Still attired as Jaselle, Jackson remained dazed and sickened by what he had witnessed just a couple of hours ago at the hospital.

Christopher's suicide had left him feeling empty. He'd left the tragic scene at the hospital almost as soon as it had occurred, but everywhere that he went, it followed him. Over and over again, he kept hearing Christopher's final, desperate, heartbroken words: "Jaselle ...Jaselle!"

Then he had jumped. And the screams from Christopher's mother! Nor would he be able to forget the gut churning sound of when his body had struck the pavement, followed by the sensation of a jet of blood smearing his face. It replayed itself in his mind continually, as if it were just happening.

Jackson decided to walk the small distance from the hospital back to 'Jaselle’s'. It gave him the chance to think. He scarcely noticed the banshee-like wails of the Metropolitan Fire Brigade, as a number of units tore down the busy street, on wards to some other scene of disaster and doom.

As Jackson drew closer to ’Jaselle's’ - it was only a block or so away, and at last the smell of smoke stuck him. It was heavy in the air, and he saw a column of thick, black smoke, mingling with hellfire, rise to the sky from some point just ahead. A crowd of spectators had filled the entire street, along with news people and television crews, taking up prime positions around the fire engines and the ambulances which had answered the call.

There was an explosion, bellowing up from the core of the fire in the form of a mighty ball of flame and black, choking smoke. A mushroom cloud of fire shot up into the sky and the spectators cried out.

Jackson figured, somewhat cynically, that it was more from enraptured pleasure than terror or concern. But as he drew closer, he realised that something was horribly wrong. He was at last awakening from the blanket of shock of Christopher's death, only to find himself falling deeper into a nightmarish reality.

"Oh my God," he croaked hoarsely, as he looked and saw that where 'Jaselle's' had once stood, only a pall of black smoke and the fiery tongues of demons remained, eating up the building like devilish piranha.

The swarms of onlookers were held back by the barricades, manned by the police, while the firemen fought with dedication to do what they could, but with little success. The flames had an unrelenting hold on the old building, and no intention of letting go its' prize.

Jaselle pushed his way through the mass of people, to the very front of the barricade, to look onto to his former home with eyes brimming with tears. The people 'oohed' and 'ahhed' as the flames leapt higher and higher, into the sky, but Jaselle's heart sank lower, into the pit of despair that gnawed on his stomach.

He asked himself: what of Raquel? And Old Jas, Pearly, and the others - had they got out of the building? He had to know and so sought to make his way beyond the barricade, but was intercepted by a young policeman.

"Sorry, miss. You can't go beyond this point."

"But I live in that building! I've got friends there, I need to know that they're alright!" Jaselle implored.

The policeman's face softened, showing Jaselle had his sympathies, but he also had his job to do, too. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you through...”

"Has anyone been hurt?" Jaselle inquired.

The policeman stared at her, meeting her eyes levelly. "They've pulled out a few people -some were O.K., but some others were badly burned. Some were already dead before anyone got to them...”

"Dead?" he cried. He asked the police officer to which hospital the casualties had been sent, and then thanked him for the information. He turned to leave, and to his right spied Claire standing some distance away, staring at Jaselle. Claire's eyes were filled with fear, too. And anger at seeing Jaselle there.

He turned away from Claire, leaving behind him the grisly scene of disaster. He walked down the street away, until he came upon a taxi, and directed the driver to take him to the hospital.

During the drive, Jaselle convinced himself that everything was going to be alright. Raquel would be fine, except maybe for a minor case of smoke inhalation. They would probably let him out later that day, and then they could find a hotel for the night. Everything else would be sorted out in due time; a new place to live, and new jobs. That was something to think about tomorrow, or the next day.

But Raquel would be well, and so would Old Jas. To think anything else was far too painful.

When he arrived at the hospital, he went directly to the inquiries desk and asked the nurse in charge to inquire about his friends. Jaselle paid no attention to the tall, lean and handsome young man with the cold blue eyes, sitting nearby, feigning interest in a magazine.

Kurt had decided that staking out the hospital might net Jackson Crane, whom he assumed would come to the hospital to discover the fate of his friend, Raquel. But so far, he had seen no one who even slightly resembled the picture that Bubba had shown him of the youth; a picture that Bubba had acquired from a computer graphics artist to whom Bubba had given a description of Jackson. Of course, what Kurt had not expected was Jackson turning up at the hospital as Jaselle La Fleur.

The nurse was searching through the registrar, looking for the names that the beautiful young woman had given her, while Jaselle waited, scarcely able to draw a breath.

"de la Rose, Raquel," the nurse said, reading from the forms in front of her.

"Raquel's O.K., then?" Jaselle exclaimed with relief.

But the nurse's expression was grave. "If Ms. de la Rose is a friend of yours, I suggest you speak to the attending surgeon. Ms. de la Rose suffered extensive burns and incurred other injuries." She informed him. "I'm sorry.”

This mass of information, and the heartache with it, was too much to absorb. But Jaselle asked what the nurse meant when she'd said "other injuries".

"It seems that your friend was the victim of a brutal attack involving knife wounds, prior to the fire," the nurse replied.

"Raquel was attacked...? But who - why?" Jaselle asked himself.

"Your friend is in a critical condition, in the burns unit," the nurse told him. Then she asked for Jaselle's name and address, explaining as that there appeared to be no next of kin, then Jaselle would be the one to notify in case of any changes in Raquel's condition..

Jaselle gave the nurse the information, but explained that as he didn't have anywhere to live any more, due to the fire, he would be renting a room at a motel, but would call the hospital and give them the address and telephone of the motel that he was staying at.

"What about Old Jas?" Jaselle asked.

The nurse regarded her blankly. "Jaselle D'Arby, the old woman..." he explained.

Again the nurse consulted her registrar before making a reply. "I'm sorry, but Miss D'Arby had already died when she was brought into the hospital," came the answer.

Jaselle felt a wave of great loss flood through his heart, and reflected on what a tragic day it had been.

The poor, sweet old woman, Old Jas, was dead. Christopher had flung himself down from the ledge of his window, and was dead, and now Raquel was lying in some hospital, badly burned and wounded from some unknown attack. Why was this happening, Jaselle wondered?

He took a seat and began the wait for further news on Raquel's status. The time passed slowly; each moment an eon in which Jaselle's mind was devoid of coherent thought - too much had happened. And yet, it felt like an eternity was passing by with no more revelations regarding his friend's condition.

Kurt Marr remained in his seat, just across the way from Jaselle. He was waiting, too. He was not overly concerned by the passage time; he had long ago learned the value of patience.

“Jaselle..." Claire said by way of the most minimal of acknowledgments.

"Hello Claire," came the cool but polite reply.

“Have you heard anything about Jackson or Raquel?” she asked.

“Jackson?” Jaselle said, looking at her quizzically. Then it dawned upon him that Claire, and no doubt the police and everyone else, held the grim suspicion that Jackson had been caught in 'Jaselle's' at the time of the fire, along with Raquel and Old Jas. Jaselle concluded that this theory could be made to serve him well.

“Er ... No, I haven't heard anything about him. He wasn't amongst those brought in here.”

“Maybe he wasn't even there when it started,” she said hopefully.

“Maybe," Jaselle agreed.

“And what about Raquel?”

Jaselle lowered his eyes. Instantly Claire knew it was not good news. Jaselle explained to her what the nurse had told him -that Raquel had been assaulted with a knife and bashed, before being burnt in the fire, and that he was recovering in the burns unit, but that slim hope was held for his survival.

“Poor Raquel,” Claire cried. “When Jackson hears about this - ”

“... He's going to need you," Jaselle said, finishing off the sentence for her. “So why don't you go home and wait for him to call? If he comes here, I'll tell him to call you, and let you know about Raquel's progress as well.”

Claire's face couldn't hide the surprise that she felt. She looked at Jaselle thoughtfully.

'That's a promise,” Jaselle added with a wry grin.

It was the first taste of civility that they had ever exchanged. And while Claire knew that she could never like Jaselle, she thought she saw in Jaselle's eyes concern and fear, for Raquel and Jackson, which frankly amazed her. She had not realised that Jaselle and Raquel were such good friends. But she accepted the offer gratefully and said good-bye, leaving Jaselle in the waiting area.

When Claire was gone, he approached the desk again and asked for any further information on Raquel's condition. At that moment a harried looking doctor appeared by the desk, to whom the nurse then referred Jaselle.

“Hello, I'm Jaselle La Fleur, a friend of Raquel de la Rose's. No one’s telling me anything… I’m going out of my mind here, doctor…”

The doctor's eyebrows met thoughtfully in the middle of his brow. He explained that Raquel had regained consciousness but was, understandably, in a great deal of pain, as well groggy and confused, due to the large amounts of pain relieving medication that was being fed into him.

But the doctor didn't pretend that he thought that Raquel was going to recover. He was quite frank about it; Raquel's chances were dwindling.

Jaselle asked if he might be allowed to see his friend, if but for a brief moment. But the doctor didn't seem to approve of this. Jaselle remained insistent, and moved as far as to beg, as his eyes glistened with tears with the certain knowledge that his best friend was going to die.

The doctor nodded slowly, and finally gave his consent to the visit, but stipulated that it would have to be short. Jaselle smiled, thanked him, and then followed him back to Raquel's room.

When they arrived at Raquel's private room, Jaselle found that the door was being guarded by two armed police officers. When he asked the doctor about this, he told Jaselle that they had been assigned to protect Raquel, until the person, or persons, responsible for attacking him and who were thought to have started the fire, were apprehended.

Jaselle racked his brain, trying to understand why anyone would do such a thing to Raquel. The only person who figured into his reasoning was Raquel's ex-boyfriend, Johnny. But what if it had been Johnny, what had he hoped to gain?

The doctor opened the door and showed him in. The room was dark. Raquel lay in bed under an oxygen tent, his breath rasping and harsh, like some dying, asthmatic old machine.

His body was covered by a frame that held up the hospital sheet, shielding his seared, burned flesh from actual contact with the sheet. The doctor chose to hang back at the door way, while Jaselle approached his bedside, feeling frightened by the armada of beeping and twinkling machines which seemed to have attached themselves, like electronic leeches, to Raquel's wrought body.

Jackson was reminded of his mother, and what it had been like to visit her in hospital. The antiseptic smell that hung in the air, sucking all the life out of it, and oppressive sense of Death, which lurked in every atom of every room, just waiting to gorge itself and feed.

Jaselle went to Raquel's side, looking down at him. He winced when he saw the arm resting above the sheets, covered mainly in light gauze. But he could see the scared and charred flesh beneath it.

Raquel's face was hidden by more bandaging, except for his mouth and one eye. His eye was open and fixed on Jaselle. It glistened with tears. What he could see of Raquel's mouth was something alien and twisted, and the one expose ear was burnt back to an ugly stump.

"Bun-ee," Raquel whispered pathetically.

He leant closer to the oxygen tent, so as not to miss a word.

"I'm right here, Raquel," he told him, his voice quivering. "You're going to pull through this."

"Bun-ee, listen ... to me," he strained with a labored breath. "You're in danger...”

"What do you mean?"

"People think - they think - that you were caught in the fire. Let them -it - it will give you time. Remain as Jaselle - he's not looking for her ...He's looking for Jackson...”

"He? Who, Raquel?"

"Bubba," he hissed, with all the hate that he was capable of mustering up.

The youth could not suppress an involuntary shudder or the look of shock that cover his beautiful face.

"He did this to you?"

Raquel nodded once, slowly, as if it were a tremendous effort.

"Oh God, this is my fault," Jaselle said, shaking his head with dismay.

"It ~ it's not your fault, bunn-ee..." Raquel said, trying to reassure him. But he winced suddenly, lurching in his bed. Jaselle asked if he needed the doctor, but Raquel chose to ignore him.

"Things have been done - to look after you," Raquel explained. "1 think Old Jas saw all this ...I think she knew. We'll take care of you ...Just wait a few days..." he broke off with an loud cry of pain.

"Raquel?!" Exclaimed Jaselle in alarm.

"It's O.K....,” he said, but he sounded like he was trying to hold back from crying. "In Europe -Paris ...I have a friend, Daphne Dior ...She'll help you. She's - she runs an art gallery .Go to her when you need her..." he told him, his voice growing weaker with every syllable.

"Raquel?" Jaselle cried, as his friend went into a horrendous convulsion, screaming and gagging on the bed.

The doctor lunged forward, checking the monitors by the bed. He then pushed the young woman aside and reached for an alarm buzzer and pressed it. In moments a team of doctors and nurses had descended upon the room, edging Jaselle back into a far comer, while they set to their work. Another nurse appeared and seized Jaselle by the shoulders, moving him to the doorway. "You 'll have to leave the room now," the nurse explained.

Uncharacteristically pliable, Jaselle allowed himself to be led out, but still had his eyes fixed on the scene of Raquel's seared body thrashing in convulsive movements, shuddering, letting out weak, but urgent screams ...doctors, nurses busy about the ruined body ...machines screaming, Raquel screaming...

Red eyed and hugging himself, Jaselle sat in the waiting area, one hand gripping a cold, three quarters full cup of coffee.

The sound of footsteps roused him from his blank, pitiless state. Jaselle looked up at the doctor who had taken him into Raquel's room.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

"So am I," Jaselle whispered. But as the tears ran down his face, Jaselle knew it was too late. Raquel was gone. Raquel was dead.