001

Sarah Fletcher opened here eyes as the darkness began to recede, replaced by the green tint which indicated the second moon was overhead, an hour or so from settling in the northeast. At this time of year the setting of the second moon would nearly coincide with sunrise. She looked at the clock - 0528. Myles had left some time earlier - she barely awakened, and almost immediately fell asleep again. She sometimes wondered about his odd comings and goings, but never asked. Neither of them could explain the relationship, and didn't want to ruin it by trying to change it.

"And quite frankly, Sarah Jessica Fletcher", she thought, "you're too damned lazy to think about much of anything most days." She wriggled lazily on the bed for a few more moments, enjoying for a while longer the place she would be leaving for a while, and return engagement dates were not all that predictable. The smells of the bedroom - his earthy, leathery cologne, tobacco, the barber shop smell of his beard conditioner, her own perfume and hair spray, and of course the reminder of their intense lovemaking from the night before. Reluctant to leave it even for a while, but knowing Myles would likely be gone for a while, she finally got up.

On the bedroom wall a row of five mirrors, each about three feet wide and the full height of the wall, reflected her athletic body - willowy, Myles called her. At five feet and eight inches, she was just a couple of inches shorter than him. She knew she was beautiful, and was quite aware of the effect she had on men. She was, after all, an intelligent woman, even if a substantial inherited fortune allowed her to live a life of idle pleasure, free from most ordinary worries. The only thing even remotely troubling was the upcoming thirtieth birthday, just a couple of months away.

"So," she asked herself, "will you have started to do something useful with your life by then? Or even thought about it a little?"

Those thoughts had always induced a small twinge of guilt, more so when she had been spending time with Myles. She didn't know what her brother did with his time, but he had for most of their adult lives seemed more serious than her, and recently seemed to sometimes be preoccupied with serious thoughts. She didn't know if he would ever talk about it, or how she would react if he did. She and Myles had been very close all their lives, but it did seem that as they grew older parts of their personal lives had become less accessible to each other. Not that either of them hid anything, but neither asked what the other did when they weren't together.

The bedroom was quite large, but then so was the house. On the side of the room across from the bed was a small bar, with a small table and a couple of chairs nearby. Over the back of one a double shoulder holster rig was hanging, with a .45 auto pistol in each holster. A belt pouch with two magazines lay on the table. There was a faint smell of oil, from the guns, she knew. Myles had a lot of guns, and while she knew it was normal for men to own guns, sometimes many of them, she wondered what her brother's motivation was. He often was armed, whether at home or in public. South Kansas required no license to carry weapons, concealed or openly. Still, she noticed, he avoided carrying them publicly when the weather was too warm for clothing that would conceal them.

Their father had exposed them to firearms at an early age, and Sarah was comfortable handling them, and a relatively competent shooter. She probably wouldn't be, though, she thought, if Myles did not insist on regular practice. He had built a shooting range in a hilly area on he estate, Whenever she visited they practiced shooting, mostly with handguns but with shotguns and rifles as well. He told her she should know how defend herself, as women living or traveling alone were often targets of criminals. That made sense, but she was troubled by even thinking about violence of any kind.

Along with the other arms on the table were a couple of long-barreled derringers, with holsters designed to be tucked into the top of a boot, or perhaps thrust into a waistband. The half trigger guard and the position of the triggers suggested they were double action - unusual for derringers. The knives disturbed her more, though. One was a dagger, looking something like the ones she had seen carried by commandos in war films. With a blade about six inches long and a leather-wrapped handle, it looked menacing just lying on the table. She picked it up, finding it heavier than expected. It was black, cold, and worn as if from much use.

The other knife looked more like a hunting knife, with a single-edged blade and a handle that appeared to be made of bone, or perhaps animal horn or antler. It at least looked more like a tool than a weapon. Sarah wondered why Myles had so many weapons. He was a quiet and gentle person, always courteous to anyone he met. A perfect gentleman, as people said. Still, she felt somewhat uneasy looking at the weapons. She replaced the dagger on the table and turned away, trying to relax her mind. It's time to go, she thought.

She put on the shirt he had worn the day before - khaki, long sleeves, two pockets with button flaps, epaulets. Like part of a military uniform. He wore the same shirts all the time, along with plain heavy-duty western-style jeans. He had a dozen or so pairs of identical hiking shoes for daily wear, only occasionally replaced by sneakers or sometimes boots. Headgear was baseball caps, normally dark blue, but sometimes lighter shades, and on occasion other colors altogether. In cold weather a MA-20 flight jacket, usually the sage green of the Air Force uniform, completed the outfit.

Sarah enjoyed wearing his shirts, and when visiting him usually wore them and not much else. They too carried the familiar reminder of his presence, and she often wore one home, and probably would do so today. He had literally dozens, so it was all right if a few of them spent some time at her house occasionally. She never wore them when one of her other companions was visiting, or even left them where they would be seen. When she was alone she would wear them and think about when she would see Myles again.

"Well, all good things must come to and end," she thought. Time to get going. A toaster pastry and cup of black coffee, followed by a shower, tooth brushing and the other morning rituals, she dressed in her favorite outfit of jeans and golf shirt, with Myles' shirt, unbuttoned and with sleeves rolled up, over it. After packing her bags, she descended to ground level and went out to the garage. The only vehicle missing was a minivan - one of what Myles described as his 'stealth vehicles'. She wondered what he was up to, and how long we would be gone.

She tossed the bags onto the back seat of her Bonneville, over twenty years old but impeccably restored to its original condition by some of her brother's associates. Well, not restored, he had told her. Reconditioned, with some upgrades. It was frighteningly fast, she knew. Myles had raced sports cars for a while before he became too busy, and took her for a ride on a racetrack after he was finished with it. Sarah didn't scare easily and trusted him completely, but the ride had definitely accelerated her heartbeat for a while.

She didn't drive fast, partly because it wasn't her nature to be in a hurry about much of anything, and in part because Myles had advised her not to attract the attention of the police. Too many bad things can happen, he told her, even if not intended. Avoiding them was always the best policy.

She got in and started the engine, and as she did the garage door behind her opened. She backed out, stopping just outside and lowering the window to talk to the two men who had been waiting outside.

"Good morning, Miss Fletcher" said the younger one. A nice-looking young man she know only as Steve, friendly and good-natured but with a steely layer of toughness just beneath the pleasant personality. The older man was just that, an older version of Steve. Both were former military men, and Frank, the older one, was a retired soldier who had probably seen more wars than any man should. She knew he had been involved in the more than twenty years of warfare in the east, and that it it had been at times even more unpleasant than most wars. Still, he had the same cheerful demeanor as Steve, and always seemed genuinely happy to see her.

"Hi Steve," she said waving to him as he stood back a few steps from the car. Frank had walked up to the window and leaned over. "Morning, Sarah", he said.

"Hi Frank, how are you?" she asked.

"Not bad for a broken-down old war horse", he replied, grinning. "You have a safe trip now."

"Will do, Frank. See you guys later."

As she drove away it occurred to her that her brother's retainers must at least suspect, if not know, what their relationship was, and it didn't seem to bother them. She knew that among her friends such sibling relationships were not uncommon, but most of them seemed to die out with the arrival of adulthood and marriage. Perhaps the fact that neither she nor Myles had ever married, or even settled on a single partner in a serious way, had something to do with it. More likely, she thought, it was the loss of their parents so early in their lives. She was just sixteen, and Myles thirteen, when their mother died. Their father lived just seven years after that, and she and Myles had found themselves drawn together even more than usual, and their affair began while staying at their parents' house just a few days after the funeral. They were both fairly drunk, but neither of them exactly recoiled in horror the next morning. Alone for the first time, they had sought comfort in the most readily available place. And the affair continued, without either of them over-analyzing it.

It wouldn't do to be having children, she thought, and in any case she was getting old for that, even if she found someone she wanted to do it with. But, she wondered, what if Myles wanted a family? They both had other lovers - not all of hers were men - but had never abandoned their own affair. Could they, she wondered. Could she see Myles married to another woman, having children? Her mood darkened slightly, and she wondered if she had somehow let her life go out of control, and if it could be fixed.

You think too much, she told herself. Or maybe, she thought, not enough, or about the wrong things. Wondering what was causing her sudden excess of introspection, she focused on watching the thirty or so miles of Highway 193 unroll before her. Nothing but fields and pastures, with an occasional farmhouse, a couple of small towns without even a stop sign, between her Myles' house and her place in Springdale. The way it had been for generations, but even at her age she could see that the world was changing fast, and wondered how long these idyllic places would remain.