It was the first time in days that Jackson had donned jeans, sneakers and a plain T -shirt, and it felt strange. He was so used to wearing dresses, skirts and bras, trussing up his genitals, putting on blouses and so forth that dressing as a male gave him rediscovered freedoms.

He took a taxi from the motel he was staying at, in Toorak, to the comer of the street where the Barnett home was located. He wasn't naive enough to be taken right to the doorstep of Claire's house, in case it was being watched. He wanted some distance and time, at first, to look about and see if there was any indication of the house being under surveillance.

When the taxi was gone from view, Jackson regarded the suburban street. In the darkness, he observed that it was empty of other people. There were a few cars parked out front of houses, on the road, but no sign of activity and more to the point, no indication of one of Bubba’s people watching the Barnett home.

Although he could see no one about, his muscles remained locked with tension. His pulse was racing through his veins frantically. Filled with apprehension as he walked up to the house, he crept stealthily down the side of the house, making as little noise as possible, not wanting to be detected by Claire's family.

He tried to recall the interior layout of the home in an effort to pinpoint which window belonged to Claire's bedroom. He noticed soft lighting exuding from behind the blinds of a room that he was reasonably certain corresponded with Claire's room. He went up to it and tapped the pane of glass, gently, with his knuckles.

He could hear the faint strains of music playing in the background. He recognised the English group, The Smiths, singing "Ask". He knocked on the window once again and this time Claire's face appeared behind the glass in response.

She smiled at him and instantly opened the window, greeting him with delight and helping Jackson as he scrambled through the window and into her bedroom.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, and see that you're O.K.," she said, smiling at him, and then they fell into one another's' arms.

Jackson spoke to her quietly, and explained that he didn't want her parents to know that the was there.

"You know about Raquel, don't you? And Old Jas?" she asked him.

He looked into her eyes and nodded. "Yes," he said softly.

"Where have you been -?"

"I can't tell you that, Claire..." he replied.

"You're in trouble, aren't you?" she asked him.

He nodded. "That's an understatement. And I want to keep you right out of it," he said, holding her in his arms. She pressed her face against his chest as he gently toyed with her long, silky hair.

"Raquel and Old Jas were killed because of me. I don't want you, or your family, to get hurt, too," he explained.

"Go to the police," Claire urged him, staring hopefully into his eyes, but he shook his head at her.

"I can't, and don't ask me why - it's too complicated."

Claire tightened her hold on him, squeezing him and feeling his body against hers, concentrating particularly on the sensation of him against her belly. She wondered if this was as close as he would ever come to being with his child?

"I'm glad you're here," she said. "I've missed you heaps, you know?"

"Same here," he smiled down into her pretty face. "So tell me, how are you, really?" he inquired pointedly.

She sighed, and her eyes became evasive. She shrugged and said that aside from missing him, she was fine, but her tone was too tight and strained, with a hollow quality to it. If she was going to tell him about the child that she was carrying, it had to be now.

"Jaselle said there was something that you wanted to tell me before I go," he said.

Claire nodded, but her heart was quivering. This confirmed it. Jackson was planning on leaving Melbourne for an unknown destination. She wondered why he couldn't share his problem with her when he had obviously let Jaselle into that part of his life.

While Claire was grateful to Jaselle for talking to Jackson on her behalf, she still didn't trust the enigmatic woman and suspected that, somehow, she was the root of Jackson's dilemma. Claire would never be able to forgive Jaselle for coming into their lives.

But in telling Jackson about their baby, she would be able to rescue him from Jaselle and whatever she had dragged him down into. But was that fair? Maybe there was more to the situation than that which Claire was unaware of. She knew that there was something that he wanted to do in is life - had to do. She was just as certain that in telling him that she was pregnant, he would give that goal away and stay with her. But Claire wondered what the consequences of holding him back would mean to them in the future, if they decided to live out their lives together.

Telling him would only serve to fulfil her own, selfish needs, she concluded, and possibly get him murdered. Not only that, but he could well come to resent her for obstructing him from whatever secret goal he held in his heart.

Claire made her choice. "It's nothing, Jackson, really," she said in a vague manner.

"Nothing?" he quizzed her, sounding doubtful.

"Well," she smiled cheerily at him, her dimples showing, "I just wanted to tell you - to tell you that I love you. I always will, Jackson," she told him, small tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Jackson smiled at her, but it was tinged with a shared pain. He welcomed her into his embrace, and they exchanged some sweet, tender kisses.

"Oh, Claire," he sighed, his eyes filing with barely controlled tears, "I love you, too," he vowed.

Their embrace became more intense, but then Jackson sensed that it was time for him to leave. Claire felt the shift in his body and knew that he had to be going, but she couldn't let him go. She didn't ever want to let him go.

He had to prise her arms from around his waist. Her head was bowed, as tears fell from her eyes. She tried to wipe them away, but more came to fill their place.

"I have to go," he told her, hoping that she could understand. But how could he ask her that? She knew nothing of what was going on around her. Still, she was doing her best to deal with it, but her pain was weakening him.

She looked into his face, her cheeks stained with tears. He wiped at them, and then shuddered when she reached out to wipe away his own tears, her touch filling him with both joy and fear, as he wondered how he would be able to live with out it.

They could not utter any final words to each other; there weren't any words that could express what they felt. Their eyes told it all. Claire's were overflowing with how she was feeling, so much so that Jackson had to look away and bid a hasty retreat to the bedroom window.

He climbed out of it, paused once outside to look on her for a final time, his face grave and morose, and slipped into the night. There were no final good-byes.

Claire hovered by the window, searching the night for some sign of him, but he was gone. Her hand rested unconsciously on her abdomen for a moment, before she realised that she was even doing it. It would soon swell with the life that Jackson had planted in her, and as the child grew within her, she would draw strength from its life and from loving it. Without the child, her life would have been without purpose and love.

Kurt sat alone, behind the wheel of a rented car, parked in front of some houses a few doors down from the Barnetts'. Bubba was back at the hotel. Kurt's assumption was proved correct. When the police searched through the ruins of the nightclub and found no body, Kurt felt certain that the boy had survived after all and had discovered that Bubba was pursuing him.

How he had found that out didn't matter: maybe he had seen Kurt and Bubba leaving the nightclub the day of the fire -who could know for certain? What did matter was that the boy had hidden himself well, in a place unknown. Kurt had hunted for him, using all his contacts and all of his considerably shrewd and effective techniques, while Bubba had pulled in a few favours owed to him by men and women in positions of authority and power.

Both men had uncovered nothing regarding the youth’s whereabouts. But then there was the girl. Kurt was sure that the boy would weaken and come to her. He had not been disappointed.

He'd seen Jackson approach the house, creeping down the side, no doubt for some rendezvous with the girl. The boy's body language told Kurt that he knew he was being hunted.

Kurt had chosen not to intervene at that point. It would be best to allow the youth to think he had got by undetected. His confidence would be his undoing. He'd feel cocky and safe when he finally left the Barnett home, and that was when Kurt would strike. After leaving the Barnetts' home, Jackson walked down the street, towards Kurt's car. He passed it without noticing that anyone was in it.

Kurt started up the engine and pulled out onto the road, performing a neat U-turn. Jackson had only walked a few steps before he became aware of the humming of a car, creeping up behind him. He paused and looked back over his shoulder at the vehicle. It's headlights were unlit and he could not see the driver as he was hidden by shadow, but Jackson's gut reaction told him that it was Bubba, or someone linked to him.

The headlights flashed onto high beam, temporarily blinding Jackson and stunning him. He froze on the footpath, caught and dazed by the lights. Dimly, he heard the car door open and the sound of heavy footfalls rushing towards him.

A broad silhouette of a tall man cut across the path of the lights, and Jackson jolted back to the certain reality of being snatched up by one of Bubba’s thugs. He turned away and broke into a desperate sprint. Kurt stuck behind him in close pursuit.

While he was running, his mind brought up jumbled, horrific memories from the past; when Bubba had raped him in the showers with the assistance from the Delvicchio brothers, and those nightly visits to Jackson's cell. Jackson screamed to himself, mentally.

‘No! Never again!’ He'd freed himself from that terror and humiliation with the slash of his knife He recalled the blood on his hands and the sight of the severed penis on the prison cell floor. Nor would he ever forget the agonised expression on Bubba’s bloated piglet-like face.

Now, one of Bubba’s underling's footfalls were echoing in his ears, in time with his own frenzied and fearful heartbeat pulse, as he led a desperate and haphazard chase across the suburban streets.

He weaved and ducked about, trying to shake his pursuer, but Kurt could not be shaken. The well-built and athletic young man only gained more ground. It wasn't until Jackson turned a corner that he saw his chance to break away. He was out of Kurt's sight for just a few, precious moments, but it was long enough.

When Kurt had rounded the comer there was no indication of the boy for the length of the street. Kurt carefully checked the driveway of each house and around the shrubs, assuming that the boy had taken to the ground in search of cover. But he was determined to find him. His job was to satisfy Bubba and Kurt was very good at his job.

Kurt's theory about Jackson was correct, yet again. He was hiding under the parked car in the very driveway that Kurt was currently inspecting. Jackson lay there on his stomach, seeing the fine crafted, well polished boots move past him on one side. The man crept across the lawn and disappeared from Jackson's view, but he could hear the man rustling through the garden, searching for him.

Jackson pressed his face against the cold concrete of the driveway, trying to hold back his breath. His heart banged and bounced against his chest with fear, while his lungs ached for oxygen. He was too scared to chance taking a breath in case it gave away his location. The black boots returned to his view and halted by the car, in line with Jackson's eyes.

Kurt stood by the car, not suspecting for a moment that his target was but a couple of feet from him. If he'd only looked down a little to his right, he might have spotted the toe of the youth's ill-concealed sneaker, protruding from beneath the car.

A dog barked somewhere further down the street. It alerted Kurt's hunter instincts. He moved off to pursue the source of the barking, deducing that perhaps the youth had stumbled into a yard and disturbed a dog. It seemed the best course of action to take.

Jackson stayed under the car for a few minutes, breathing more easily. When he felt that he had regained his composure enough to try standing on both legs, he clambered out from beneath the car and doubled back the way he'd come, expecting to walk right into his pursuer at any time. But he didn't.

About twenty minutes later, Jackson was standing in front of the door of Pearly's flat. He looked about himself nervously, wondering if another of Bubba’s goons were going to spring from somewhere and seize him. Or perhaps they were already inside Pearly's flat, waiting for him to walk into a trap that they had laid out, with the old woman's aid. He didn't think it was entirely impossible for Pearly to do such a thing, to him, particularly.

He knocked on the door. There was no response, so he tried again. A voice, Pearly's, called out from behind the door. "Who is it?" she demanded to know.

"It's me, Jackson," he replied.

The door was opened quickly and the two faced each other. Gruffly, she ordered him inside.

Like Raquel, Pearly had lived in one of the apartments at 'Jaselle's', but since the fire, she’d been left homeless. She had also lost most of her personal belongings, so the flat that she was in now was quite bare and unwelcoming. The furniture was sparse, but at least it was a new beginning for her.

The old woman did not invite Jackson to be seated. He stood, feeling awkward, in the middle of the living room. Pearly looked him up and down, her eyes sharp and hard, and then she turned on her heel and teetered off to her bedroom. She returned shortly afterwards with a large, yellow envelope in her hand. She made no gesture to hand it to him.

"Don't know why I'm having anything to do with you," she said.

Jackson chose not to respond to her baiting.

"You have brought us nothing but trouble… to all of us," Pearly continued. "I have lost two of my closest friends, and all because of you,” she said with a contemptuous sneer. “I'm not sure how, but I know that what happened to Old Jas and Raquel… the fire…it had something to do with you," she told him. "I lost my friends and home in that fire and the only work that I ever knew. Been there, in that building, for over twenty-five years..." Her cold, old eyes lost their hardness, and Jackson found himself feeling sorry for her, despite her attitude.

"Still," Pearly snapped back from her musings, "I made a promise to Old Jas that morning, and I always keep my word. She cared for you - Lord knows why, but she did. Whatever she saw in you that was any good, is quite beyond my reckoning."

"I could say the same," he quipped, surprising himself with his daring: was that Jaselle’s influence coming forth in him?

Pearly’s eyes narrowed at him, and she shoved the envelope into his hand. He accepted it, turning it about in his hands, and then opened it -yes, it was still sealed. It tore open easily and when he slid his hand in, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it out, finding before him a handsome, light and elegant handwriting. It read:

'My Dearest Jackson,

My child, if this letter has come into your hands, then the events I have foreseen have indeed come to pass – do not grieve over long for us, dear child. Raquel and I shall always love you and be there with you.

Jackson, you have little time left. Even now your Enemy is close to finding you. You must get out of the country as soon as possible. In the envelope you will find a plane ticket for Zurich, from where you will make your way to the LaFeyette Clinic, located in the Southwest Swiss canton of Ticino.

Raquel and I have set up a bank account for you in Zurich, in the name of Jaselle La Fleur. You will find the secret number for this account within the envelope, too, along with the Paris address of Daphne Dior, an old and close friend of Raquel’s. Daphne will have you as her guest once you leave the clinic, for you will require some time to recover from your surgery.

Also in the envelope you will find two major credit cards, and a not insignificant amount of cash for you to carry on your person, that should get you through until you have made it to Switzerland.

In my Will, I have bequeathed my assets to you, save for a modest legacy that I have set aside for Pearly. That which I am leaving you, to begin your journey, your new life, will be transferred into the Swiss account, held in your name.

Once again, child, it is crucial that you leave the country as quickly as you can, or you may suffer our Fate. Take caution, my child, and learn your lessons well.

Wishing you Love and Peace,

Jaselle’

There was also five thousand dollars in cash, in one hundred and fifty dollar bills. But he was careful to shield his booty from Pearly scrutinising gaze.

He placed the items back in the envelope and turned to face the old woman. "Thank-you for getting this to me."

"I did as I was asked, nothing more," she replied. "But I hope to never lay eyes on you again, boy. I hope," she went on, gritting her teeth with bitterness, "that one day -one day soon, you get yours and I hear about it," she said, her face becoming twisted with malice.

Jackson tried to appear unaffected by the hatred in her manner. "Believe me, you won't see me again," he promised her and saw himself out of the flat.

He had been walking for some time, down the street, looking for a taxi, or even a tram. His mind was crammed with thoughts and plans. He recognised that things were moving swiftly, at last. In the morning he would telephone the airport and reserve a seat on the next flight leaving for Europe. Once he was in Zurich, then he could make his way to the clinic. He noticed that Raquel had put its' address on the reverse side of that of Daphne Dior.

Bubba would be looking for Jackson Crane, not Jaselle La Fleur, which simplified matters tremendously. All he had to do was stay alive until he got back to his motel room, and then stay in character, as Jaselle, until he could catch a flight to Zurich.

But that proved to be none too easy.