Kyra nods slowly, smiling just a little. "Yes. I feel it too. Something just isn't right. And we shouldn't stay here any longer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

General Sanderson picks up the handset, cutting off the second ring with his command to speak. The voice on the other end begins hesitantly. "Mr. Sanderson? Do you have a minute?"

The General frowns a moment, as if he can't remember how to form words into a sentance. When he speaks again, his formerly aggressive voice is soft; more gentle.

"speak your piece."

Again the female voice speaks. "Dr Tolva has found a few anomalies in your last CT scan. He'd like you to come in for a few more tests as soon as possible."

Sanderson nods as the voice pauses. He looks at the far wall of his office, trying to remember what he was talking about. As he feels a slight moisture against his upper lips, Sanderson pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his nose. Again he wipes his nose, finally looking at the handkershief. With a little surprise, the General watches the blood spreading over the white linnen in his hand. A quiet chuckle resounds through the room as Sanderson leans his head back, holding the linnen against his nose.

Were anyone actually in the room with him, they might have heard the faint, tinny voice through the forgotten handset of the phone. "Sir... General... General Sanderson... Are you there?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Kyra runs her fingers through Wolf's thick fur as he sleeps with his head upon her thigh. Her thoughts dwell on Matthew's final revelation, chuckling within her spinning mind at his long resistance. She turns her eyes to the window, watching trees swim past as Michael guides the Expedition West, toward Issiquah.

Matthew's voice, coming from the front passenger seat, reaches into Kyra's head, highlighting a previously elusive item. "So, the formula was developed by Hawkman -- who you say is Dempsey -- and he tested it on himself. The first application was about two and a half years ago or so."

Matthew pauses, his attention caught by a passing car. Kyra takes this chance to make her interjection.

"Two years ago Dempsey liquidated all his assets, cancelled his engagement to Mira May MacGregor..." she pauses, as if for dramatic effect. "Branson's step daughter."

Michael looks at Kyra through the rearview, surprise evident in his eyes. She nods quickly, exlaining with a simple, "One of the few times I actually read the Announcements page in the Times." She shrugs slightly, then chuckles thinly at Michael's rejoinder.

"Well, you're just a font of knowledge aren't you?" He smiles, then speaks again as he turns his eyes back to the road. "But how'd he come up with such a thing? I mean... pheremones, super human strength, heightened senses and a kind of..." Michael frowns as he concludes, as if he couldn't wrap his mind around the concept. "...psychic intimidation."

Kyra lowers her head slightly, unaware of Matthew's intense scrutiny. "That was Ronnie's idea." She sighs softly, her tone taking on a dark caste. She settles back into the rear bench seat, again working her fingers through Wolf's fur.

"When we were little, I always got along better with animals than people. Ronnie would tease me about it all the time, telling me that I would marry an animal rather than a human." She stops, her voice fading as pictures of her older brother flash rappidly behind her eyes.

Michael reaches a hand back, lightly patting Kyra's hand, then holding it. HIs eyes remain focused on the incresing traffic as they near the junction to I-5. Kyra turns softly smiling eyes to him, then to Matthew, finally resting upon Wolf once again. Slowly her voice fills the SUV as Kyra begins again.

"Ronnie and Dempsey met at UCLA. They were roommates for three years. Brothers almost.... After graduation, Ronnie moved up here and the Strat-O-Caster," Kyra smiles tenderly at mention of her Uncle, "gave him a job in R and D while Ronnie completed his graduate studies at UW."

Again a wave of pain washes over her as pictures of Byron's face hound her memory. Kyra draws in a ragged breath, squeezing Michael's hand in response to his own gesture. After a moment, banishing thoughts of her brother for the time being, Kyra begins again. This time, her voice is a little stronger.

"Ronnie and Dempsey both were working on different kinds of genetic research. A few years back, probably about 6 or so now, Dempsey asked Byron if there was a chance for him to get a job here. Dempsey said he wanted a change of pace. That he was tired of the b.s. of L.A...." Again Kyra shrugs. "So Ronnie talked with Uncle George and got the okay."

Slowly the miles seem to eat away as Michael guides the Expedition past South Center. He looks through the rearview, watching Kyra for a moment. So many thoughts and emotions roll through his large body; dreams and hopes never really allowed to be played out, even within his mind. Michael's thoughts carry him away from Kyra, questions forming about his brother's part in the mess.

As if sensing his brother's mental direction, Matthew speaks softly. "I'm sorry, Mike. You know I'd have left you out of this if I could. I just...." He frowns slightly, as if the words had hit some form of mental dam. With a shake of his head, Matthew forces the words out. "I didn't know you'd actually come out to get me. I didn't really think you'd hear me."

Michael nods, allowing the words to sink in. He replies on autopilot, merely saying what his brother needs to hear. "Hey, we're family. You'd do the same for me, Mattie."

Matthew nods, looking again to Kyra through the rearview. As she drops his hand, he brins it back to the front portion of the truck, shaking the slight kinks out of his shoulder. With mouth open, Michael takes in a deep breath, yet the words of comfort he wishes to say won't come. In their place a frustrated sigh rushes from his chest.

As if she had never ceased, Kyra begins her monologue once again. "Ronnie was writing up his thesis... for his doctorate... on human versus animal behaviors with a tie in to the pheremones associated with acceptance. You know, what would make a wolf pack accept an interloper as compared to a specific community welcoming a new member."

Matthew speaks softly, interrupting. "And he shared his ideas with his room mate when they were in college.... so Dempsey developed his own twist on your btother's research... right?"

Kyra nods slowly, a feeling of responsibility washing over her. Deep within her conscious mind, words of absolution flow like a soothing sauna's steam. Guilt continues to rise, borne on the subconscious wings of 30 years of conditioned response. She sees visions of Byron scribbling erraticly as she would talk about her associations with animals. The memories play in an endless loop, like a skipping record.

Matthew speaks again, more quietly, breaking through the self-defeating cycle running through Kyra's mind. "Is it God's fault that Lucifer chose to rebell?"

Kyra raises her eyes to Matthew's intense stare, blinking rappidly to rid herself of the guilt waves. Her voice is quiet, but sure. "No."

Michael's soft comment sends the conversation into silence as each participant plunges into their own thoughts. "So... what do we do now?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

George sits alone in his office once again. Having finished his third glass of Scotch, he watches the ice for a long while. Pictures flash through his mind; the corpse so wickedly ravaged; stainless steel walls splattered with blood and gore; Kyra's innocent and gentle eyes; Byron's last half smile.

Tears begin to fall, slowly at first. A wall of his life's experiences comes tumbling down inside Stratfield's mind: oceans of pain rolling in great tidal waves. Soon the office is filled with the sound of the huge man's sobs.

A soft knock at the private entrance to his office cuts through Stratfield's remorse. He takes a moment to pull himself together, shaking off the heaving waves of emotion which threaten to claim his remaining hours. With a solid cough rumbling through his chest, George stands, moving toward the private door. He unlocks, then opens it for the young security guard.

George raises a brow at Maxwell, speaking quietly, yet with a heavy edge of emotion teasing the edges of his voice. "Yes? What can I do for you, son?"

Maxwell pretends not to notice the tears and redness of his boss's face, instead holding up the large box in his hands. "Uh, Mr Stratfield, sir? These are Dempsey's personal effects, gathered from his office. Simon said you would want to look through them personally."

With a brief nod, George reaches for the box, taking it from the young man. "Thank you...." he pauses, forgetting the young man's name for a moment.

"Maxwell, sir. I'm Maxwell Caulfield."

George nods again, turning with the box in his hand. "Thank you, Maxwell. You give a full statement to the cops?" Stratfield continues his motion, pausing only after he sets the box upon his desk. With that pause, he turns once again to the young guard, waiting for an answer.

"Yes sir. Of course I did, Sir." Maxwell nods his head eagerly, his young eyes filled with a wisdom most normally gained with age.

With a curt nod, the huge man, waves a dismissive hand to Maxwell. "You've done right, Max. You're a good kid and you handled yourself well today... It's been a tough one." George frowns as he slowly removes the cover of Dempsey's box. "Take the rest of the day off, son. Go out and have a beer. Have a couple. You earned it."

Maxwell nods eagerly, a bright grin scampering across his face. "Thank you, sir. Take it easy tonight, Mr. Stratfield. We'll find out who did it."

Stratfield nods, his attention completely taken by the contents of the box. He again waves a dismissive hand to Maxwell, his hands slowly moving through the box, pulling file folders, pictures and books from the box. As Maxwell leaves, closing the door, George releases a quiet sigh.

Sitting once again behind his desk, George pours over the files and personal effects taken from Dempsey's office. A seething rage bubbles within his veins as pictures of Byron and Kyra fall from between the pages of a thick, hard bound copy of Tolstoy's War and Peace. He opens the large book, raising a brow as he looks into the cut-out center. Within the storage space Dempsey had made rest a box of high-density writeable CDs, a few more pictures of his nephew and a key ring holding two gold-colored keys.

He removes and opens the box of CDs, his breath catching as George reads the labels.

1 Formula: 2 Discovery: 3 Findings: 4 Findings: 5 Findings: 6 Findings: 8 Findings:

Again George's mind leaps into high gear. He graps the phone, punching in the numbers without thinking. As he waits for the coll to connect, Stratfield begins to paw rappidly through Dempsey's other belongings, searching for something more... the missing disc.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The strident ringing of Kyra's cel phone shatters the tense silence within Michael's Ford. Wolf raises his head, chuffing softly as Kyra reaches for the seeming electronic leash at her hip. Opening the compact cel, her musical voice caresses the electronic componants. "Speak to me."

George's voice, flooded with relief, practically gushes from the mouthpiece. "Kyra. My God... You're alive!"

Her bright, laughing response is cut off by the concern in her Uncle's voice. "Well yes... yes I am. Imagine that -- "

"Kyra... Dempsey's dead... and I have his discs... and..."

As George rushes on, Kyra's eyes take on the look of fierce determination, the strength flowing rappidly through her bloodstream. She listens to her Uncle speak, nodding a few times, then speaks clearly, nodding to Michael as she speaks to both men at the same time.

"Alright... I understand... but stop now... Meet us at Thunderbird. We're 20 minutes from there now. We'll talk there."

Kyra nods once again, closing the phone once she receives her Uncle's assurance that he will meet. Slipping the cel back into its holster at her hip, Kyra gives MIchael directions.

"Take the Puyallup exit just after Fife. We'll go in the back way. The Strat-O-caster has some CDs we really want to see."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~