The Accusation 

Author: Romantique
 
Email: dolph1n@sbcglobal.net
 
Rating: PG-14 - Adult situations.

Classification: Nick Angst and Torture.
 
Summary: After turning down her advances, a disturbed teenage client
falsely accuses Nick of behavior of the most egregious kind.
Assumes "Indian Summer" never happened.

 
Distribution: Archive anywhere, but e-mail me,
please. 

 
Many, many thanks to cathar1847 for the excellent beta read!


 
--+--

Allegheny County Jail
Pittsburgh, PA
March 2, 2002
3:00 p.m.

The heavy, metal door clangs shut, sending sound waves echoing
throughout the small concrete space. The almost deafening noise
causes him to clench his eyes shut in an effort to keep from jumping
out of his own skin.

From the room's entrance, he surveys the perimeter of the holding
cell, posturing so as not to appear frightened. To appear so, might
be construed as an invitation to any one of these hard-looking men,
an invitation to be physically dominated.

"Just keep it together. Keep it together," he chants to himself,
over and over again, as a mantra.

He is typically a master at hiding his feelings from the rest of the
world; however, this situation is putting that skill to the test.
For no matter how hard he tries to hide it, he is frightened. He
survives in the world by fighting with his mind, with his wit. And
although he is in excellent physical condition, he's not accustomed
to fighting with his fists. A few of these thugs look like they
could flatten him with one punch.

He clenches his jaw and makes his way to the right side of the cell
and takes a seat on the built-in bench. There are five other men
seated in various locations around the small cell.

In the County's orange, standard issue jump suit, his Ivy League
education is neither apparent nor advantageous. In fact, he looks
pretty much the same as every other "Joe" in the cell with his
unkempt hair and darkened stubble on his face. But he smells a whole
lot better than the others. The stench of body odors and vomit mixed
with stale alcohol lay heavy in the air. When the horrid odor hits
his nostrils, his stomach suddenly becomes queasy, quite a feat
considering it is long past empty. It suddenly hits him that he
hasn't had anything to eat since the night before.

"Nicholas Fallin!" a guard bellows into the wire cage. "Phone call
from your father."

The guard saunters over to the cell, swinging the keys nonchalantly
in his hand. A look of amusement comes over his middle-aged face,
for it is not often that he sees an attorney in the general lock up.

"Ooooooooohhhh," mock several of the detainees in falsettos directed
toward the newest arrival.

"Yo', daddy's boy!" shouts another large, tattooed guy from the
corner of the cell, as he "smooches" into the air. A dark, rough-
looking young man, his vernacular and demeanor exude ties to a well-
known, local gang.

"You sure are a pretty daddy's boy," adds yet another in a thick,
Southern accident. This older detainee, seated immediately to Nick's
right, flashes a perverted grin through missing teeth.

Nick stands abruptly and manages to avoid eye contact with any of the
men. The deliberateness of his movement momentarily silences the sea
of sickening, unsolicited comments. The guard takes his sweet time
in opening the door, clearly enjoying the irony of "Ivy League" vs.
some of "Pittsburgh's Finest."

Finally, the guard opens the door. Nick makes his exit and then,
waits for the guard to lock the door behind them. He follows the
guard down the hall, as several of the men target him with resumed,
lewd catcalls.

He continues to walk further and further away from the cell, as a
single thought forms in his mind.

Thank God, I can breathe clean air.



Fallin & Associates
Pittsburgh, PA
March 2, 2002
3:30 p.m.



Seated at his desk in his private office, Burton Fallin holds the
telephone receiver to his ear. His fingers drum nervously over the
desktop, and he lets out a sigh of utter frustration as he continues
to wait, "on hold."

He received word, only a few minutes before that his son, Nicholas,
had been arrested for the sexual molestation and rape of a 15-year-
old client. Using his professional connections, he was able to
quickly locate his son's whereabouts.

Suddenly, his assistant, Sheila, buzzes in.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you. I have Alvin Masterson from Legal
Services of Pittsburgh on the line. He says it's urgent that he
speak with you," she announces over his speakerphone.

"It's alright," he answers into the speaker. "Ask him to hold for a
few minutes. I do want to talk to him, but I need to speak with
Nick, first."

"Of course," she replies with sympathy in her voice.

"Dad?" Burton finally hears his son's voice through the receiver.

"Nick," he answers, struggling to retain his composure.

"I just found out you've been arrested," he continues. "My God,
son. What happened?"

Nick answers flatly, "The truth is, I don't know."

"Who's responsible for making these charges?" Burton asks with his
pen in hand. He is posed to quickly jot notes onto the lined legal
tablet.

"A client at Legal Services. Jenny, Jenny Sinclair," Nick attempts to
answer his father's questions. "She claims I raped her. Dad, I
never touched her."

"I know," Burton adds as he writes. "I know you could never do
anything like that." Pausing for a moment, he continues, "So, what's
her story? Is she a kid with problems? Obviously, this kid has
problems."

Nick nods his head in the affirmative. "She's been in the foster
care system for most of her life. After living in seven different
homes in five years, she came to Legal Services for assistance.
She's had a steady job for about a year and was able to show proof of
self-support. So, she was assigned to me. She wanted to become
emancipated and get out of the foster care system, permanently. As,
she's almost sixteen, I was trying to help her do just that."

Burton interrupts his son. "Did you have any indication that she
could do something like this to you? What is her motive? I mean,
was she angry with you or what?"

After taking in a long breath, Nick continues to tell his father what
happened. "Last night, she came to my apartment. She said she had
fallen in love with me. I thought it was just a schoolgirl crush, so
I tried to let her down easy." Taking in another breath, he
continues, "I talked to her for quite awhile. I let her do most of
the talking."

Burton Fallin rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, deep in
thought. "You didn't let her into your apartment, did you?" He
prays the answer is "no."

"No," Nick hangs his head at the weight of his father's suggestion.

"Why does Dad always assume I screwed up?" he grimaces. "No, Dad, I
know better than that."

He continues with his explanation, "We went for a walk around the
block, and we talked. I thought it would be easier and more
appropriate if I kept her out in public. And, I thought it might
make her less likely to cry."

"Did she? I mean cry?" Burton asks.

"Yeah," Nick answers. "At one point, she became quite upset."

In true legal fashion, Burton continues his interrogation. "How long
were you with her?"

"We must have walked for about 30 to 45 minutes, and then continued
to talk in the park for maybe another hour."

"What happened next?" the Senior Fallin asked, still jotting down
more notes.

"After we talked in the park, I put her in a cab and sent her home.
That was the last time I saw her. She was physically fine." Another
pause, "I never saw this coming."

"We're going to need to talk to that cab driver," Burton surmises.

After a brief moment of silence, Burton offers his son a quick read
of the situation. "All I can say is that she must be a very
disturbed young woman to do something like this." Changing the
subject, he goes on to say, "I've got a call into Carl Langston.
He'll get you a preliminary hearing scheduled, as soon as possible.
If we get lucky, you'll be out of there tonight."

Nicholas responds in grateful silence.

"Are you alright in there?" Burton asks.

"Yeah," he responds and speaks more softly. "But I don't want to be
here any longer than I have to be."

"Hang in there. Okay? I'll see you at the hearing." Burton hangs
up the receiver and stares off into the distance with his fingers
drawn to his lips. His son is not safe in the county lock up, and he
knows it. Other detainees despise accused child molesters. Nick
must be released before anyone finds out.

"Mr. Fallin?" Sheila buzzes into his office, again. "Mr. Masterson
is still waiting on line 3."

"Oh," Burton remarks, having totally forgotten about the call. "I'm
right there."

Pushing down the line button, he begins with, "Alvin. I'm sorry to
have kept you waiting. I just got off the phone with Nicholas."

"I heard what happened to Nick. How is he doing?" Alvin asks.

"He's okay. Anxious to be released from jail, but he's okay," Burton
responds.

"I'm calling to let you know that the police were here, asking all
kinds of questions," Alvin offers.

"What kind of questions?"

"Mostly about the relationship between Nick and his client. They
were asking if we've ever witnessed anything out of the ordinary. Of
course, we haven't and assured them that the relationship was
strictly that of an attorney/client."

"Well, these charges are outrageous. We all know Nicholas is
incapable of anything like this," Burton utters under his breath.

"Burton. I need to tell you that the police showed me some
photographs, pictures of Nick with his arm around Jenny. And another
of Nick embracing Jenny. They were kissing." Alvin continues, "In
light of the reported physical evidence, the photos suggest a
relationship much closer than that of an attorney with his client."

"What physical evidence?" Burton interrupts.

"I was told that Jenny has bruises and slap marks on her face and
over her body," he pauses. "And they found semen. She was
penetrated and claims she was raped. And she told the police that
Nick was the one who did it, that it happened last night."

Burton instantly retorts, "Well, we both know that he Nick didn't
rape that girl."

"Mr. Fallin?" Sheila interrupts his conversation, once more. "I have
Mr. Langston on the line. I know you need to speak to him,
immediately. He's on line one."

"Thank you for keeping me straight, Sheila," Burton speaks in to the
speakerphone.

"Alvin," Burton hesitates. "Carl Langston is on the other line with
information on the bail hearing. Can you hold for just a minute
while I talk to him?"

"You bet," replies Alvin. "I know Carl, well. Tell him hello for
me."

Burton quickly places his son's community service supervisor on hold
and pushes line one.

"Carl," he answers.

"You have the hearing set for seven p.m.? That's wonderful news.
Now, what have you been able to find out?"

From Burton's office, all that is heard are his responses to his
son's criminal attorney. "Uh-huh, yeah, I understand." Finally, at
the end of the conversation, Burton finally speaks. "I'll put a P.I.
on this, first thing in the morning. And I'll meet you at the
hearing. Thank you, Carl."

Burton quickly gets back on the line with Alvin Masterson.

"Well, Carl says the hearing has been set for seven o'clock tonight,"
Burton informs him.

"That was fast," Alvin comments. "Did he say anything else?"

"He went over the charges. Exactly what we already know," Burton
recants. "But he did say that he got a look at the arrest report.
Nick showed no physical evidence of that he was scratched or
bruised. And his preliminary toxicological screening came back
negative. He also mentioned the photographs. But most importantly,
the police are looking for the cab driver who saw the girl after she
left Nick."

"Would you mind if I showed up at the hearing?" Alvin offers. "I'd
like to show my support for Nick. My being there may even help."

"I'd be most appreciative if you would. And I'm sure Nick would
appreciate the support," Burton responds. "I'll see you there at
seven."



Allegheny County Courthouse
March 2, 2002
7:00 p.m.

Burton Fallin and Alvin Masterson are seated at the front counsel
table in the courtroom designated for Nick's hearing.

"My God!" Burton gasps as he catches a first glimpse at his son being
escorted into the room by a bailiff.

Still wearing the standard orange jumpsuit, Nick is handcuffed.
Limping, he winces in pain. The entire left side of his face is
grossly misshapen and discolored in an angry looking pallet of hues
ranging from yellow to purple to black. The left eye is blackened
and swollen completely shut. His top lip is split and fat, and it is
obvious he has been bleeding. A small amount of blood oozes from his
left ear.

"Are you all right?" Burton asks as he helps to guide his son into a
nearby chair at the table. He glares at the disinterred bailiff
accompanying his son. After removing the handcuffs, the bailiff
silently turns and walks unaffectedly to his post in the back of the
room.

"I've been better," Nick quips in an attempt to diminish his plight.
Grimacing in pain and holding his side, it is obvious that he has
injuries to his midsection, as well. "They found out about the
charges," he whispers to his father.

"Who's 'they'?" Burton wants to know.

"Some guys. In the holding cell," Nick speech is choppy. It is
difficult for him to speak.

Burton interjects. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"No," Nick whispers. "Father, your influence doesn't extend to the
inmates of the county jail."

Closing his eyes, Nick is in obvious distress. When he does open
them again, his blurred vision meets his father's concerned gaze.

"What's wrong," Burton asks with heightened intensity, desperately
trying to mask the panic rising in his chest. He is finding it
difficult to breathe.

"I'm sick to my stomach," Nick swallows, trying to keep its contents
down and his eyes focused. The room is beginning to spin.

"You may have a concussion," Alvin offers, placing a hand on Nick's
shoulder. "Let's concentrate on getting you out of here so that a
doctor can have a look at you."

Nick had not even been aware of Alvin's presence until now.

Burton shakes his head in agreement with Alvin's statement, trying to
contain the anger at his son's treatment while incarcerated.

Suddenly, Carl Langston joins them at their respective table. Just
as he is about to exchange pleasantries with his long-term
colleagues, he can't help but notice Nick's condition.

"Good God! What happened here?" he asks. His client was fine when
he had seen him earlier in the day at the jail.

"I think you know what happened," Burton answers, obviously
upset. "We need to get him to a hospital."

"Well, first, let's make sure it's not a prison hospital," Carl
replies.

A native of Boston, Carl Langston is well respected in the field of
criminal law. A heavy-set man in his late fifties, his horn-rimmed
bifocals sit perched at the end of his nose. Carl has been a friend
of both Burton and Alvin for more than twenty-five years. Seating his
heavy frame at their table gives all a comforting sense of his stable
and competent presence.

"All rise!" the Judge's bailiff announces. "Judge Janet Sheridan
presiding."

The parties at Nick's table snap to attention. With Burton on one
side and Carl Langston on the other, they assist Nick to a standing
position. And once the Judge takes her place on the bench, they help
him to sit down, again.

"The purpose of this preliminary hearing is to enter a plea and set
bail for one Nicholas Fallin. For the record, is Mr. Fallin present
in the Courtroom and represented by counsel?"

"He is," bellows his attorney. "Carl Langston here representing
Nicholas Fallin."

"Nice to see you, Carl. The accused is not looking too well," the
Judge comments. Janet Sheridan is a diminutive African-American
woman who pounds a heavy gavel and takes no nonsense. She's tough
and cuts straight to the heart of the matter, but she's ultra fair.

Directing her next statement directly to Nick, she asks, "Are you
okay to proceed?"

Nick lifts his eyes and slowly shakes his head in the affirmative,
while answering, "Yes."

To Carl Langston, she directs her next question. "Were these
injuries sustained before or after the arrest?"

"After the arrest, your Honor," Carl replies. "He's in need of
immediate medical attention."

"I can see that. Let's make this quick," the Judge concurs. And
without missing a beat she changes direction by stating for the
record, "And I am ordering an investigation into the circumstances
surrounding Nicholas Fallin's injuries while in custody."

Burton Fallin silently shakes his head in total agreement.

"It seems as though we have a celebrity table here with us,
tonight." Judge Sheridan is referring to the legal firepower at
Nick's table.

"As you know, your Honor, Nicholas Fallin is the son of Burton Fallin
who is, for the record, present. Also present is Nicholas Fallin's
supervisor at Legal Services of Pittsburgh, where Nicholas is
assigned to work."

"Don't you mean where he was 'sentenced' to work?" Judge Sheridan
corrects counsel.

"It is true that Nicholas was sentenced to 1500 hours of community
service as a children's advocate to the Court. And I think you will
find this report to show that his sentence is progressing most
satisfactorily."

"Mr. Fallin," the Judge directs her statements only to him. "You are
charged with the sexual molestation, rape, and assault of a minor
child. How do you plead?"

Nick answers in a barely audible voice, "Not guilty."

The Judge repeats, "Let the record show that the accused has
said 'not guilty'. Now, let's move onto the issue of bail."

The bailiff hands the Juvenile Court report to the Judge. She rifles
through the pages, finally shaking her head in agreement.

"Your Honor," Carl continues. "Based on the fact that Mr. Fallin has
never been charged with assault or any sex crime, we ask that he be
released to the custody of his father until time of trial. We
contend that no bail amount is necessary, as Burton Fallin is an
Officer of the Court."

"As is the younger Mr. Fallin," the Judge adds. "But that does not
carry any weight at this time. Mr. Langston, Nicholas does have a
prior conviction that I am required to take into consideration for
purposes of this hearing. Bail is set in the amount of $250,000.00.
I assume that this amount of money is impressive, even to a Fallin!"

"This hearing is adjourned," Judge Sheridan sharply announces, as she
slams down her gavel and leaves the bench.

"Can you stay here with Nick?" Burton asks Carl and Alvin. "I'm
going to take care of the bail right now. I'll be back in less than
hour." And he places a firm hand on his son's shoulder.

Nick fights to remain conscious. He is breathing hard and breaks out
into a cold sweat.

"Sure," Alvin answers for both of them. Then, he whispers to the
Senior Fallin. "But I think we had better get him to a hospital.
He's going into shock."



Allegheny General Hospital
Emergency Room
March 2, 2002
11:30 p.m.

Alvin Masterson sits alone on a sofa in the ER waiting room. His
rumpled shirt combined with his mussed hair and shadow of a beard is
evidence that that this has been one hell of a long day. It is fast
becoming an even longer night. It's been a couple of hours since
they all arrived at the hospital with Nick, but no one has yet
immerged with any information.

Nick looked bad upon arrival, barely conscious. He was cold and
clammy, and his pulse was thready. His left pupil appeared to be
dilated.

Carl Langston stayed in the waiting room with Alvin, until fifteen
minutes ago, when he finally had to go home to his family. But he
asked Alvin to call him as soon as he had some information on Nick's
condition.

Now, Alvin is deep in thought. He is concerned for his charge. Not
only for his physical wellbeing, but this poor kid has just suffered
a major setback in his addiction recovery . . . the stress of an
embarrassing, career-threatening accusation, coupled with the
humiliation of a jailhouse beating.

At almost midnight, Burton Fallin enters the room.

"What's the word?" Alvin looks up in anticipation.

Inhaling slowly, Burton begins, "He has a skull fracture. They're
moving him into ICU which is standard procedure for this type of an
injury." Burton rubs his face in exhaustion. "He also has three
fractured ribs. The next 24 to 36 hours are going to be crucial."

Alvin gently prods for more information. "Where is the skull
fracture located?"

"The orbital socket of the left eye," he replies.

"Can he see out of the eye?" Alvin asks.

"Too soon to tell," Burton sighs. "I've heard a lot of that
tonight." Burton hangs his head and repeats himself, "Too soon to
tell."

Alvin offers the elder Fallin a seat. "How is he in terms of
alertness?"

"He's still in and out of consciousness. The brain is swelling, and
the bleeding from the ear is concerning. They need to find out
whether it is blood or if it is mixed with cerebral-spinal fluid.
They're taking tests and a CAT scan of his head, right now."

Alvin Masterson nods his head to indicate he understands.

"You know, I feel so damn helpless," the elder Fallin confides. "I
hope you don't think I'm rude, but I can't go there right now to
the 'what ifs.' Know what I mean?" He lets out a sigh. "What I
would like to talk some more about is the evidence you said the
police shared with you."

Alvin gives him a look, giving him permission to continue.

"When Nick called me from the jail this afternoon, he told me that
this little gal he represents came to his apartment last night. She
told him she was in love with him . . . that she has a crush on my
son. Thank God, he didn't let her come into his apartment. Rather,
they went on a walk together so that Nick could tell her that her
feelings could not be returned; you know, let the young lady down
gently. He was concerned for her emotional state."

Alvin listens, intently.

"Then, he said they walked to a nearby park and talked for maybe
another hour tops. Finally, he put her in a cab and sent her home.
That is all that happened."

Burton continues, "Now, you say that the police showed you some
photographs, today. The question that has been nagging me all night
is, who in the hell would have 'just happened' to be with the two of
them, snapping pictures?"

Alvin responds, "That IS an excellent question."

Burton announces, "I'm going to put a P.I. on it, first thing in the
morning. I mean, this whole thing is just too convenient. Seems to
me it was all contrived to frame Nick."

"Another thing that doesn't add up is Jenny, the 'young gal.' I know
Jenny Sinclair," Alvin speaks with authority. "She's not
sophisticated enough to think up a scheme like this. And what would
have been her motivation, anyway? To lie because Nick couldn't
return her unrequited feelings of love for him? It doesn't make
sense to me."

Changing his voice to a softer tone, Alvin asks, "Does Nick have any
enemies? I think it is an obvious question."

Burton shakes his head. "Not that I know of. I would have to say
no."

"I hope you take what I'm about to say in the right vein," Alvin
prefaces his next statement. "When one has lived in the world of
drugs as Nick has, how can you be so sure?"

The suggestion takes the Senior Fallin aback. From the look on his
face, it is obvious to Alvin . . . Burton has yet to come to terms
with his son's illustrious past, just a he has yet to come to terms
with the seriousness of Nick's injuries. Burton Fallin seems to be
full of denial when it comes to Nicholas. It is almost as if Burton
exists in a state of denial to protect Nicholas. But the truth is
probably that the denial protects the Senior Burton, protects him
from having to feel anything. Alvin gains sudden insight into what
it is about this man that he does not like. No wonder Nick is
incapable of expressing his feelings! The Fallins are not allowed
have them.


 
Allegheny General Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
March 3, 2002
7:30 a.m.

A bleary-eyed Burton Fallin enters his son's small, darkened room for
his allotted fifteen minutes of visiting time in the ICU. By all
accounts, Nick had a rough night. The nurses report he dry heaved
all through the night, a side effect of the skull fracture.

But now as Burton quietly approaches his son, he appears to sleeping
peacefully.

Burton takes a seat in the chair next to the hospital bed. In this
sterile environment, Nick appears to be small and vulnerable, much as
he did as a child. He is hooked up to monitors that register his
vital signs. There are tubes directing fluids in and out of his
body. As a precaution, he's been restrained to the bed because
seizures are a common occurrence of patients with head injuries. A
large pack of ice, wrapped in a white hospital towel, has been
carefully positioned between the side of his swollen face and the
pillow. The lower lip has been stitched and is still grossly swollen.

The monitors in the room beep in a rhythm. After several, minutes,
the steady beeps begin to put the elder Fallin to sleep. Just as he
is about to nod off into slumber, Nick calls out in his sleep.

"Stop, please stop," he pleads and thrashes his body against the
restraints.

"Nick. I'm here," Burton says, quickly standing to his feet. Slowly,
Nicholas opens his right eye. The left one is still swollen shut.
The look on his face is one of disorientation.

"You're in the hospital, son. You're safe. They're gone,"
Burton tries to reassure his son. He begins to bring his hand up to
the bed to stoke Nick's hair as he did when Nick was a boy, but he
hesitates just as he always does. To be physically demonstrative to
his son doesn't come naturally, anymore.

"Who are you?" Nick whispers, searching Burton's face, looking for
something familiar.

"Oh, my God," Burton says to himself. He was not prepared for this.

"He doesn't know who I am. What if he's not going to be okay?
What if he survives, but is brain damaged? Please, God, not his
extraordinary mind!"

For the first time since he brought his son to the hospital, Burton
allows horrifying possibilities to enter his mind. His eyes tear as
he begins to realize there is more than one way to lose a son.

"I'm your father, Nick," Burton replies in disbelief of this latest
turn.

Just then, a nurse walks into the room. "How's he doing?" she asks.

Burton chokes back the tears and resumes his customary, stoic
front. "He doesn't know who I am this morning."

The nurse has seen enough distraught families to know that this
father is afraid for his son. She can hear the fear in his voice.

"Just keep telling him what he wants to know," the nurse advises with
a sense of calm in her voice. "It is common for head injury patients
to exhibit memory loss. It's caused by the brain swelling."

Burton shakes his head in disbelief. "My God, the swelling seems to
cause all kinds of things, doesn't it?" There is a tinge of anger in
his voice. "And there's nothing to do but wait".

"Yes, the swelling does cause a lot of symptoms." the nurse
concurs. "Mr. Fallin, I see a lot of head trauma. And your son is
doing well, at this point. Just keep answering his questions in a
reassuring tone of voice, no matter how many times he asks. It is
not unusual for these patients to ask the same questions, more times
than you can count."

The senior Fallin telegraphs a look of gratitude to the nurse. Her
words of kindness have managed squelch his fears, at least for the
time being. Holding onto this thread of newfound hope, he looks into
Nick's eyes, but finds that little reflects back to him.



Legal Services of Pittsburgh
March 3, 2002
8:00 a.m.

The small legal office is abuzz with chatter that has nothing to do
with the business at hand. Rather, the topic of several,
simultaneous conversations is what happened to Nicholas Fallin the
night before.

At approximately 8:30, a very tired Alvin Masterson walks in, aware
that everyone stops talking as soon as he enters the room. He
proceeds to his office, when James Moonie and Barbara Ludzinski
follow him in and close the door.

"How's Nick?" James asks. "All we've been able to find out from the
hospital is that he's listed in critical condition."

"All of a sudden, both Nick's life and his career are hanging in the
balance," Alvin comments as he takes a seat behind his desk. He
lowers his eyes and lets out a deep sigh. "Nick was worked over
pretty good in jail. The biggest concern right now is a skull
fracture and possible damage to the brain." He pauses, and then
adds, "It's too soon to tell if he's going to make it or not. And if
he does make it, he may not ever be the same."

Barbara looks absolutely stricken, as she slowly lowers her large
frame in the seat in front of Alvin's desk.

"Barbara, are you all right?" Alvin asks her.

She looks back at him without saying a word. Finally, she says, "I
just can't believe this has happened; that's all. I think Nick has
come such a long way in a short period of time. And now . . ." Her
voice breaks and trails off.

"Have you heard anything new on the investigation?" James asks, in an
attempt to change the subject.

"Yes, but I need the two of you to hold what I'm about to say in the
strictest confidence," he replies. "It seems two nights ago, Jenny
Sinclair went over to Nick's apartment to profess her love for him.
Nick claims he never let her into his apartment, but instead went for
a walk around the block. Eventually, they ended up at a neighborhood
park. He tried to tell her why her love could not be returned.
Then, he put her in a cab and sent her home. He said that was the
last time he saw her, and other than a tear stained face and maybe a
broken heart, she was in perfect condition."

"The pictures the police brought here yesterday were taken outdoors
at night," James recalls. "And I'm certain that some of the shots
were at a park."

"Last night at the hospital, Burton Fallin brought up an excellent
point, that it was strange for someone to have been following Jenny
and Nick, snapping pictures," Alvin informs his colleagues.

"Not to mention giving the pictures to the police so quickly,"
Barbara adds. "This is obviously some kind of a set up."

"I asked Burton if Nick had any enemies. Of course, he can't imagine
someone doing something like this to his son. But he knows that it
looks as if his son has been framed. As a matter of fact, he's
putting an investigator on this angle, as soon as possible. And of
course, the police are looking for the cab driver."

Something occurs to James. "I have a funny feeling about something."

"What?" Alvin and Barbara ask.

"You know the Malcolm Dempsey case?" James answers their question
with another, and already knowing that they are. "It seems that the
only way the case was turned around and finally solved was because
police received an anonymous tip."

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with Nick?" Alvin does not
understand.

"At my persistent . . . goading, I suggested to Nick that he contact
his old dealer to see if he could get some information that would
clear Malcolm. After I heard the way in which the case was finally
solved, I have reason to believe that Nick was the informant," James
confesses. "I just think that Nick may have an enemy. Someone may
want to get even with him for tipping off the police.

"You goaded Nick into contacting his drug dealer?" Alvin asks with a
look of shock on his face.

It sounds absolutely ludicrous when Alvin puts it that way.

"How could you suggest to a recovering addict so early in his
recovery that he make contact with the source of his addiction?"
Alvin asked, upset without a doubt. "How could you suggest that he
violate his parole? On so many levels, do you have any idea just how
dangerous that was?"

Barbara also looks at James in disbelief, but for a different
reason. Over these past months, she has witnessed both Alvin and
James pushing Nick to do the "right thing." Only the "right thing"
was always one-sided, always based upon their definitions
of "right." And they always insisted that Nick do the right thing at
all costs. This time, the "right thing" may very well cost Nick his
life.

James stands with his hands in his pockets and considers the
possibility that he went too far with Nick, this time. And that he
is not all knowing and righteous.

"Burton Fallin needs to know this information," Alvin interrupts the
silence. "I know what you just told me was in confidence. But
James, you need to let him know what you just told me." His eyes are
searching his colleague's eyes for agreement. "For Nick's sake."

"Of course," James quickly responds. "You know him. You have my
permission to tell him everything that was said here, today."

To break up this heavy cloud of intensity, Barbara interrupts. "Can
we see Nick?"

"I don't believe so," Alvin answers. "Only immediate family is
allowed to visit him in Intensive Care."

He continues, "If the two of you will excuse me, I'm going to make
that call to Burton."

James and Barbara just look at one another, still in as much shock as
they were when they first entered the room.



Allegheny General Hospital
ICU Waiting Room
March 3, 2002
Noon

Riding in the elevator, Alvin rehearses what he wants to say to
Burton Fallin. He holds important information for the investigation,
but he can already feel Burton's resistance to bringing up his son's
past. He will need to choose his words, carefully.

The elevator doors open, and Alvin looks at the directory for
guidance. He then follows the arrows to the ICU. The medicinal
hospital odor is almost overwhelming. After several turns down
several long, sterile hallways, he approaches the ICU Nurse's Station
and asks if anyone has seen Burton. One of the nurses directs him to
a waiting room, further down the hallway.

As he enters the waiting room, he notices Burton's sleeping form.
The man's tall frame is stretched out on the small sofa, and he is
snoring softly. Alvin stands there, hesitant to wake the poor man;
he surely hasn't had much sleep. Alvin decides that this can wait a
little longer and turns around to leave.

"Alvin?" Burton mumbles, sounding groggy.

Alvin responds, "You're a light sleeper."

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am," he says as he sits up. "Did you
want to see me?"

"Yes, I did come to see you," Alvin answers. "How is Nick today?"

"It's a mixed bag. He doesn't know who I am," Burton hangs his head
to avoid eye contact. "It's the brain swelling."

"I'm so sorry. Let's hope this is temporary," Alvin offers. "Is he
still listed in critical condition?"

"He's still not out of the woods. But his vital signs are strong and
steady. They've ruled out leakage of cerebral-spinal fluid. The
fracture seems to be a simple one," Burton reports. Then, he changes
his tone. "Jeez, do you have any idea how many types of fractures
there are? I didn't." The man rubs his face and the sleep from his
eyes.

"I know it's not much, but he's made it through the night and that
has to be good," Alvin tries to be optimistic. "Nick is such a
strong young man. That has to play in his favor."

"Yeah, it just too bad he didn't inherent my hard head," Burton tries
to make a joke. "It might have served him well in this situation."

Alvin decides he had better say what he came to say. "Burton, I need
to tell you something. One of Nick's associates at Legal Services
came to me with some information that I thought might be helpful to
the investigation."

"Oh, really?" Burton is suddenly very alert. "Here, have a seat."
And the elder Fallin makes a gesture for Alvin to sit.

"Did Nick ever tell you about a murder case involving a man named
Malcolm? Malcolm Dempsey?" Alvin asks as he sits down in a nearby
chair.

"Oh," Burton thinks for a moment. "Wasn't he the mentally retarded
man accused of a murder he didn't commit?" he asks in return.

"Yes, that's right." Alvin continues, "Well, it has come to my
attention that the reason the real killer was found was very likely
because Nick turned some information to the police."

"What do you mean turned information?" Burton asks, trying to stay on
track.

Alvin continues, "Let me try and explain. The murder victim was a
drug dealer by the name of Freddie Paddock. It was Nick's opinion
that another drug dealer killed Paddock, and that Malcolm was framed
for the murder. So, Nick went on the streets and sought out
information from the one person he thought would be 'in the
know,' his old drug dealer."

Alvin takes in a deep breath before going on. "Very soon afterwards,
the police drop their charges against Malcolm and they make another
arrest, based on insider information. One of my Associates has
reason to believe Nick was the informant. They had a discussion
about Nick going to his old dealer to obtain information to clear his
client."

Burton sits in silence, trying to process the information.

Alvin goes on to say, "I asked you if Nick had any enemies? It
appears that he may." Lost for more words, he adds, "I thought you
should know."

Burton takes in a deep breath.

"You know, they ran a toxicology screen on Nick when he was in jail.
It came back clean. Judge Sheridan reviewed the report on his blood
work at the hearing, last night." The tone in Burton's voice sounds
as if he's been offended.

"I never meant to suggest Nick is using again. Burton, there was
only one reason why Nick sought out his old dealer," Alvin tries to
straighten out this misunderstanding. "He was trying to save Malcolm
Dempsey."

The elder Fallin's face becomes a bright red. He is visibly upset.

"So, Nick contacts his old dealer to help one of your clients and
puts his life and his career in jeopardy. He violates his parole by
coming in contact with a known felon." Burton continues his
rant, "And then, he's falsely accused of rape and has the crap beat
out of him for trying to help another one of your clients. What kind
of an operation are you running over there, Alvin? Putting his life
and his career in jeopardy for your clients is not part of Nick's
Community Service sentence!"

"I couldn't agree with you more," Alvin interjects. "But these kids
are not to blame for Nick's troubles. Don't you see? It goes back
to his old dealer. I'd be willing to bet that this dealer has his
hands dirty in framing Nick for this rape, and in having Nick beat to
a pulp in jail. Burton, it's all too coincidental."

Alvin's passionate speech has momentarily taken the energy out of him.

Sheepishly, he asks, "Do you know the dealer's name?"

Burton slowly shakes his head in the negative.

"Neither do I," Alvin adds. Then, he lays a hand on Burton's forearm
in a gesture to get his attention. "You have every right to be angry
for what has happened to Nick, my friend. Just make sure you're
pushing the blame in the right direction."

Alvin gives the elder Fallin's arm a slight tap for emphasis and
then, rises and exits the room, leaving Burton alone with his
thoughts.



Le Pommier Restaurante
March 3, 2002
7:30 p.m.

Lulu Archer is seated in a quiet, candlelit booth of the Old World,
French restaurant with Brian. He sips on a glass of Merlot while she
stares blankly into space. The flickering light casts long shadows
over her face which is totally void of expression. Her glassy eyes
do not blink.

"You're certainly quiet tonight," Brian comments. "Are you still
thinking about work?"

Caught off guard, she slowly responds, "I suppose I am."

"Well?" Brian continues, not appreciating her lack of attention to
him. "Care to share your thoughts with me?"

Lulu takes in a deep sigh. She is both hesitant and uncomfortable in
sharing information about Nick with Brian. She's not so good at
hiding her feelings anymore, not where Nick is concerned.

But after repeated attempts from Brian to open up to him, she finally
begins to speak. "Nick Fallin is in the hospital. He's in critical
condition." She looks down at her lap in an effort to hide the tears
welling up in her eyes. "He may not make it," she sniffles, now
losing her composure.

Brian takes Lulu's hand into his and gives it a comforting squeeze.
She accepts the act of kindness; however, it is so little kindness
for Brian to give. After all, he's just heard that his romantic
nemesis may not be around much longer. While not the most palatable
solution to his romantic problems, "It is a solution nevertheless."

"Do you feel like talking about it?" he asks.

"No," she answers. Her tear-streaked face glistens in the
candlelight. "I'm sorry, but what I would really like is to go home."

"Of course," he continues to play this chivalrous role, and he helps
her stand from her seat in the booth.

As they make their way to the front of the restaurant, they briefly
part ways. Brian walks off to the side of the room to explain their
sudden departure to the waiter and to take care of the bill.

Lulu; however, stands alone near the exit . . . hiding her face. As
she looks off to the side, she begins to sob, quietly at first, but
then harder until her sobs become so hard, her body writhes in
spasms. She clamps her hand over her own mouth in an effort to
stifle her cries. Why has she been so reluctant to admit that she
cares for Nick Fallin, even though she has always known that he loves
her? No one has ever looked at her the way he does.

Standing here now, she realizes that she does care for him, very
deeply. What if he were to die, never knowing how she felt about
him? Her feelings come flooding out of her, and the thought of
losing Nick is more than her heart can bear.


 
Allegheny General Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
March 4, 2002
7:30 a.m.

Nick drifted off to sleep, only minutes ago. Excruciating headaches
chased by never-ending nausea have yet to subside, as he's been
unable to tolerate the pain medications. In fact, several
medications cannot even be considered due to his recent history of
drug addiction. So, he spends his time restrained to the bed and in
such agony, the pain of beating his head against the bed railing
would be a relief by comparison. He hopes sheer exhaustion will
bring unconsciousness and an end to the torture.

Throughout the night, nurses have been coming in and out of his room,
checking his vital signs and changing the IV and catheter bags. A
blood pressure cuff attached to his right arm checks his pressure
every 15 minutes. And his pupils are checked every 20 minutes or so
to make certain he maintains his state of consciousness.

Each time the door opens, a distinct medicinal odor wafts into the
room and lays heavy in the air. This man-made, chemical scent
matches the intentionally stark, monochromatic surroundings of the
ICU, void of anything that could stimulate the senses or agitate a
patient. Through the slats of the blinds in the window, light from
the sun pierces the darkness of the sterile, beige room. The nurses
on the floor are preparing to change shifts, and the hallways are now
much noisier than during the night. Despite the increased activity,
Nick soundly sleeps until he is abruptly awakened by a light shining
in his eyes.

"Nicky, wake up," a male voice commands. "C'mon. I don't have all
damn day, here." The man is shaking Nick by the shoulder in an
effort to wake him.

Nick can feel his right upper eyelid being pulled open, as a pin
light blazes bright light into his uninjured eye. Reflexively, he
clenches it shut. He struggles to shield his eyes with his hands,
but tight bed restraints prevent him from doing so. The light
increases the intensity of his already high velocity headache, and he
winces in pain.

"Know what, Nick? You don't look so good," the voice continues.

Nick is beyond tired. Not fully awake, his eyes can't adjust to the
contrast of the bright light and the darkness in the room, and he is
unable to make out the face that is mere inches away from his
own. "I want to sleep." Nick pleads, surprised by the level of his
own voice. "Leave me alone, please."

The man hunches over Nick, speaking menacingly into his ear, "Leave
you alone? I came all the way over here to tell you something
important, and damn it, you are going to listen to me! If you EVER
involve me or any of my friends with the police again, you are a dead
man. Have you got that, Nick? I hurt you before, and I can hurt you
again in ways you can't even imagine."

Nick is suddenly aware that this is not just another routine check of
his eyes.

"Who are you?" he asks, unable to understand what is happening to him.

The voice laughs. "You don't know who I am? That's funny, man. You
sure know who I am when you want something."

The man continues to shine the pen light into his eyes. Nick blinks
his eyes repeatedly in an effort to get a look at this man.

"I don't know who you are," Nick tries to explain. "I don't know a
lot of things. I can't remember."

"Don't lie to me, Nick," the man voice is becoming angrier.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nick insists, still unable
to see the man behind the voice.

Hearing low, male voices through the closed door, a nurse bursts into
the room. This tall, older woman has been at Nick's side for the
better part of her shift, and she is keenly aware of his need for
rest.
&#8195;
"Sir, what are you doing here at this hour? You're not allowed to be
here. You need to leave this instant, or I will call Security."
&#8195;
"Oh, there's no need for that. I'm leaving now," the man courteously
replies to her. He turns back to Nick and bends down to whisper in
Nick's ear. "Hey, Nicky, just make sure you remember our little
conversation, this morning, if you want to stay in one piece. Got
it?"

Colin then heads for the doorway and makes a quick exit out of the
room. Alvin Masterson is standing at the nurse's station about 20
feet from Nick's room, obtaining his daily progress report on Nick's
condition before going to the office. He cannot help but notice this
man, almost running from Nick's room. The man is casually dressed in
jeans and a t-shirt with longer blonde hair. He also wears an
earring.

"Who was that?" Alvin asks as the tall nurse who exits Nick's room
right behind the man.

"I don't know," the nurse replies to Alvin. All the nurses have come
to recognize Alvin over the past several days. "Do you know who he
is?" she asks.

"No, I've never seen him before," Alvin replies.

"I don't recognize him, either. And I can tell you that he's not on
the visitation list," she reports. "I thought I heard him arguing
with Mr. Fallin when I walked by his room. If he comes back again,
I'll call for Security."

Alvin nods his head and thanks the nurse for her help. Then, he
makes his way back toward the nurse's station. He wonders, all the
while, why anyone would argue with a seriously ill patient. It just
doesn't make sense.


Allegheny General Hospital
Neurological Surgical Floor
March 5, 2002
11:00 a.m.

Upgraded to satisfactory condition, Nick is moved from the ICU onto
the neurological surgical floor. His vital signs have remained
stable for the past 24 hours. CAT scans continue to indicate brain
swelling that needs to be monitored, but he has clearly turned the
corner and is expected to survive his injuries. The only questions
that remain are the extent of permanent damage to his brain and to
his left eye, if any.

Earlier this morning, Nick began to receive flashes of memories. He
recognized his father, much to Burton's relief; however, gaping holes
of his past remain, as does the memory of yesterday's early morning
visitor.


4:30 p.m.

Alvin Masterson stands next to the window in Nick's room. He had
come to visit his young charge, only to find he was not in his room.
One of the aides informed him Nick had been taken to Radiology for
some tests, but would return shortly.

From the ninth floor, Alvin stares down at the world below and
watches as people walk along the streets of downtown Pittsburgh,
going about their lives. It's a beautiful day and he notices that
people are donning sun glasses and short sleeves for the first time
this year.

The thought occurs to him that a single act, one occurrence, can
forever change the lovely, comforting rhythms of life's routine. His
thoughts then turn to Nick. In an instant, Nick's life changed,
dramatically; its extent still unknown. And this change is having a
ripple effect on the daily lives of others, as well.

At that moment, his thoughts are interrupted as Nick is wheeled into
the room on a gurney.

"Hi, Nick, " Alvin greets him for the first time since he was
admitted to the hospital. He tries gallantly to mask his discomfort
at seeing Nick's face. The bruising has turned into hideous,
darkened shades of black and blue; the left eye is still almost
swollen completely shut. He cautiously waits for Nick's response,
but doesn't receive one.

"Do you know who I am?" Alvin gently asks.

"I don't know," Nick mumbles from the gurney. "You look familiar.
Do I know you? "

"Yes, you do. I'm Alvin Masterson, your friend. How are you feeling,
today?"

"My head hurts . . . bad."

A stocky, uniformed male attendant helps Nick from the gurney, back
into bed. Nick stifles moans of discomfort and holds his ribs,
protecting them from further injury. Once Nick is safely back in
bed, the attendant returns the various tubing back into position,
utters a few parting pleasantries, and leaves the patient with his
visitor.

Alvin makes deliberate eye contact with Nick and sees that he is in
tremendous pain and exhausted from his trek to radiology. "I know
this can't be easy, Nick."

Slowly the corners of Nick's battered lips turn in the slightest
smile as he lies back into the pillows. "It's not as if I have a
choice."

For the first time since he was injured, Alvin notices a twinkle in
Nick's right eye. The sharp quip and that familiar, boyish twinkle
assured him that despite some memory loss, Nicholas Fallin is still
very much Nicholas Fallin.

Alvin drags a chair from the corner closer to the bedside and takes a
seat. "Have you been able to remember anything about what happened
to you? I thought maybe I could help you piece some things together."

Nick brings his hand to his right temple and presses the heel hard
against it. It hurts to think. "I remember some things, in spurts
and flashes. I remember my Dad and that my Mother is dead. And I
think I'm a lawyer."

Although not much by some standards, from the weary look on Nick's
face Alvin realizes that recalling the past is taxing the young man's
strength.

"Yes, and a very fine lawyer, at that," Alvin smiles. "Can you
remember anything else?"

"I live alone. I remember that," and he closes his eyes
momentarily. This memory makes him sad.

"Can you remember where you work?" Alvin gently prods.

"I think I work with my Dad, but I'm not sure," Nick checks Alvin's
eyes for confirmation.

"That's right. You work for your father's law firm, Fallin and
Associates. But you also work for me. Do you remember the Legal
Services office?" Alvin gently leads him further into the present.

After a moment, apologetically, he replies, "I'm sorry. I don't."

"Nick, I understand you had a visitor the other morning. Do you
remember that?"

"A man?" Nick questions.

"Yes. Evidently a man was heard arguing with you when you were in
Intensive Care. Is that right?"

"He was doing most of the talking," Nick replies.

Alvin has a serious look on his face. "Do you know who that man was?"

Nick slowly shakes his head with continued frustration on his
face. "I couldn't get a good look at him. His voice sounds
familiar, but I can't place him."

"Well, do you remember what he said to you?" Alvin persists.

Nick sounds even more frustrated, "I can't remember exactly, but I
think he said something about hurting me, again."

"That's okay, Nick. You will remember. You will remember
everything. Just give it some time."

And Nick slowly nods in agreement.

Alvin has an overwhelming suspicion that this man who threatened to
hurt Nick again has something to do with his injuries, and maybe the
false charges. He also felt that the man is Nick's old dealer. The
man had a druggy air about him; an air another addict can spot from a
mile away. Alvin realizes he doesn't have anything more to go on
than strong suspicion. He doesn't even know the dealer's name.

His racing thoughts are interrupted by a timid knock at the door that
was left slightly ajar. With a small bouquet of blue and white
lilies, Lulu Archer stands in the doorway, surprised and a little
disappointed to find that Nick has company.

"I'm sorry. I can come back a little later," she apologizes to Alvin
for the interruption.

"Don't be silly, Lulu. Come on in," Alvin insists.

Slowly she approaches the bed. She is not as skilled at hiding her
feelings as Alvin is. She had been told Nick had been badly beaten,
but she is unprepared when she sees his face for the first time. The
hideously swollen and discolored left side of his face is turned to
the doorway as she enters. He is barely recognizable. All the color
drains from Lulu's face from shock. She is left utterly speechless.

Nick looks back at her, as glistening tears well up in her eyes. He
turns to Alvin and whispers, "Do I know her, too?"

"Yes, you do. This is Lulu Archer. She works with you at my office."

Thoughts begin to flood Lulu's head. She had come here to finally
admit to Nick that she loved him and would be there for him. She
felt terrible bad that it took something like this to make her come
to this realization. The nurses warned her that he was experiencing
memory loss, especially with his short-term memory. But somehow, she
is not prepared for this. She hoped he would remember her, of all
people. How can she confess her love for him if he doesn't even know
who she is? She summons every ounce of strength to maintain her
composure.

Alvin senses her fear and offers words of encouragement to both of
them. "Nick is beginning to remember things. He remembers a whole
lot more today than he did, yesterday. And I'm sure he'll remember
even more, tomorrow."

Silently, Lulu nods her head, never taking her eyes off of Nick.

Alvin stands from his chair and says, "I think I will leave you two
alone to visit for awhile. I'll be back to see you later, Nick."

Lulu's panic-stricken eyes suddenly lock with Alvin's as she shakes
her head. She is reluctant to be left alone with him, doubting that
she can go through with her intention to tell Nick how she feels.
She wants to run away and cry.

Alvin walks up behind her and places a firm, fatherly hand on her
shoulder and whispers in her ear, "Just sit with him for awhile,
Lulu. It will do you both a world of good." He gives her arm a
reassuring pat and turns to leave the room.

Now, Lulu and Nick are alone. Two strangers left to say--what? Lulu
feels pressured to initiate conversation, as it is so hard to find
words. Finally, she takes in a deep breath and begins to make small
talk.

"I brought you these. Thought they were cheerful," she speaks slowly
and places the flowers on the nightstand near his bed.

"Thank you," he responds.

"You're welcome." And she gives him a little smile.

Nick immediately notices her dimples and instantly flashes back to a
time when they are together in an office, laughing. It feels like a
very nice time. He definitely recognizes that smile.

"Are you okay?" she asks, questioning the distant look on his face.

"Yeah," he answers. "I think I remember you. We were together in an
office. We work together. Are we friends?"

Her smile broadens a little. "We've become friends, very good
friends," she repeats.

"Lulu, you're so . . . pretty," he comments with a shy hesitancy. He
looks her up and down, as if for the very first time, very pleased
with what he sees.

She remembers the first time he looked at her that way. No one had
ever looked at her that way, and it touches her heart.

She nervously laughs and replies, "You're pretty, too, when you're
not . . . like this." And she makes a gesture with her hands,
pointing to his injuries.

The corners of his mouth turn up in a tight, embarrassed grin.

Feeling a little more comfortable, Lulu walks over and takes the seat
next to his bed. She wants so badly to hold him and make this all go
away, but she can't. It may upset him. Sitting near him in silence
she gazes into his pain-rimmed eyes for what seems like hours. He
returns her gaze. Finally, she asks, "Nick, would it be all right if
I put your hand in mine?"

He searches her deep, brown eyes for the answer, feeling her soulful
eyes extend her desire to seek his permission to be touched. Slowly,
he takes his right hand from under the covers and places it on top of
the bed, within her reach. Lulu gently cups his hand in both of
hers. His touch is warm, immediately melting away her fears of the
future. After a time, she takes his hand and gives his fingers a
gentle kiss, then closes his fingers over hers.

Although Nick remembers very little about this woman, having her next
to him and holding his hand feels so very nice. It feels right. Her
presence chases away the strange loneliness that has been haunting
him, until he can feel nothing but the comfort of her warm presence.
Relaxed and content, he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep while
Lulu continues to hold his hand. And she remains there, holding his
hand, until visiting hours are over.


Fallin & Associates
March 6, 2002
8:30 a.m.

Burton Fallin waits at his desk for the telephone to ring. He placed
a call to Carl Langston for an update on the status of Nick's
investigation and anxiously awaits his answer.

Jake Straka taps on the door, "Burton, may I have a moment of your
time?"

"Just a moment, Jake. I'm expecting an important call." Burton sits
erect in his executive chair, his demeanor one of preoccupation.

"Understood," Jake responds and approaches Burton at his desk. "I
heard Nick is going to make it. I was very glad to hear that."

"Yeah," Burton sighs. "But this could be a long haul for him. He's
having trouble with his memory. I'm sure his memory will return, but
it makes this investigation more difficult."

"I just wanted you to know that if there is anything I can do for you
or Nick, just let me know. You can count on me."

The sincerity in his tone was genuine, but while Jake is sincere, he
cannot help but think that while Nick is out of the office for a
while, it could be an opportunity to make another bid for his
partnership.

"I appreciate that, Jake. Like I said, this could be a long haul.
If I can think of anything, I'll let you know." Burton flashes Jake
a look to let him know that his moment is up.

At the same time, Sheila buzzes in to announce Carl Langston is on
the line.

"Close the door on your way out?" Burton says firmly as he turns his
attention to the long awaited phone call.

"No problem," Jake answers, realizing the opportunity missed, he
quietly leaves the room.

Burton then picks up the phone. "Carl, do you have anything for me,
today?" he pauses and listens to what his friend has to say.

Carl's report is disappointing. "I wish I had some news for you, but
I don't. Neither the police nor my investigator has been able to
find the cab driver. We haven't given up, but it's almost as if he
doesn't exist. And you know that the DNA results on the semen won't
be back for another week." Carl pauses and then asks, "Nick hasn't
remembered anything, has he?"

"His memory is coming back to him, but he doesn't remember anything
in the recent past," Burton sounds frustrated.

Carl offers encouragement. "Well, I'm not surprised. Trauma victims
often can't remember their accident or injury. Some of them never
remember. And I supposed it's a blessing that they don't.

"Yeah," Burton concurs. "The doctors tell me Nick will remember when
he's ready. But I worry it won't happen soon enough to get him out
of this mess."

"We just have to be patient, Burton," Carl advises. "The DNA
evidence will clear him."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks again for all your help, Carl," Burton says as
he hangs up the phone.

In the privacy of his office, Burton is free to decompress his pent
up frustration by letting out a deep sigh and holding his head in his
hands. He combs his fingers through his hair. After a few moments,
he pulls himself together and pushes the intercom button. "Sheila,
would you please get Alvin Masterson on the phone for me?"

In just a moment, Sheila is back with Alvin on the line.

"I just spoke with Carl. They still haven't been able to find the
cab driver. And Nick hasn't gotten any closer to remembering what
happened to him, or the circumstances that led up to it. As a matter
of fact, the doctors said that if he is forced to remember before he
is ready, it could cause him all kinds of problems."

"Well, there's always the DNA evidence. That will surely exonerate
him," Alvin reminds him just as Carl did.

"But what if it doesn't?" Burton asks.

Alvin is surprised. "Are you suggesting that the DNA might belong to
Nick?"

"No. I mean, what if the DNA evidence comes back as `inconclusive?'
Then, the results wouldn't exonerate him. We'd be back to square
one," he explains. "We need something more. I don't want to bet the
whole case on the DNA results. It's too risky."

"I see what you mean," Alvin concurs. "We'll try to think of
something else, some other way. And I'll let you know if we do."

"Thanks, Alvin, for all your help." Burton hangs up the receiver.

Meanwhile, Alvin continues to review the possibilities for additional
evidence. There must be something else to clear Nick. His gut feel
continues to tell him that Nick has been set up by someone with an ax
to grind. And from all indications, he believes that person to be
Nick's former dealer whoever he is. If the rumor that Nick turned
evidence into the police on the Malcolm Dempsey case is true, then
the timing on his false rape charge is just too coincidental. In
order for this frame-up scenario to be true, Jenny Sinclair would
have to have been involved. But why would she agree to participate
in such a thing? Alvin has known Jenny Sinclair for several years.
She's a good kid. So, he asks himself, "Why would she lie about who
brutally raped and assaulted her?" Alvin can't help but be concerned
for this young girl and what this whole experience might do to her.


Halbrook Residence
March 6, 2002
11:30 a.m.

Jenny Sinclair lies huddled in her bed, facing the wall. Wearing a
red sweatshirt twice her size, gray sweatpants, and socks, she lies
on top of the covers, curled up in a ball. A large bruise on her
chin is beginning to fade; however, contusions on her legs and knees
are still painful.

The doe-eyed teenager hasn't said much since she was released from
the hospital, several days ago. For not only has she been
traumatized by her brutal attack and rape, she's been forced to
relive the attack through a police interrogations and the rape kit
exam. She stares straight ahead with vacant eyes.

Alvin Masterson quietly approaches Jenny's bedroom with Amy Halbrook,
her foster mother, leading the way.

"Jenny?" Amy taps on the partially closed door. "Mr. Masterson is
here to see you. You remember Mr. Masterson?"

After there is no response, Amy looks up at Alvin as if to say, "What
now?" Amy rolls over and shoots Alvin a "What now?" look of
irritation and turns away again.

Alvin calmly asks Jenny for permission to enter the room.

"Jenny," Alvin says directly. "I know you're not feeling very well,
but I need to speak with you."

Again, there is no response forthcoming; however, Alvin persists.

"It's okay if you don't want to speak to me, but I need for you to
listen to what I have to say."

Amy begins to walk toward to door in order to give Alvin and Jenny
some privacy, but Alvin stops her.

"Amy, you also need to hear what I have to say. Can you stay,
please?"

The foster mother nods her head and takes a seat in the corner of the
room.

Alvin slowly walks toward the bed. Jenny's back is facing him, as
she is still staring at the wall.

"First of all, I want to let you know that I am so sorry you are
hurting," he begins gingerly. "You are safe, and I want to assure
you that we will do everything we can to make sure you stay safe."

Clearing his throat, he continues, "I also need to let you know that
I now have what is called a conflict of interest with the Court. I
am asking that the Department of Social Services assign you to
another Agency to look after your care and well-being."

He pauses deliberately and glances at Amy. "Jenny, I just didn't
want you to think that I am abandoning you. You see, Mr. Fallin
works for me. Therefore, my Agency is a party to what happened."
Stumbling over his own words, he struggles for clarity, ". . . to
what you said happened."

Searching for just the right words, he goes on, "I've never known Mr.
Fallin to hurt anyone. It would be a shame for him to be punished
for doing something that someone else did to you," he suggests
peeking over Jenny's shoulder in an attempt to make eye contact.

From the side of her face, he sees tears welling up in her eyes.
Believing he's struck a nerve, he continues, "Nick is not upset with
you, Jenny. He's in the hospital because he was hurt very badly,
too. And I believe the person who hurt Nick is the same person who
hurt you."

Jenny begins to sob. Her foster mother goes to her and sits next to
her on the bed. She tries to offer the young girl comfort by
rhythmically rubbing her back in small circles.

Alvin carefully continues, "Jenny, you need to tell someone what
really happened that night. If you can't talk to the police, maybe
you can talk to me . . . or to Amy."

Jenny's tears fall fast, as she begins to sob violently. "Nick," she
cries with a heavy heart. "Nick.......," she begins again, but can't
go on, as her tears are in the way.

"Nick didn't do this to you, did he?" Alvin finishes her sentence for
her.

Jenny shakes her head. Amy quietly gasps in astonishment.

Alvin kneels on the floor near the bed at Jenny's level, and opens
his arms to her. Jenny falls into his arms as she breaks down. She
sobs and sobs, as if she's just unloaded a heavy weight from her soul.

"It's okay," he tries to soothe the young girl. "Everything is going
to be okay." He holds Jenny, gently rocking her as her tears
continue to fall.


Allegheny General Hospital
Neurological Surgical Floor
March 14, 2002
11:00 a.m.


Days pass slowly by, and Nick becomes noticeably quiet and withdrawn,
even more so than he was before the beating. His memory began to
return some six days ago. At first, disconnected fragments of the
past came to him in dreams. But now, memories are fully formed and
flood his psyche at a rapid pace, as he tries to absorb as much as
his psyche will allow.

Reliving his past is akin to swallowing a large, bitter pill. He is
disturbed to learn he is neither the nicest of men nor does he have
the nicest of lives. On the surface, his life seems to be rich in
privilege and the material things that money brings, yet he is poor
in his relationships. Superficiality fits him to a tee. He is not
really close to anyone. In fact, over these past days, he has
concluded he is one, lonely son-of-a-bitch. At least this explains
the haunting feeling of loneliness that never leaves.

His life's assessment is in conflict with the kindness he
receives from his father, Lulu, Alvin, and co-workers during their
visits to the hospital. Each conveys genuine concern for his well
being; his father and Lulu clearly convey love. Wrought with
confusion, his life just doesn't add up.

How can these people care about me when I clearly don't give a
damn about anyone but myself?

Lying there alone in his hospital bed, he recalls times when he
embarrassed his father, both personally and professionally . . . more
times than he cares to remember. These memories bring pangs of guilt.

Hmmm��perhaps I have a glimmer of conscience.

Next, his mental playback shifts to his intense love affair with
cocaine and his subsequent drug arrest. Alvin Masterson's
offices are where he works off his sentence of community service, and
he remembers that Alvin doubles as his drug sponsor. Alvin wants to
be his friend, but Nick wants no part of it. He could care less
about Alvin Masterson or the rehab program, as both are a means to an
end, the end of his sentence. He remembers that he doesn't feel he
deserves the sentence. He was just another rich kid who got caught
with his fingers in the cookie jar. The judge sentenced him to
community service so that he might serve as an example to all the
other rich and privileged with a spoon up their collective noses.

Nick's vivid flashbacks are more intense than any of his past,drug-
induced experiences. The rapid, erratic recall suddenly turns to
memories of Lulu. He remembers meeting the now-engaged Lulu Archer
as if it were yesterday, and his lower body elicits a primal response
to the lust he holds for her. From the moment he first saw her in
her office, there was something about her he found to be
irresistible. It was the way she looked at him, as if he were the
most desirable man on the face of the earth. After seeing himself in
her eyes, he desperately wanted her. And despite her unavailable
status, he recalls how it never stopped him from pursuing her every
chance he could. He reaches down under the covers to find his
physical response to her is real and not a dream. Then, he closes
his eyes as he realizes the slow ebb and flow of his desire.

These unsolicited, random memories interrupt his pleasure by turning
his thoughts to the night he witnessed her fianc�, Brian, cheat on
her with another woman. Brian is a cad, a womanizer; he's no good
for her. Then, from out of nowhere, Nick ascertains that he is no
better for her than her lowly fianc�. And the lusty desire that had
been building for her in his loins quickly dissipates into thin air.

In more ways than one, Nick feels nothing but emptiness inside.

He is leveled by the memory of each and every character flaw, as he
stares ahead into space for a time. His flooding past twists and
turns until he is overwhelmed by the crashing waves of recall. He
remembers how he became hospitalized in wild Technicolor . . . how he
was falsely accused of raping and assaulting a young client . . . how
he was beaten within an inch of his life by three detainees in the
holding cell of the County Jail. He clenches his right eye shut as
he recalls every crushing blow to his body, as his left eye is
tightly covered by a patch. The pain of even slightly moving his
injured left eye intensifies the excruciating experience. As he
relives the beating, his eyes fill with tears and sting, as he tries
to stifle his cries for help. The memory of the assault and his
unanswered cries for help continue forever and ever.

Or so it seems until finally, it is over. Nick can only lie there,
spent and breathing heavily, as he remembers being afraid, very
afraid. The realization causes him to shudder, as fear now replaces
the feeling of loneliness that has haunted him ever since he regained
consciousness in the ICU. The basic emotion of fear completely takes
him over, as he remembers to fear for his life.

Only now is he able to make the connection between his past life and
the mysterious visitor in the ICU. It was Colin, his drug
dealer . . . the reason for his fear. Colin came to see him to
threaten his life. And in order to be cleared of the rape charge, he
will again have to implicate Colin and some of his low-life friends
for the rape of Jenny Sinclair, at the risk of pissing off some more
of Colin's bottom feeding friends who beat him in the holding
cell.

The days of reliving the unending memories are too much for Nick.
The weight of his past is heavy and foreboding, and he wishes his
memories would leave him again, forever.

Mercifully, his review of the past is interrupted by an older nurse
who has been taking care of him. She enters his room with a
wheelchair, and he immediately knows why she is here. As part of his
treatment plan, Nick is to meet with a therapist who monitors the
affect of his memory loss, as well as his ability to cope with recent
events. Now that Nick has recall of recent events, he understands
the logic behind his treatment plan.

After the nurse wheels the chair closer to the bed, she begins to
gather his various tubes and bags and poles. With the older woman's
assistance, Nick carefully stands and lowers himself into the braked
chair.

"Ahoy, mate. Are you ready to take a ride?" Nurse Owens asks in a
good natured manner, making reference to the darkened patch covering
her patient's left eye.

"Not really, but somehow I don't think that matters," he mumbles, in
no mood to talk.

He is then wheeled down the hallway and to the elevator in silence.

Nick is scheduled to meet with Dr. Nicole Collins, in her office on
the 3rd floor. This will be their second meeting. The older doctor
with the auburn hair is standing near her desk, awaiting his
arrival. During their last session, Dr. Collins did most of the
talking, while Nick sat in silence. When he did speak, he gave
responses that included the minimal possible number of words.

Today's session is no different. Once again, he neglects to mention
to Dr. Collins that his memory is returning in volumes. The way he
figures it, his memories belong to him and him alone. He's not ready
to share them with anyone else.

And why should he be in a hurry to tell anyone his memory has
returned? Since he's been hospitalized, everyone loves him.
Everyone is pulling for him; everyone believes in him. But most of
all, he has disappointed no one. His father is happy to have his son
alive. Lulu pays him more attention than she ever has. And Alvin
has finally off his back about doing the right thing, about going to
meetings and talking about addiction. It's as if he's been given a
second chance at life. Sitting here in the doctor's session room,
Nick can think of no good reason to confess his new found self
knowledge.

He looks through the Doctor and tunes out her oratory, as he further
processes the events of these past days and weeks. It then occurs to
him that the best reason not to confess the return of his memory is
that his memories place his life in danger. If he has no memory,
then Colin has nothing to fear. So long as Colin has nothing to
fear, Nick has nothing to fear.

"Mr. Fallin," Dr. Collins sharply interrupts the silence, vying for
his attention. "Where are you right now? You're obviously not here
with me."

"Uh, sorry," he mutters. "I . . . I'm just thinking."

"Tell me what you're thinking," she tries again to connect with the
resistant young man.

Nick lets out a sigh. With his head hung down, his healthy right eye
makes contact with Dr. Collins. "I'm thinking . . . I'm thinking
that it is ridiculous for me to be here, speaking with you. I mean,
I don't remember anything."

After a long pause, he continues, "I don't understand what do you
want from me?"

The Doctor replies, "I realize you don't remember your past yet, Mr.
Fallin. But I want you to tell me how it feels not to remember your
past?"

"How does it feel?" Nick repeats her question with a bite of sarcasm
in his voice. "How do you think it feels?"

There. He put the ball back into her court. But she quickly returns
the lob.

"I don't know. You tell me," she responds with a rehearsed, clinical
coolness.

"I don't feel anything but frustration," he answers in a flat,
controlled tone. "Right now, I am frustrated with you. You want me
to say something. I don't know what you want me to say. I don't
really feel much of anything. I don't remember anything. I don't
know how I feel."

"Well, Mr. Falln," she responds. "That's the most I've gotten out of
you in the past two sessions. I'll take frustrated for today.
Feelings of frustration for a man in your situation are extremely
valid."

Nick slowly shakes his head, masking his relief at her acceptance of
his answer. It's not easy to fool a shrink . . . even for a
practiced trial attorney such as himself.



Fallin Associates
March 9, 2002
1:00 p.m.


Burton Fallin walks into his office, closing the door behind him. He
grabs the telephone on his desk.

"Sheila, would you please get me Alvin Masterson on the line?"

In less than a moment, Sheila buzzes in and announces she has Mr.
Masterson on line two.

Punching the correct extension, Burton begins, "Alvin, I just wanted
to call and thank you for your help with the girl. I don't know that
she would have come forward without your intervention."

Alvin is humbled by the display of gratitude. "I knew Nick wasn't
capable of rape. And Jenny will never recover from this ordeal if
she doesn't face the truth."

"I understand she admitted to the police that Nick was not the one
who raped her, attacked her."

"That's right. Has Nick been told the good news?"

"I can't tell him any of this, at least not yet," Burton
confides. "His doctors tell me he needs to remember the events
leading up to the accusation before he can be told of the outcome.
He needs to remember the accusation, the arrest, and the beating on
his own and in a sequence that makes sense to him. For him to do
otherwise could cause him irreparable psychological damage. He won't
remember until he's ready to remember, and not one minute
before."

"I understand," Alvin concurs. "It makes sense, you know. The brain
is capable of incredible self-protection."

"Yeah," Burton sighs. "This entire experience has been unreal for
me. I can't even imagine what remembering all this will be like for
Nick." His brief respite of relief at finding out Jenny Sinclair
came forward and told the truth is suddenly replaced by new concerns
for his son's psychological well-being.



Allegheny General Hospital
Neurological Surgical Floor
March 9, 2002
4:00 a.m.


Now situated back in his room, the phone next to Nick's bed rings.

"Hello," he answers as he struggles to sit back against his raised
bed.

"I hear your condition has been upgraded. You'll be out in my world
soon," a familiar male voice speaks from the other end of the
telephone line. "And I saw the police visit you earlier today.
You're not telling them anything you shouldn't, are you Nicky?"

Nick recognizes Colin's voice.

"Who are you?" Nick asks, pretending his amnesia is still with
him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't know who this is?" Colin asks with disbelieving sarcasm.

"No, I was injured. The doctors tell me I have amnesia due to a head
injury," Nick attempts to explain. "If do know you, I
apologize . . . but I don't remember who you are." He pauses as he
quickly gathers his thoughts. "Don't take it personally. In don't
remember a lot of things." Nick continues, hoping Colin will take
the bait.

"Man, I DO take it personally. Let's just say I'm an old friend,
okay, Nicky?" Colin responds. "So, tell me. Why were the
police
there today?"

Nick responds slowly in an even tone. "I'm not really sure. I think
maybe they were here this morning, but my doctor wouldn't let them
see me. As I said, I can't remember a lot."

"Yeah, that's what you keep saying," Colin says under his
breath. "What's the last thing you CAN remember?"

"Graduating from law school," Nick lies to his former drug
dealer.

"Wow," he exclaims. "And how do I know you're telling me the truth
about this memory thing?" Colin asks with suspicion in his voice.

"You could ask my father or my doctors here," Nick responds, void of
any emotion.

"When do your doctors say your memory will come back?" Colin asks,
seeming to buy Nick's act.

Nick hesitates. "It could return at any time, or it may never return
at all. They really don't know. They just don't know."

After a brief time of silence, Colin growls, "For your sake Nicky,
you better hope it never comes back."

And Nick winces as Colin slams down the phone in his ear.



Allegheny General Hospital
Neurological Surgical Floor
March 9, 2002
7:00 p.m.


Mentally exhausted, Nick tries to rest, but his memories won't let
him. And neither will his dreams.

He dreams that he is running and running. He's been running for so
long, his heart is pounding out of his chest. The men who beat him
in the holding cell are chasing him. He can hear sirens in the
distance. The police are coming to arrest him for escaping from jail
and his attackers. The police want to take him back to the holding
cell, back to Colin's goons.

There is nowhere to run; there is no escape. He is so very tired.

"No, no!" he cries out in his sleep.

Suddenly, he is awakened from this nightmare by the loud ring of the
telephone. He shakes his head as if trying to shake off the panic
and breathing heavily as a fine, sheen of perspiration covers his
entire body.

On the third ring, he has recovered enough to grab the phone.

"Nick, I was beginning to think maybe you weren't in your room. How
are you feeling this evening?" his father asks from the other end of
the receiver.

"Better," he answers in a winded voice, as he tries to slow his
breathing. "I . . . I may even be released tomorrow. They just need
to check my eye, again, in the morning."

Nick is lying in bed, on top of the covers. Late this afternoon, a
nurse removed the catheter and all but one IV. He was even able to
shave and take a shower with assistance.

"That is wonderful news," Burton exclaims. A smile comes over his
face for the first time since Nick had been injured. "I insist that
you come home with me, until you're able to take care of yourself,
that is."

Nick mumbles a sound that resembles an "okay," as he decides he would
be safer staying with his father.

"Son, you sound as if you are exhausted. Try and get some rest, and
I'll be there early in the morning."

"Yeah, sure," Nick utters and hangs up the phone. The last thing he
wants to do is go back to sleep and dream.


Burton Fallin's Residence
March 16, 2002
11:30 a.m.

The long drive home from the hospital is a quiet one. Despite Burton
Fallin's repeated attempts to make small talk, Nick says very little,
preferring to stare out the window. Wearing darkened glasses to
protect his injured eye from the sun's glare, Nick's body language
says it all. He is turned slightly toward the passenger door with
his arms protectively crossed in front of him, staring out the window
in silence. He is withdrawn into himself as he has been for the past
several days, and Burton is very concerned. He turns and glances at
his son. The bruising from the beating is still very apparent on the
left side of his face. Burton can't help but think that, both
physically and emotionally, his son is a battered man with big holes
in his memory.

Burton pulls his automobile into his long, stately driveway, parking
near the entrance to his home. He turns off the ignition, exits the
car, and walks around to the passenger side to assist Nicholas.

"Grab hold of my arm, and I'll lead you up the walkway," Burton
instructs his son.

"I can walk on my own," Nick insists as he struggles to stand. He
loses his balance and falls into his father, whose steady stance
steels against his wobbly legs.

"I'm sure you can, son. But between your head injury and the sight
in your eye being not up to par, the doctors warned me that you may
not be steady on your feet for awhile. Your equilibrium is not what
it should be," Burton explains as he tries to save face for
Nick. "And you can't afford to take a fall."

In resigned silence, Nick slowly makes his way up the walk and to the
front door with the help of his father. Once at the door, Burton
fumbles for his keys, disarms the alarm, and unlocks the front door.
From inside the house, Bart bounds to the front door to greet Nick,
almost knocking over his owner. Burton watches their interaction
very closely, hoping Nick will remember his dog.

Nick; however, pretends he doesn't know the dog and appears to be put
off by Bart's enthusiastic greeting. Disappointed that Nick doesn't
seem to remember Bart, Burton takes the dog by the collar and gently
leads him outside to the backyard.

"Sorry, fella," Burton says to the rejected canine, giving him a
reaffirming pat on the upper quarter. "We just have to give him some
time."

A moment later, he returns to his son who is waiting for his return,
leaning against the wall near the doorway for support.

"I'm sorry about that, son. I brought the dog over here when you
went to the hospital; you know, so I could take care of him,"
Burton admits.

"Damn, I need to be more carefully with my words," Burton reprimands
himself in silence.

Nick offers no response, and Burton decides there was no harm done by
his slip about Bart.

Quickly changing the subject, Burton asks, "How about we get you
situated in the guest bedroom. I'll bet you've had enough excitement
for one morning?"

"To be honest, Dad, I am so tired of lying in bed. Would it be okay
if I just sit here on the sofa for awhile?"

"Of course it's okay. Wherever you think you will be comfortable is
just fine. Here, let me help you get situated." And the father
helps his son lower himself to a sitting position in the corner of
the large, leather sofa. Then, Burton walks across the room and into
the kitchen and returns with a glass of water and a pill from one of
Nick's many prescription bottles.

"Here you go. It's already time to take your anticonvulsant."

Nick dutifully takes the pill from his father's hand and swallows it
down. He then takes in a deep breath, as well taking in his
surroundings. The trip home has indeed taken a lot out of him. He
knows he has little time left to stay awake, as the anticonvulsant
medication makes him drowsy.

Just then, the telephone rings.

"I'll be right back," Burton announces, as he returns to the kitchen
to answer the phone.

It is Carl Langston on the other end of the line.

"Carl, Nick came home from the hospital this morning. We just walked
in the door," Burton tries to telegraph to his friend and colleague
that he's not free to talk.

"I understand," Carl replies. "But I do need to speak to you. Just
listen, alright? I just learned that Jenny Sinclair was found dead
last night from an apparent drug overdose. The coroner will perform
an autopsy and toxicology screen to find the precise cause of death,"
Carl informs the elder Fallin.

In hushed tones, Burton says very little other than extemporaneously
uttering, "My God."

Nick can hear only his father's abbreviated responses from speaking
with Carl Langston.

Damn, this can't be good.

Carl continues, "Now that I've told you bad news, are you ready for
some good news?"

Taken aback, Burton responds, "Yeah, sure."

"The police finally located the cab driver. He had been on
vacation. When the cabbie returned, he never went back to his
workplace but instead, went to work for a different cab company on
the other side of town. The police ran the driver through the
database and found no priors. Upon questioning, he gave the police a
physical description of a man seen near Jenny's home the night Nick
put her in his cab, a description matching Jenny's. When Nick is
ready, they will want him to take a look at the composite drawing of
the suspect, as well."

"I understand," Burton answers. "But you know that can't be for
awhile," he says, referring to Nick's compromised psychological state.

Carl changes his tone. "Yes, that is exactly what I've told the
Police. Now, I saved the best news for last. All charges against
Nick were dropped early this morning."

"You mean it's all over?" Burton exclaims, unaware that his son is
listening intently to his every word.

"Yes, my friend. It's all over," Carl reassures Burton.

From the sofa, Nick stares at his father through his darkened glasses
and takes a hard swallow, as a shudder takes over his entire body.

It's NOT over, Dad . . . not by a long shot.


~fin~

Author's Note: I may write a sequel to The Accusation in the future,
but I'd like to leave the story here as I'm in the midst of writing a
new Nic Fic.