The sound of Nick's voice finally penetrated, and Tracy looked up in surprise.

"Huh? Did you say something Nick?"

He was perched on the edge of her desk, looking at her with a strange combination of amusement and concern. She had no idea how long he might have been there.

"You might say that," he said with a wry twist of his eyebrows. "I just finished briefing you on the Fremont case. Any thoughts?"

"Ahh, gee," she replied glibly. "Nothing's coming to me right now. Why don't you leave the folder with me and I'll get back to you on it?"

"Uh huh," he nodded insincerely as he flipped the manila folder onto her desk. "Perhaps you can discover something behind this open and shut accidental death that all the rest of us missed, eh?"

"Oh." She felt her face flush. "Sorry. I ... I guess I was somewhere else."

He stood up and gave her an understanding smile. "Sure, no problem. Been there myself a time or two." He started to go and then turned back around. "Look, the shift's almost over, nothing much is happening. Why don't you knock off early and I'll cover it with the captain?"

She started to refuse, but then looked into his concerned face and found herself accepting his offer. "Yeah, thanks, I think I need some time to clear my head."

"Good." He grinned. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, you bet. Y'know you're not such a bad guy after all. No matter what Natalie says." She laughed at the look of surprise on his face and only waved at his sputtered demands for an explanation as she sauntered out the door.

Her mirth faded as soon as she stepped beyond the reach of the light into the darkness of the soft spring night. Her car was parked nearby, but her feet took her in the opposite direction. She strode aimlessly at first, but then her footsteps grew faster and faster until she found herself running.

Streets flew by in a blur, intersections meant nothing as she dodged between the cars, deaf to the horns and profanities hurled at her. The breath burned in her lungs and fire streaked along her side, but such things were happening to someone else and had nothing to do with her. Her pain lay somewhere else, worlds away from mere physical discomfort.

The building loomed before her, as if it had suddenly erupted from the earth directly into her path. She slammed into the door, sobbing breathlessly as she pounded her fists with bruising force against it. Finally she thought to try the handle and fell into the dusty silence, catching herself painfully on the bottom post of the balustrade.

Pushing her sweaty bangs out of her eyes with a filthy hand, she mounted the stairs, clinging to the banister as the trembling in her legs threatened to send her tumbling back down.

Finally she pushed herself away from the top of the stairs and staggered to the center of the room. All the candles had guttered, leaving obscene stalactites of wax hanging from the iron candelabras. Everything else was the same. Nothing was gone, nothing had changed.

Except the most important thing of all.

"Oh Vachon," Tracy whispered as she collapsed onto the foot of the bed. "Why did you have to go? I know I wasn't always very nice to you, but I thought we had something ... I dunno ... I thought we were friends. You could at least have said good-bye."

She frowned at this. Had he said good-bye? How had she known he was gone if he hadn't told her he was leaving?

"It was time for him to move on." A deep voice seemed to echo in her mind. "As it comes for us all. He showed you something beyond your narrowly defined existence, that was his gift. Cherish it and let him go."

Let him go? Had she really let him go without a fight? Without arguing with him about it? She pressed her fists against her eyes and fought desperately to remember.

Sadness. Overwhelming sadness and a final confession of something she had sworn never to utter aloud. But from Vachon, nothing. No touch, no kiss, no smile, no wave, nothing. It seemed as if there was a black void in her memory where he should be.

Panic fluttered in her throat. Had she been made to forget? How? Vachon couldn't do that to her, he'd tried. Had someone else been meddling with her memories? Her panic turned abruptly to a fierce anger and she thrust into her own mind ruthlessly.

"Ahhh!" she cried out as a sharp pain ripped through her head, but she had been rewarded by a few brief images.

Vachon, his face torn by nothing mortal looking at her with pleading eyes, and her own horrified rejection of what he was asking.

"What?" she muttered. "What did you want?"

A memory of dirt and tears and the sound of water nearby.

"Water. The lake." She rose suddenly, and realized that she couldn't possibly make it to the lake, not in her condition, not without a car. Then she remembered the Triumph.

Nearly everyone in her family was a cop. Of course she'd ridden a motorcycle before. But as she raced through the streets toward the lake, she was filled with regret that she'd never gone riding with Vachon.

She knew where Screed had been buried. Vachon had taken her there once. He'd been in a strange mood at the time, rather subdued, almost ... human. She parked the bike and walked slowly toward the water's edge. The earth changed texture beneath her feet and she dropped to her knees, burying her hands into the freshly turned earth. Tears flowed from her eyes, mixing the dirt into mud.

"Is this you?" she gulped with difficulty. "Is this what you've 'moved on' to? Did I bury you here? I'm sorry, I can't remember. Someone made me forget." She laughed raggedly. "I bet you'd love to know how they did that, huh?" She bowed her head for a moment, then pushed herself back to her feet, brushing her hands against her jeans. "But I still remember you. Whoever did this to me left me that. And I am grateful. It means a lot to me."

She looked around, feeling the breeze off the water drying the tears on her face. "It's a nice spot. I'm sure Screed would have approved." She nudged a clod of dirt with her foot. "And who knows, maybe you aren't here. Maybe you did move on and are breaking hearts in Montreal or Vancouver or even Barcelona. Yes," she breathed into the wind. "Maybe you're in Spain, standing on the dock feeling the breeze lift the hair gently away from your face." She brought her fingers to her lips and blew a gentle kiss into the air. "Vaya con Dios, Javier." (Go With God)

She turned and walked briskly back to the bike. When she returned to her apartment, she parked it in her spot, and gave the seat a final fond pat. She climbed the stairs wearily, looking forward to a long hot soak. While the tub was filling, she had a sudden idea and began pulling out all the candles she could find and put them in the bathroom. When she turned off all the lights, the little flickers of light soothed something deep within her.

She turned off the water and began to take off her clothes, but paused with her shirt partially unbuttoned. She picked up a tall white candle in a silver holder and walked through the living room to the window. She stood looking at her reflection in the glass, the candle a single point of light at the level of her heart, shining like a star.

Smiling sadly, she placed the candle on the sill and unhooked the window latch.

"Go ahead," she murmured. "Surprise me."