Ray and Scotty,
Forgive me; this letter will vary in address, but I trust that you both will know what is intended for whom (and often both.) I'm sorry that I hadn't more ability to talk to you while I could still see your faces.
I find words so damn hard to write at the moment. I am desperate for contact with you, and I find I have no idea how to talk to you when I have it. I don't know why. I miss you. I miss being able to give you a window into my mind.
Robert Cath has fallen in love with Mike Chase. It has not been without its roadblocks, though I think you might know that. I do not know exactly where they stand yet. They are rather beautiful together. Robert glows, in love; Mike is ever-beautifully baffled, but has opened his arms to us both. Watching them is an honor. Taking up the flank is equally so. I suppose this is the precursor to my telling you why we were covered in blood.
My memory is still not perfect, and adding in to that bouts of unconsciousness, I am uncertain of the accuracy of this account. I will try my best. We were on the road when a many-headed reptilian creature of offensive disposition made itself known. We each tried to dispatch it and discovered its heads multiply when removed. I fired shots; Mike attempted to mount the creature, Robert likewise fired on it. Both acted valiantly to protect us. The creature bit my arm, rendering it useless, and myself the same. Mike was badly burned in his attempts to kill the creature. Robert was ripped open at the shoulder and some besides, but managed in his condition to kill the creature using Helga. (My love to Harold.)
What I assume was either blood loss or pain saw to it that I was unconscious, but I'm told Mike licked our wounds and bit us to ensure we did not bleed to death. I believe both Robert and Mike would have died regardless of that, had we not been tracked by a woman wearing mechanical wings. I have since learned that our rescuer's name is Holly Short. She is a police officer. She is also a fairy, possessing of healing magic that was expended to save our lives. She performed, I'm told, surgery upon Mike to assist the healing as much as possible. Her companion is a human male named Artemis Fowl. It may be prudent to research this boy; he is from Earth. I trust her, but he is, quite frankly, shady. He has helped us and even restored Robert's hearing that was apparently damaged in the healing. If he seemed less wily, I would allow that gratitude to give him more leeway.
We are recuperating. Mike is still in need of care; they have lent us their bed, in a house of their construction. Mike appears to have a camaraderie with Captain Short that is a relief to see. He is beautiful. So is Robert. I feel privileged to share this ordeal with men who acted as they did in the melee.
My loves, I have written and re-written the next part of this letter repeatedly. It is part confession, part living will, and I hope that it will not make your hearts ache. I am all right. Indeed, for all I have seen and for all I miss you, I am in fair spirits as I write it. It is only a precaution; I love you, I intend to live, and I will fight to protect these men and bring us all home.
Ray, I feel it's time to tell a secret. That may be a misnomer; it certainly was nothing I was keeping from you. There just never seemed to be time to tell you. One universe removed from ours and a few decades back, there is a little boy named Mike. He is precisely the Mike you think he is, except that his world has been decimated by a virulent and vicious flu. His parents have died, like many others. He needs us.
I know that fatherhood is a dream that you share mainly because I treasure it; that you would be a beautiful, loving father, but would be one at all because I so desire to be. But please, if I should die, find this boy; please find some way to give him the life I would have. You will find him in Minitonas, Manitoba, in one of the many orphanages in that world hastily made to handle the influx of parentless children. He will be a fisherman and a hunter; he will need to be special, an only child, taught to cuddle, taught to attach again.
There are other children of that universe to be attended to. Andrew Longfellow and Guy Laurent; please find them and make certain that they are delivered to the custody of Ray Kowalski and Ben Fraser. Harold will know the way to their universe. I would ask that Ben take back his father's fishing rod to be used when his sons and ours are old enough to fish.
Myra Turnbull will also need a home. I had thought Sokka for her adoptive father, but he is still young. I would wish Harold and Scotty to raise her, if they feel ready to be parents. If they do not, I would entrust her to the Fraser-Kowalski household, in the belief that they would welcome a third child.
I do not know if any other familiar children in that universe survive. I leave it to your capable hands to see that they find their ways to loving parents if you should find them.
In the arena of material things:
Though it may not be kosher, I would leave my uniforms and associated items to you, in trust for our son. With these exceptions: my high browns should go to my younger brother; my tac-boots should be given to my twin. I leave Mike - the vampire - my duty weapon.
If you would rather not have an empty wedding ring, please recast our rings into one band and wear it on your right hand.
Scotty should get my sock monkey and the book of recipes I have been writing since Bellcaire. I would like him to have my stake in the bar, such as it is. Give Harold the guitar given to me by Audrey Horne.
Please give my Market property to Sokka, in hopes he will open any manner of business he wishes; a small sum, if there is enough, from my wages to help start the same.
If Scotty will give his blessings for it, I would like Robert Cath to have my PADD along with instruction on how to use it. He and Mike must not be alone in Rhy'Din; this will help.
My own native Myra should get my love and my stuffed husky, though she won't understand it. I would like my native Guy and the vampire Guy to be given my hard-copy erotic art, split evenly. It seems fitting. Please turn over my female clothing to Audrey Horne; please return my knife to Susie, if it is retrievable. There is a painting that is half-finished amongst my things, it will appear to be a stained glass window in many colors; that should be delivered to Jasper Silverblades.
Ray: get to know Mike Chase. Of anything I have, I would leave him you, in whatever fashion you would love him. You must continue living, you must continue loving. Be happy. That is what I want for you. More than anything.
I believe I have accounted for everything. Knowing me, I've left a glaring hole; I will certainly appreciate it being pointed out, should you choose to do so.
I love you. I treasure every single one of the pictures you have sent me. I have figured out the function on the video feature of the PADD and will return some of the same. The roses are beautiful. Not nearly so much as you. Is Margaret still there? Do the orchids remember you?
I can see you at the other end of the arrow. Scotty, you have always been brilliant. I love you. I love you both. Thank you.
Ray, you are my soul. Scotty, I would tear out of my own skin to touch you again. I love you.
I will write again.
Renfield
