Tucker stood on his front porch and fumbled for the key to his door. It was about 3am. There was a dull flame emanating from the gaslight post out in the front of his house. He had told himself a hundred times that he needed better lighting at night around his home. His age had begun to betray him as well. Through the front window, he could see his reading glasses sitting on the kitchen table. He grimaced at the idea of needing them, although right now he wished he had them in his hands.

He flipped through his key ring with one hand, while the other held a small rag pressed against his side, just above his stomach. It was almost completely soaked with blood now. Tucker could feel the dense liquid seeping from the rag and running over his fingers. The harder he pressed, the worse it became. The cut was not terribly deep, however it was deep enough that it didn?t seem to want to stop bleeding. Finally, he located the key and pushed it impatiently into the lock. Giving it a forceful turn, he shoved the front door open. The keys were left there, dangling.

Tossing the rag in the bathroom sink, it landed with a wet thud, spattering blood around the rim and onto the backsplash. He removed his shirt with a wince as he pulled his arms free of the sleeves, pitching it into the trash. There was one thing that was obvious about the crime in the Marketplace recently; the vermin were carrying more weapons. They also fought back with more passion, as if they had something to gain by taking Tucker?s head off.

He had realized recently that he was concentrating his ?patrol? to the Marketplace area. He hadn?t noticed it before, but the more he went out, the more he found himself drawn to protecting it. Tucker knew why, but he didn?t want to admit that he was being selfish about what area he protected. Eva lived there; in that apartment above the bookstore. But the store owners and shoppers needed to be safe too? Right?

He cleaned the wound as best he could. Tucker had done it a hundred times before, in much worse conditions than this. Pausing a moment, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. His body was a mess. Scars were spattered across it like some sort of macabre road map. Sometimes he felt that quitting all this would be his best course of action. ?You can?t do this forever.? would be his prevailing thought. But then again, the idea of not trying to make a difference would be shameful, given his skill level. If there was one thing he learned from 35 years as a soldier, it was how to make a clean kill. Tucker knew he wouldn?t live forever. We all have to die of something.

The hot water running into the sink eventually fogged the mirror enough to cloud his view. The sound of dripping blood onto his boot snapped him back to reality as well. Tucker pulled a clean towel from the linen drawer and held it tight against the incision once again. Removing his med-kit from the closet, he located the needle and medical thread. Perceval had told people before that he could sew. They always seem to just give him a doubtful smirk, as if he was joking. Exposing a small portion of his wound, he began to stitch himself together again.

Tucker found his way into his bedroom where he located a clean, white T-shirt from his bureau. He pulled it on quickly, but flinched as he felt his stitches becoming stressed to the point of breaking. Slowly, he slid his other arm into the sleeve and pulled the shirt over his head. He pushed the drawer closed with a satisfying thud, as his eyes danced across the dresser top. A few coins, a receipt or two, and then there were his medals in a small shadow box. He could see the dust that had built up on top of it, but didn?t care to wipe it clean.

Moving from the bedroom, he plucked up his med-kit on the way. Tucker had found it best to always have sutures ready to go, so he made his way to the kitchen, started some water to boil in a pot for coffee and pulled a chair from the kitchen table to sit. As he did, he noticed blood had already begun to eek its way from his dressing on his side which had then been quickly absorbed by the white shirt. Tucker cursed under his breath as he held the shirt away from his body examining the crimson stain. He made a mental note, ?Next time you?re in the city, buy more shirts.?

The shirt was left on. He was too tired to redo the dressing and frankly, the shirt was already ruined. It was only a matter of time before the bleeding stopped anyway. Sitting down, he opened the lid of the med-kit and removed the suture needles and thread. Tucker reached across the table and opened the small leather case that held his reading glasses. Not only had seeing the words on the pages of his books become difficult, but so had threading the suture needles. He unfolded the small, pewter framed glasses and put them on. Things on the table seemed to leap to his attention as the glasses magnified them. Most prominent was the journal that Eva had gifted him at Christmas time.

He smiled a bit when he saw it. His hand moved to take it up, but stopped short and simply rested on the cover with the gold hammered letters. Tucker knew what was inside. He knew what he had put there. The journal was worn now, as if it had existed for over a hundred years. The pages were frayed, dog-eared and wrinkled. The cover looked like old leather; faded and worn, the corners bent. He had filled the journal more quickly than he had thought, almost to the point of obsession. Journals were made to help one get their thoughts out. They acted sometimes as a psychological release. Tucker had taken full advantage of his. It hadn?t been filled with words, but instead, with faces.

Sketches of faces he had seen in his travels adorned every page, sometimes tenfold. They weren?t faces of family, friends or loved ones. They were, in actuality, faces of people he had never met. They were faces of people who had died at his hands, either directly or indirectly. Civilians; women, children, infants. Casualties of war; wars he participated in. These were the faces that haunted him. Some images showed graphic detail; others appeared almost as a blur on the page. Under each one was scripted a date, some different some the same. All marked the day they died.

The sudden, sharp whistling of the teapot made him jump. His eyes darted to the stove and he let out a long breath. Tucker gave a quick glance to the journal that lay on the table then stood and moved to the stove, pouring the hot water through the filter of his coffee pot. He took down a mug and settled himself back at the table. Opening his med-kit, he began to prepare more sutures. He knew he would need them again. He had a long way to go before his conscience was clear; before he ever forgave himself.

Prisoner of War Concentration Camp : Outskirts of Bellemonte Forge

Tucker was struck one last time for good measure across the back of the head. The tall, gaunt, dark-skinned man grinned as he rolled the club in his hands, proud of his work. Both Tucker?s eyes had nearly swollen shut from the beating but he could make out his surroundings. He was in one of several tents in the encampment. There was a wooden table and chair in the center of the room. There were several other soldiers there as well, watching, laughing.

Tucker was thrust into the chair. His right arm was shackled to a large metal ring set in the floor. His left hand was pulled across and pressed flat against the table with his palm up. He watched as a leather strap, moldy and wet with some unknown fluid, was fed up through a small hole in the table, over his wrist and back down through a second hole. He winced as he felt the leather strap tighten around his wrist, effectively fastening his hand to the table. The dark-skinned man stepped forward, grinning widely. Tucker could see the man?s stained, yellow, crooked teeth as he leaned forward and clamped two items that looked like pliers to his bound arm. Wires ran from each clamp across the floor and away, too far for Tucker?s vision to focus through his swollen eyelids. Each clamp had teeth that dug deep into his skin.

Into Tucker?s hand was dumped a large pile of dirty, rusted needles. Some were large and gnarled, some were simply old syringe needles. Perceval stared at the metal shards in his hand, curious for only a moment about their meaning, until the dark-skinned man took a step back and put his hand on a large switch on the wall and flipped it. Electricity ran though the wires to his awaiting arm, which tensed. Tucker couldn?t stop himself. His hand clamped shut on the heap of dirty needles. He cringed in pain; grimacing as the surge continued. The laughing grew louder until the shock ended with the flip of the switch. Tucker looked at his hand as he opened it slowly, at least as far as he could open it. Many of the needles and shards had been forced through this fingers and palm. They shocked him again. And another time. Odd thing was, they never asked him any questions.

?Tucker??

He heard his name, then blinked back to reality. He had been staring at the sutures in the palm of his hand that he had just finished preparing. The front door which led almost directly into his kitchen from the front foyer swung open. Tucker dropped the handful of sutures and stood. It was all he had time to do. He watched the figure make its way in but breathed a sigh of relief when he made out who it was.

?Eva??

He was surprised, then confused, then shocked when she stepped into the light. Her face bore a welted bruise. Her neck was red with a long contusion. Tucker?s eyes filled with distress.

?My god, Eva! What happened?!?

Eva?s words came out as almost a blur in his mind. He was too taken aback at what he had seen in her; the bruise on her face, the injury on her neck, the gun in her hand? What the hell was she doing with a gun all the way down here? Tucker?s mind darted about. Did she always carry that thing? Was he so off guard around her that he had just never noticed? Eva?s presence always did something to Tucker. It made him forget. It made him forget about all the bad things in the world, but now, now they were colliding back together in a rush of reality right in front of his eyes.

Tucker had forgotten all about the blood on his shirt as well as the indication that Eva had found some of it on the porch. He motioned for Eva to sit at the kitchen table while he quickly unzipped his med-kit pouch. Pausing for a moment, his eyes darted to Eva and back, judging her proximity to the bag. This was no standard First Responder?s med-kit. Tucker had things in there that Eva would probably be stunned at. The kit was packed with items and drugs set for full blown surgery if necessary. There was nothing in there, of course, that Eva wouldn?t recognize, but she would surely be suspicious as to why someone needed such things in a home first aid kit.

Producing a cold pack, he zipped the pouch back up and gave the pack a smack against the table. Kneading the pack in his hands until it became cold, he moved over to Eva, kneeled down next to her and gently pressing it to her bruised cheek. He winced as he did so, imagining the feeling of it against her skin. Not only that, but now he could see the shape of a hand in the contusion on Eva?s neck.

Now he was upset. Now Tucker could feel anger starting to fester in the pit of his stomach. All the bad things in the world; the things Tucker was fighting so hopelessly to stop, had just invaded the life of the one person he cared for most. He knew Eva was no innocent flower; she carried a gun for christ sake, she?d probably been through worse things in her life, but this was the last person he wanted to see hurt by anyone or anything.

Taking her hand in his, he moved it up to the cold pack, allowing her to take it from him and hold it to her face. He remained kneeling next to her, but looked to her with a bit more of a stern attitude; not toward her, but toward this whole ugly situation.

It came out as more of a statement than a question. ?What happened??

Tucker watched Eva back away from him. The sight of it made him ill. She was looking at him as if he was a different person, as if she was afraid of him now. His body became rot with guilt. Just the notion that his actions were what led to her being attacked gave him a putrid feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had never thought that it would come to this. Common thieves, muggers and small time gang members were the only persons he had ever dealt with. Obviously, he had harmed the wrong one. Someone had stood up and took notice of what he was doing; someone who knows enough about him to use Eva as a ?messenger?.

He didn?t approach her; he simply turned and stepped to the front kitchen window. As he moved, he looked down to the blood stain on his shirt and covered it with his hand, keeping pressure on it. He looked out the window across the way at his farm; the barn, the lonely guest house, Eva?s garden and the gaslight, standing like sentinel in the dark.

?I couldn?t sit back and watch anymore. I tried, god knows I tried.? He gave a small shrug and shook his head, mostly in annoyance at his lack of willpower. ?I couldn?t look them in the eyes. I see these people in the Marketplace. They go about their business everyday, unaware of what?s out there ready to pounce on them. I see the cruel and corrupt men that prey on them. I can pick ?em out of the crowd in a second. They?re like wolves.? He closed his eyes for a moment. ?No one deserves to be preyed on.? He glanced at Eva as he said this, looking to her injured face and neck. Tucker?s eyes wandered back out to the window.

?Someone had to do something. I had to do something.? Blood had begun to well under his hand. A small line of crimson ran its way down his finger and finally dripped off onto the floor. Hearing it, Tucker looked down, then took his hand off his side, looking at the blood on his palm. His eyes swept up and met hers now. ?I can?t save everybody but damnit, I had to try.? He choked for a moment. His eyes took on a glassy tone as they began to well and then trailed back off and out the window. ?If there?s one thing I learned in the military, Eva, it?s how to stop a man from doing something you don?t want him to do. I learned it all to well.?

Tucker held up his hand, his open palm facing Eva. ?You can see this blood now. I can wash it off, but it?s always there. I always see it. I?m not be the man you think I am, Eva, I wish I was, but I?m far from it.? He put his hand back down to his side, applying pressure yet again. ?I never meant for you to get involved in this.?

At first he blinked. Was he so poor with explanations that he couldn?t even put his feelings in plain words? Tucker listened. His anger and annoyance grew directly with hers. His eyes shot downward at the chair Eva had pushed out with her foot, but he only gave an irritated frown and pushed, or was it more like ?kicked??, the chair back in place with his own.

?Yes, IN-Volved!? Tucker leaned with his knuckles on the table toward Eva as he roared back. ?Do you think I want you to get hurt!? Do you think I want anybody knowing what I do ?after hours??? he even held up his hands making the quotation symbols with his fingers. ?Do you think I want somebody tracking you down and getting back at me using you!? Do you!? Well, here we are?? he motioned to her injuries, ??I swear to you Eva, this is my worst nightmare knowing that someone did this to you because of me.?

Still stewing, Tucker put his hands on his hips and glared out the window again. He took a deep, calming breath and continued.

?You are involved in my life, Eva. More than you know. Thoughts of you overrun my mind. Seems I can?t do anything these days without thinking about you. But this?? he shook his head, looking back to her; her face, her neck. ??this is why I didn?t want you involved. This is why I keep to myself.? Tucker turned fully toward Eva now. ?If something worse happened to you because of me?..? his words trailed off, unable to finish even contemplating how he would feel. ??but someone does know, don?t they??

He glanced out the window across the way one more time, then his eyes darted to the far wall. Taking a few determined steps, the crossed the floor and reached out, plucking a key from a small pegboard mounted on the side of the kitchen cabinet. Tucker stepped back over to Eva and set the key on the table in front of her. His eyes settled on hers again.

?You?re staying here; in the guest house.? His head nodded toward the window, indicating his guest house outside that sat facing his own home. He was telling her, not asking her. ?We?ll go to town and get some clothes and things you need in the morning. If whoever this was that did this to you wanted me, they?d have come here. I doubt they know where I live. You should be safe here?..until I can settle this.?

He paused, knowing he had sounded demanding. Eva didn?t have to do a damn thing he asked of her, so he figured he had better ask nicely. Taking her hand, he turned it over, palm up, and placed the key into it, closing her fingers. ?Please.?

?Eva! Just wait?please! Please just?.let?s sit and talk about this for a minute.? Tucker ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at the mess of gauze and narcotics on the floor from the med kit. ?Please...? Tucker pleaded once again. ?just?..give me minute to talk to you.?

Stooping over, he began to collect the spilled items. He tried to be as quick as he could about it, then stood and dumped them all hastily back into the med kit bag. From there, he moved over to an ornately carved liquor cabinet in the corner of the room and from it produced two short, fat glasses and an extremely old looking bottle of bourbon. Taking a deep breath, he filled the two glasses, then turned back to Eva, settling the bottle between them in the center of the table. One glass of bourbon was set in front of the chair nearest her. Tucker took a seat across from it and motioned for her to sit as well, asking once again. ?Please.?

Tucker took a drink of the bourbon in front of him and set the glass back on the table. Rubbing his face with his hands, he looked back to her and spoke. ?Eva. I?m not very good at any of this. Please know that I am trying, because I want this to work?you and me. It?s just that I haven?t felt these?? he cleared his throat, sounding a bit embarrassed, ??emotions?for a long time and as you can probably tell, relationships are not my strong suit.? He was staring into his glass now, too uncomfortable to even look her in the eye. ?I just want you to know that I care very deeply for you?more than anyone alive.?

Sitting back in his chair, he gazed out the window with a slightly frustrated look, then back to Eva. ?I have been alone?without someone else for so long?I just?I just don?t know how to?? He shook his head, annoyed with his lack of words. Tucker took another uncomfortable drink of his bourbon, set the glass gently on the table and looked to her with anxious eyes, ?Don?t leave me now.?

Tucker watched Eva anxiously until she finally had consumed the bourbon. He watched her even more closely as she spoke her words, gave him his options and then stood, waiting.

?What do you want Perceval? It's your choice.?

Choice. That?s what it had come down to, hadn?t it? Making emotional decisions was not Tucker?s way. It usually led to unwanted repercussions, bad ideas and poor results. This time would probably be no different. He had hid it well but inside, he was boiling with rage at whoever had hurt Eva. Logical thinking and thoughtful decisions were not going to happen. Not tonight.

In reality, Tucker had already made a choice; long before Eva had offered it. He stood and moved over to Eva?s side and took her hand in his, eyes full of remorse. He stood there with her not to embrace her, not to kiss her nor did he stand there to inform her of his decision. He stood there to catch her.

Tucker was a student of Morihei Ueshiba, a small of stature and extremely old Asian man and local apothecary in the city. Quite some time ago, he had purchased from Ueshiba some herbal, non-addictive tranquilizers; mostly for pain, sometimes a remedy for lack of sleep. Two of those pills were usually enough to put Tucker down in an hour. They were the same pills that Eva had spilled on the floor. The same pills he had picked up, palmed and dropped into Eva?s bourbon. He knew four would do the trick. It would only be a matter of minutes before she was fast asleep.

He couldn?t let her leave. He would rather risk his relationship with her than to ever let her get hurt or killed because of his actions. He knew he was probably sacrificing his last chance at having someone in his life that truly meant something to him.

So Tucker stood with Eva. He waited. He held her hand.

?Forgive me.?

Tucker knelt quickly to catch Eva as the tranquilizers took effect. He wasted no time in scooping her up into his arms and carrying her upstairs. After laying her gently in his bed, he quickly checked her pulse and watched her closely for any ill effects. He paused, taking in her features, maybe for the last time. Eva wasn?t going to be happy with what he had done, probably wouldn?t want to be seeing him anytime soon, but Tucker felt he had no choice. When his eyes caught sight of her bruised cheek and welted neck, his rage boiled once again.

He stalked out of the room, down the stairs and straight out the front door to the barn. His clydesdale, Sampson, was quickly saddled and ridden hard north to the city. Tucker had no idea how he was going to find this man and it wasn?t until he had stopped in the outskirts of the Marketplace had he even considered it. Beginning where the attack took place, Eva?s apartment, seemed like a good start.

Tucker moved through the Marketplace still fuming with anger. He stopped not fifty yards from his destination when he saw him; a skinny young man nervously smoking a cigarette and watching the bookstore from behind the corner of a vendor?s booth. Not only was he watching the bookstore, but he was watching Eva?s door as well. Bingo.

Tucker made no attempt at being stealthy as he marched right up behind the kid and snagged him up by the neck. Smacking the cigarette from his gaping mouth, Tucker pulled him close and spat out the words, ?Who sent you?? The young man?s eyes focused on Tucker, then widened in the realization of who had just grabbed him. ?Who!??, Perceval snarled again. The kid?s eyes widened once more, and then darted to the side, looking. Tucker realized he was looking past him, behind him.

Perceval turned just in time to see a man swinging the pipe. It connected the back of his skull, sounding with a metallic thud. Tucker dropped the young man and stumbled forward, eventually hitting the ground. Rolling over, he looked for his attackers; however he found he was unable to focus his eyes, only seeing four figures walking slowly to him; two large men, the skinny kid and a fourth, towering taller than the other three. Tucker tried to stand, but fell over almost immediately; his sense of balance had been stolen from him as well.

Tucker squinted his eyes from the ground as he watched the two large men move in. At first, their punches and kicks felt like hell against his ribs and head. Then, as he began to lose consciousness, the pain slowly went away.

All he could hear was someone whispering into his ear. Their breath stank. ?What?r you doin? back here in the Marketplace, piggy? Looks like our pretty little messenger doesn?t send good messages. I guess we?ll have to do something to help remind you.?

Eva woke with a start, dawn light flickering across her face through the bedroom windows. She sat up in Tucker's bed, a bed she didn't recognize, and tried to clear the confusion from her mind. She was alone. Her mouth was dry and when she tried to swallow, the soreness of her throat and the lingering pain from her cheek brought back the previous night.

He drugged her. Tucker drugged her.

A cold panic spread in Eva's chest. She stumbled to her feet. Found a door. A bathroom. She jerked it open and ran for the toilet. On her knees she tried to make herself vomit. She knew it was illogical. That she'd been asleep for god knows how long and that anything he'd given her had long been in her system. Still she tried. She heaved, stuck her fingers down her throat, gagged. Nothing came up. The only thing that came was a strangled sob. Her hand balled into a fist, pounded on the toilet seat as she sat on the floor. How could he do it? How could he do it knowing what he knew?

?Tucker!? His name echoed in the big empty bathroom. He had to tell her what he gave her. She had to know. ?Perceval Tucker!?

Eva fumbled with the water in the bathroom sink, splashing her face, and rinsing out her mouth. Where was he? Probably somewhere feeling self-satisfied. Oh yes, he'd been quite the man, protecting his woman, forcing her to stay, forcing her to sleep. Eva spat in disgust. She was going to have to detox again and for what? For what?

In the bathroom mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself. She looked so worked over that she could barely stand to look. No. No. She was not going to fight her addiction all over again just because of some stupid chivalrous notion of Tucker's. She had to know what he gave her. She had to know right now.

She shouted his name again as she ran down the stairs, crashing into furniture, trying to find her way back to the kitchen. The bourbon glasses were still on the table, hers with a layer of silt settled in the remaining bit of liquid at the bottom of the glass. Eva fell upon the medical kit, rummaging through the items. What could he have given her? If it was something minor, some benzodiazepine she might be okay, but god help her if it was a barbituate. There would be the shakes, and the hallucinations, the cold sweats, the endless pain in her stomach, the vomiting, the dry heaves. No. She wasn't going to do it. Eva tossed aside everything that didn't make sense, small bottles of antibiotics clattering to the floor, gauze and packages of sterile needles and syringes shoved over. There weren't any pain killers in there. No sedatives. There wasn't even a bottle of aspirin.

Eva's heart pounded. It wasn't there. It simply wasn't there. She shoved aside the medical kit in frustration. From beneath the pack, a small bottle jarred free and started to roll towards the other edge of the table. Eva lunged for it. The label was mostly in Japanese and she turned it round and round until she caught a bit of English. She held it closer to her, eyes skimming over the ingredients.

?Oh thank god. Oh god.? Eva sunk into a chair, clutching the small bottle. It was some form of valerian. Just an herbal sedative.

The relief was so intense, Eva started to cry. There was nothing to fear. She was still clean. Eva held the pill bottle in one hand as she raised both to cover her eyes. Her body folded over in the chair, shaking with the sobs. She didn't have to go through it again. It was fine. Eva took three long shaky breaths and sat up again. She couldn't even fathom what would make Tucker do something like that to her. She had told him she was an addict. What did he think was going to happen? Eva threw the bottle of pills across the room and watched it explode, the pink pills scattering.

And where was he? Eva pushed back from the table and stomped out the front door onto the porch. She squinted in the dawn light, looking over towards the barn, and then across his land. ?Perceval Tucker!? When she was met with only silence Eva put her hands on her hips. Was he out exacting his revenge? Eva couldn't imagine him being that foolhardy. He was already injured. No, he must have just gone to her apartment to collect some of her belongings the way he'd originally suggested. Right. Like she was going to stay there now. Like he expected her to wake up in his bed feeling rested and refreshed. Like she would just traipse down the stairs and make her man some breakfast, and have it all waiting for him when he got back like she was some deluded prisoner wife.

Eva shook her head. Tucker made his bed, but she didn't have to sleep in it. She pushed off the porch in the early morning light and headed to the road, moving off in the direction of the Forgotten Layers Inn. She needed some rest. And she needed her friend.