as I know." A shadow passed before Mecheal's eyes.

"Maybe we got lucky and he's dead too," she answered; the venom in her voice disturbed him; he felt it was time to hear her story.

"What did he do to you?" Luka asked quietly. He realized he shouldn't have; he could see Mecheal stiffen at his words- but he had to ask, had to know the whole truth. He knew he could never help her if he didn't know everything, if he didn't know why she hated Radic enough to wish him dead. Mecheal was staring off into the middle distance, her eyes wide from remembering the horror, the humiliation of what she'd been through.

"You don't have to..." Luka started to say, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand; she took a deep breath to gather her courage, then spoke in an emotionless monotone, trying to maintain her control.

"They came for us- for me and my husband," she began. "Ljutomisl's family was rich, and they thought we had lots of money, too. That's all Karel and Radic wanted, money. But we didn't have any- his father had it all; he sent us small amounts sometimes, but never very much." Mecheal took another deep breath; her hands were twisting around each other nervously, trying to fight off the pain of remembering. She closed her eyes and went on.

"First, they beat him, wanting him to tell them where he'd hidden the money, the gold, not believing there wasn't any. They tied us to chairs and hit him again; then they tore the house apart, breaking things, even smashing parts of the wall. But there was nothing to find." She swallowed hard. "So Karel- took a pistol and hit Ljutomisl with it, again and again, cursing at him, just screaming 'Where is it? Where is it?' over and over. And Radic said 'It's just not here'. My husband was groaning, I was crying- it was too horrible. Then Karel -Karel said, 'Enough of this shit, then.'" She looked to Luka, her face haunted. "Then he shot him, just like that, right in front of me. I was so terrified I couldn't even scream." Mecheal was hugging herself; she seemed to shrink into the chair. Luka wanted to go to her, to try to help her, but he couldn't move; he could only remember his own family, his own pain, and it paralyzed him.

"When they left," Mecheal went on softly, her voice choked, "They took me with them. I didn't know where we were going- they were laughing and drinking and saying 'At least we got some treasure there!' meaning me. I didn't care any more; I didn't care what they were going to do. They fought over who would go first; I don't even remember who won; I just lay there and let them do what they wanted- I couldn't feel anything any more." Mecheal was crying now, her whole body was shaking.

"It was all just a blur, just a nightmare that never seemed to end. But finally they stopped; finally they had their fill. I couldn't even move; I hurt so much, I was so scared. I begged them to kill me, but Karel just laughed and kicked me. 'You're not so beautiful any more, huh?' he said- I can still see his sneer." Luka knew just what she meant; he could see it, too- Karel's sneer followed him still...

"Radic said nothing, but Karel kept laughing, kept mocking me," Mecheal went on, "He told me, 'I like women with more fight to them- you were too easy. So you don't get any mercy.'" Luka felt his anger rising, remembering what Karel had said about Emma, about what Karel had done to her, too; he had to fight to control his emotions.

"There was more," Mecheal said tiredly, "But it doesn't matter. They put me back in the car; we drove a long time, but I didn't care. Finally they stopped and just threw me by the side of the road, with no clothes, without even a blanket to cover me. I just lay there, begging God to take me, to put me out of my misery. But there was no God to hear me, no God to listen." Mecheal almost spat out the words; she had stopped crying and her face had grown hard again; she stared into space, seeing nothing except the past.

"A UN patrol found me and took me to a hospital. They asked me who had done this to me, but I didn't tell them. I was afraid that Karel, that Radic, would go after my mother or my sister, that they would hurt them if I said anything. So I kept quiet, I told no one. I couldn't bring myself to call my mother, couldn't bear to tell her what I had let happen; I was just so ashamed. I just wanted to disappear." Luka wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, that she was just a victim, but the words stuck in his throat; he couldn't say anything, either.

"A woman came to see me- she was from a survivors group. She offered to take me to America, to get a new start, a new life, far from there, where no one would know what happened to me, where no one would know my shame. So I came here; I took a new name, got a new start, got a new life, with their help." She leaned back in the chair, her eyes closed, and Luka knew she was finished. Her story sounded so familiar to him; the details were different, but the results were the same. He could feel her pain, knew how much it hurt, how awful it was, but he could find no words to say that would help. Then Mecheal took another deep breath.

"The strange thing- the wonderful thing- is, Ljutomisl and I had been trying to have a baby." She looked at Luka. "And that last week, that last time, before they came- we made Stephan. It had to have been then- for five years we had waited, we had hoped, and just before- just before- we succeeded." Luka nodded, Mecheal spoke of her son often, he was everything to her, and Luka understood why even better than before. Stephan was her last connection to her husband, a living reminder of him- and Luka was almost jealous; *he* had nothing left...

"You know I never tell anyone," Mecheal told him, "But I wanted you to know the whole truth-I knew you would understand; now you know why I was so happy when you killed Karel, why I will be so happy when Radic is dead." Luka stared at her- he understood her suffering, her hatred towards them; he had felt it, too, in his own way. But he hadn't sought out Karel, hadn't set out to kill him- didn't she understand that?

"I didn't try to kill Karel," Luka objected- she had to know that. "He tried to kill me, I was just protecting myself. And I have no intention of doing anything to Radic- that is up to God; He will take care of Gregor in his own way."

"The way he took care of my husband?" Mecheal spat out, "Is this the same God who lets little children get killed by monsters? The same God who lets the innocent die for some man's greed? Some God." Luka glared at her; the words stung him, both hurting and horrifying him. Evil existed in the world, that was true, sometimes it got the upper hand, but God always won out in the end, didn't she believe that?

"How can you not believe?" Luka asked her. "Look at your son- you yourself have said he's a miracle- don't you think he's a gift from God?" Mecheal laughed at him.

"A gift from nature, Luka. There is no God. Haven't you seen that? Do you think an all-seeing, all-knowing God would have let Karel kill your children, kill your wife? If that's the kind of God He is, then I don't want anything to do with Him." Luka had had enough- he knew he could never reach Mecheal; never get her to see the truth- not today, maybe not ever. She needed salvation, but he couldn't supply it; and for now she just made him angry, just brought up all his doubts and fears.

"Get out," he demanded through clenched teeth. "I don't need your doubts in here. I don't need your poison in my house." Mecheal shook her head at him in disbelief, then got up and went to the door.

"I feel sorry for you," she told him harshly. "You live with your voodoo, your outdated beliefs- you just can't see the truth. There is no God, no Savior- you have to save yourself, Luka- you have to revenge yourself. No one will do it for you. You worry about a heaven that doesn't exist, about some reunion that can never happen. They're gone, Luka- gone forever, and you can never bring them back. All because of Karel and Radic. You took care of Karel; now it's time to take care of Radic, to make him pay for what he did. Why should that monster be allowed to live, huh? Why? Because you're waiting for someone else to take care of it for you? Some- God- to do the dirty work?" She laughed again; her words pounded in his head, stirring up questions best left unasked. He didn't want to listen to her, couldn't dare believe her.

"I told you to get out," Luka bellowed; he was tired of her lies. He knew- KNEW- he would see Emma again, would see Maja and Viktor again; they would be together for eternity, if, IF he followed the right path, if he listened to God and not some bitter harpy, not to some woman who had turned away from the truth. He had to believe- had to, or life meant nothing, it would be meaningless, worthless. Luka knew he could stand to lose everything on this earth, as long as he kept his faith, his hope alive, as long as he knew that happiness and peace awaited him, his family awaited him at the end. And he would do nothing to jeopardize that reunion.

The phone started ringing, the shrillness hurting his ears; finally he picked it up.

"Luka Kovac," he said wearily.

"Ah, Dr. Kovac," a man's voice replied. "So glad you're home. I'll be up to see you right away then."

"Who is this?" Luka asked anxiously, but there was only a dial tone for an answer. He stared at the phone for long minute, interrupted only by a knock at the door.

to part 11

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