NOTES: This is the sequel to my previous story "Only Lonely". I'd recommended reading that one first. This chapter takes place around "To The Lighthouse", but it's hard to keep track of time on the show.
SUMMARY: The truth of John and Cameron's relationship spreads to those willing to go to any lengths to undermine it.
DISCLAIMER: All characters herein are the property of someone other than me. No profit has been earned.
Two delicate fingers lifted a black stone through the air, twiddling it slowly in their grasp before descending to the game board, boxing the formation of white opponents with a gratifying click before hoisting them off into oblivion. The pale stones dropped with an agreeable clink before Cameron Phillips reached for the giant bag of potato chips.
"Your move." She smiled with impending triumph, satisfied as she glanced across at her opponent and slid a cheesy Dorito into her mouth.
John Connor stared at her and shook his head, his mind a million miles from the game. He had watched her contemplate, hovering over the board and making eyes of bright white, twitching her head like a sparrow as she had gnawed her teeth in thought.
"What?" She frowned, her hand a looped conveyance to her mouth.
He looked down to the edge of the table and the swollen mound of her belly, shaking his head again with amusement.
Since becoming pregnant, Cameron had gone food-crazy, the vast arena of human cuisine becoming the new outlet for her blossoming sapience as they made a new life for themselves over the past few months in the secluded oasis of the lighthouse; a safe house his mother had established on the secluded coast of Northern California.
John had argued with her at first, almost coming to blows, but the logic and appropriateness of the plan eventually won out. The incident with Jesse driving it home better than anything, Cameron's condition making it impossible to continue as they had before and after two weeks of restless feet, he had finally settled into their new tranquil existence.
No more missions. No more gun fights. Only the occasional phone call or email to supply any technical help.
It had not all been peaches and cream though; forcing Cameron to encounter facets of human civilisation she had never considered to exist, learning with tangible experience in the nearby town's ice-cream parlour that 'all-you-can-eat' was a cruel and scandalous misnomer.
Within the seductive clutches of the restaurant industry there had been even more peril, leading to an inevitable confrontation in a bar and grill; a rustic establishment whose regular patrons believed that Mountain Dew improved with age and that Deliverance was a documentary.
To this day, Doug McGee, a gruff and unwashed trucker whom had yet to discover soap, rue the day Cameron Phillips had breezed through the door of the Buffalo Grill and usurped his steak eating title.
John couldn't figure where she put it all, all but her stomach retaining its lithe suppleness as she danced for him in their room only this morning. Serene and angelic. Her balance perfection as she had pivoted to the haunting melody of Chopin's Nocturne.
Her other appetites had grown too, wearing him to the point of exhaustion as he tried to keep up with her demands, etching a permanent grin on his face just by thinking about it.
He reached out to the board and made his move, placing a pallid stone on an innocuous point and sat back in his chair, watching as her eyes narrowed at him with suspicion.
"You're deceiving me."
His hands pointed inward to his chest in mock humility. "Moi? Deceiving?"
"Yes, and I'm going to discover how."
She had observed this behaviour before, leading her down the path on several occasions by lulling her into the false belief that he was losing, only to trounce her utterly in few simple moves that revealed some hitherto clandestine strategy.
John was cunning like that.
"You may surrender now if you wish. I will be magnanimous."
No she wouldn't, she'd be insufferable, and his winning streak would come to an end.
After months of playing chess without a single victory, Cameron had suggested Go, an ancient game from the Far East that she was certain he had yet to master, its moves and outcomes far exceeding the magnitude of the human psyche, a place that the quantum network of her CPU would reign supreme.
John smiled faintly, stoic in his confidence.
"It ain't over til it's over, Cam."
Returning her attention to the game, Cameron made a move, plucking another stone between her fore and middle finger like a pair of cooking tongs before placing it down on the board.
"Y'know… we could make this more interesting." John curled his fingers in the collection bowl, scooping out a stone in preparation.
"What do you mean?"
He shrugged nonchalant. "Well… for instance… if through some unlikely event I were to win the game, you'd maybe do something for me?"
Cameron seemed to give it some genuine consideration, eyes rolling in thought, the subtle implication lost on her.
"If you need me to do something John, I'll do it."
He felt a little touched, knowing she meant every word. "Thanks, Cam. But it's not something I need exactly. Besides, it's more fun this way."
"Alright…" She agreed cautiously. "What do you want?"
"Just to play a little game."
"We're playing a game now."
"A different type of game…" He purred with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Cameron required only a nano-second to comprehend, his implication neither subtle nor lost.
"What do you have in mind?"
He leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table as he explained what he wanted. As his description grew so did Cameron's eagerness, the idea something they hadn't tried yet and it made her weak at the knees.
"What if I win?"
He shrugged. "We can do something you want to do."
Cameron considered the options for several moments, running through the games they had already played and what was still left to try before all at once, her mind made the intuitive connection of what he had done. She felt a flash of mild outrage that was supplanted by amusement.
"I've just realised something…" She accused. "Whether you win or lose, you're still going to have sex."
John grinned like a proverbial cat, content in his connivery as he made a move on the board. "That's how to always win, Cam. You have to rig it so that even if you lose, you've still got something to show for it."
His explanation was a bizarre synthesis of common skulduggery and misdirection, beclouding a dialectic logic she knew lay beneath.
She had known John in the future and the two where very different, but at some fundamental level they still thought alike, delving from the same well of philosophy and thinking that lay routed in a shared past. It gave her a quiet sense of hope toward the future, assuring that if Judgement Day was to fall again, all would not be lost in the fire.
They played for another few minutes, their investment in the game renewed with the mutual promise of lewd reward before a resounding click marked the end of the game, John placing a final stone in a coup de grâce that swept the last remnants of her forces from the battlefield.
True to her word, Cameron was high-minded. "Congratulations, John. You're strategy was both subtle and decisive."
He smiled as he carefully swept the stones away. "If you like, we can arm wrestle next time."
Cameron felt a familiar fire begin to burn within her, the promise she had made in the event of defeat a delectable sentence she was eager to begin serving.
With one hand she slid the heavy table aside, the wooden legs screeching across the timber floor of the dining room before she descended upon him. John's expression was priceless, holding a handful of the monotone pebbles limply in his hand as she straddled his waist, sinking down on his lap and kissing him for all he was worth.
The stones tumbled from his grasp as her hands cradled the back of his head, her rounded belly pressing against his stomach as she held him to her, looting his mouth with her tongue.
"Do you want your winnings now, John?"
He felt as though he'd gone boss-eyed, voice shrivelled to a husk. "Yes."
She smiled wickedly, the way that made him want to lose control and ravage her utterly.
"Go to our room. I'll be there in a moment."
In an instant she dismounted him, leaving a howling emptiness of sensation where she had been as John tried to pull himself together. When he did he headed straight for their bedroom, closing the door and jumping on the big double bed as he kicked off his shoes and socks.
Minutes ticked by as he waited, but no Cameron, making him worried and he made to go and look for her before the door rattled with a thunderous knock.
"Who is it?"
An instinct of cold dread flashed through him before he bounced off the bed and slid silently to the door.
"What do you want?"
The door suddenly burst open and Cameron marched inside, dressed in a police officer's uniform and grabbed him firmly by the scruff of the neck. Her eyes blazed into him through nylon framed sunglasses that shone like mirrors, reflecting the shock on his face in shimmering dual opals.
He swallowed nervously. "Yes, officer."
She spun him around, pulling his hands behind his back and slapping on a pair of cuffs.
"You're under arrest."
She marched him into the room and pushed him down on the bed, looming over him with forbidding imminence, the law of the land her authority and a baton on her belt the means. John felt a bolt of excitement beneath the woman's authority, resistance useless and no hope of escape. There was something very Freudian in that.
"What's the charge?" His tone found defiance and he sat up straight, not going down without a fight.
"Fraternising with the enemy during a time of war, fathering a child with an enemy combatant…" Cameron thought fast. "…and jaywalking."
He was guilty and he knew it, but there was still one avenue left toward freedom.
"Hang on. Are you a real policewoman?"
"Of course I am."
"Like hell!" He huffed, clearly not convinced. "The police wouldn't send a pregnant woman on a bust! You're an impostor!"
Officer Phillips glared at him through her glasses, sliding them off in smooth singular motion before tossing them on the bed, levelling him with a stern gaze that brook no further insolence.
"Wise guy, huh? I know how to handle wise guys."
"You don't scare me! I know my rights!"
She drew her baton and thrust the end of it under his nose. "You've got the right to shut the hell up, scumbag!"
Suddenly her demeanour changed, melting to a shrug of affability and suggestion as she leered at him up and down, as though noticing his body for the first time.
"Of course… if you're desperate… there's a way you could avoid the charges."
It was his only chance, cooperate or face the music. He had to decide.
"I'll do whatever I have to, officer."
Her mouth curled in a fiendish grin, sliding her baton back onto her duty belt before shrugging the jacket off her shoulders. She smiled as he sat stupefied, eyes wide like he had never seen her body before as she revealed it to him in one fluid motion, lifting the shirt over her head.
John gawked at her perfection; alabaster skin and pale freckles, a blossoming bosom that bounced free of her shirt as his eyes fell down on her belly. Round and firm and spherical. Like she'd swallowed a basketball. The sacred vessel that carried the one thing in the world more precious than Cameron herself.
He braced against his restraints as she undid her pants, the black fabric pooling on the floor to leave Cameron Phillips before him in all her heavenly glory, the game of cops and robbers easily forgotten.
"You're beautiful, Cam…" The words mumbled out in a breathless whisper and she felt herself warming under his gaze, looking her over with the yearning hunger of a starving man that had discovered a packet of peanuts, the cuffs that bound his wrists the only thing stopping him from delving in to taste the salty goodness.
He looked up at her with failing restraint, passion burning in his eyes.
"Get me out of these damn cuffs…"
The screen door at the front of the house screeched open and a man stepped inside, his arms filled with two brown bags that he plonked down on the kitchen table before dashing to the security panel, tapping out the right code and killing the failsafe before it triggered.
He reached around behind him and pulled out his gun, a Glock 9mm that felt heavy in his hands. He pulled back the slider less than an inch, checking the chamber to reveal the round that lay inside, ready to fire at a moment's notice.
He froze as a dull thud came from down the corridor; something heavy falling on timber floorboards, muffled laughter the resulting accompaniment and he hefted the gun in his hand. He stalked the hallway with the weapon held low, ready for anything as he approached the master bedroom and moved his head close to the door, listening intently for signs of distress.
Charlie Dixon's voice was a timid whisper, barely making it through the door, but he wasn't brave enough to risk any more. He had a feeling what was going on, he just had to be certain.
He almost jumped out of his skin when a cry of ecstasy tore from within the lover's bedroom, the thankful shriek a bell toll of blessed commencement before the house was filled with the moans and squeals of rutting fervour. It grew louder and louder, the sounds of passion degenerating into rhythmic gasps and grunts, bed springs creaking in unison to the shameless broadcast of uncouth demands.
"Oh for crying out loud…" He holstered his gun in the back of his jeans, returning to the kitchen where he went straight for the draw of miscellanea, fishing out the headphones to his cell phone and jamming them in, the cries of unrestrained ardour dying to a muffle as he clicked on Lead Zeppelin and studiously set about unpacking the groceries.
He had always had a feeling something had been going on with those two, relishing the teasing he had given John when he and Cameron had first arrived those many months back.
"Nothing going on, huh?"
"I guess you really like-liked her!"
John had taken it all in good humour, silencing Charlie with the looks he and Cameron shared when they thought he wasn't looking. The mutual adoration, the tenderness. The hushed cries of ecstasy in the middle of the night.
Sarah had been remarkably prudish when dropping them off, making sure they had separate bedrooms and lecturing John until his ears hurt. The poor kid had turned every shade of red imaginable.
Of course, all that had fallen by the wayside by the first night and Charlie had soon relented, tired of them tiptoeing back and forth. He had even swapped rooms to give them the bigger bedroom.
She was having his child for God-sake!
Wary of what Sarah would think, he had planned a fabulous dinner for them all in an effort to smooth the blow. Just the four of them; a little wine for the over-twenties and some bonding time together.
What's the worst that could happen…?
It was early afternoon when Sarah Connor's jeep crunched onto the driveway, the column of the lighthouse casting an easterly shadow as ivy and tufts of wild lavender rustled in the ocean wind. Towering palm trees dotted the site, a former outpost upon a sandy bluff for a lonely soul that had passed away and left it all up for auction. A steal for the price she paid and a picturesque haven to boot.
She pulled to a stop outside the house, securing the hand break before killing the engine, feeling the ache in her back from the prolonged journey that had started the previous evening; hours behind her on a torturous road that had mesmerised her with its straightness.
"You made good time."
Sarah smiled as the familiar form of Charlie slid up next to the vehicle, his arms resting in the window ledge. It had been a while but he still looked the same. Maybe older and a little wiser, weathered by time and tragedy. But still the same old Charlie. The one that had asked her to marry him and the father her son never had.
In truth, the man was a saint, offering to take care of John for as long she needed him to. No questions, no outlay.
No complications or secrets.
She cracked a wry smile as she tried to get up. "Tell that to my ass."
A flash of dry humour graced his mouth, but he kept his peace, opting instead to open the door and offer her a gentlemanly hand of assistance. She smiled and took it, feeling tissue and sinew reposition as her body stood up straight.
He shouldered her bag from the back seat and they went inside, the bucolic charm of the lighthouse exterior belying its peculiar heart of 70's plywood, a forged metal log burner, and the digital feed from a closed circuit surveillance system. The furniture was a blitz from Ikea; bookshelves and a wine rack mixed with what fixtures had graced the dwelling since its first construction, the TV and refrigerator the blessed exceptions.
The dog came to her immediately, appearing from nowhere with his ears back, frisking the new arrival with his snout. Once satisfied his demeanour melted, surrendering beneath the bliss of an ear scratch that made his hind leg flinch like a rabbit's, securing Sarah a loyal friend for life.
A tuning fork went off in her heart as she heard her son's voice, hurrying toward her from down the corridor where she met him halfway, crushing him against her like a life preserver. Her hands clawed fists of his t-shirt as she buried her face in his neck, the smell and feeling of him like a rejuvenation, making all in the universe right.
"I missed you."
He smiled, hugging her tighter in arms stronger than she remembered.
"Missed you too."
She could have gladly held him for hours, the pillars of her existence coming back into alignment after months apart, their only contact until now via email and the telephone.
"I was going to, WHOA…!!"
Sarah sprung from his grasp like a scalded cat, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she absorbed the blossomed figure of Cameron. Radiant and content. Hair and skin glorious. She stood off down the hallway, typically spartan, but Sarah felt an air of uncertainty about her, triggered in no small part by her arrival.
John smiled and stepped towards her, taking her hand and pulling her before his mother.
"So… what do you think?"
Sarah felt how happy he was, his manner and body language that of prideful parent, bolstered in some congenial way that made him sure and confident in a way that he had never been before. She looked Cameron over, the mound of her stomach that for better or worse carried the grandchild she had been certain she'd never live long enough to see.
Cautiously and without words, her hand reached out, looming closer in an agonising motion until her palm rested against Cameron's swollen belly, like she was touching the casing of a bomb.
A feeling crept into her being, one that Derek had warned her about. Something insane and optimistic that made all the anger and mistrust ebb away, surrendering her to the grudging approval she knew meant more to her son than anything.
"I think you guy's did great," She nodded with acceptance, burying ill feeling inside. "And I hope it's a girl."
John and Cameron shared a knowing, sideways glance, grinning like a pair of idiots.
She didn't want to. She knew it was wrong and unnatural. But her son's happiness made all that irrelevant, forcing her arms out to take them both in a hug, holding him tight to her as she kissed his cheek and patting Cameron lightly on the back.
Charlie stood off in the kitchen, a small smile on his face as he watched the family reconnect, the anxiety he had felt the previous days dwindling down to naught.
So far, so good.
Stainless metal cutlery scraped against porcelain dishware in the dissonant ambiance of dinnertime harmony. Charlie had cooked the salmon he had brought earlier that morning, the ones Cameron had casual spotted and made subtle enquiries about all day. She hadn't had fish before and she was a little uncertain, more cautious than ever since John had given her escargot, pointedly withholding vital information until she had placed it in her mouth.
She shivered at the memory, remembering in fine detail the look on his face when she had propelled it out of her mouth across the living room.
"You'll like salmon, Cam." He had promised, and he was right. The beautiful pink flesh all drenched in garlic and melted butter, falling apart in her mouth in heavenly segments.
John and Cameron sat opposite one another, making eyes as she drew the ball of her foot up his leg, drawing perilously high before retreating downward again, leaving no doubt what she wanted for dessert.
Sarah and Charlie sat at either end, eating quietly as something classical played low on the living room stereo, a bottle of white split between them that gave her a warm and healthy glow. The imminent parents talked all through the meal, like they were the only two people in the room, and Charlie had observed her reactions.
Sarah had to admit, Cameron had changed. Even the dog was confused, sitting watchful at her side and scrutinizing every mouthful as John reached for the salt shaker, sprinkling it over his food.
"Too much salt is bad for you, John." Cameron warned, the long-term dangers of sodium still unknown to science.
John rolled his eyes. "Yes, officer."
The moment he said it, ice water flooded his veins, casting his eyes sideways around the table. He prayed that his mother wouldn't pick up on it, humiliation perched on a knife-edge and for several long moments, no one said anything.
Then Sarah's brow furrowed, the wine loosening her tongue. "Did you just call her 'officer'?"
John's brow broke out into a cold sweat, fidgeting in his seat as adrenaline quivered his fingers, mind scurrying for something credible to say.
At the far end of the table Charlies' shoulders began shake, unable to contain it any longer, eyes watering as he crushed his hand over his mouth and his teeth dug into his cheek. Cameron studiously looked down at her plate, pocking at her food as her mouth curled into a fiendish smile.
With the foreboding and inevitable doom of a British heavy metalist, Sarah pushed blindly on.
Her eyes remained fixed on him, holding John in place like the beams of an unstoppable freight train.
Say something sensible, John.
"Because… I respect her so much."
Charlie sniggered loudly and Cameron looked away, blowing the whole gaff, turning John bright red under the gaping gaze of his mother as the penny finally dropped with a horrifying clang. She looked at her son as though seeing him for the first time, eyebrows nearly crawling off her forehead, her imagination filling the gaps between what had been spoken as though they had been expertly crafted by a suicidal novelist.
At that moment, John wanted to crawl under the table and die.
Picking up her fork, Sarah returned diligently to her food, turning as red as John as she banished the thoughts from her mind.
"Forget I asked! Forget I said anything!"
Evening rolled in as the relentless waves of the Pacific Ocean crashed against the rocks and sand, drawing in toward land as the sun set on the horizon, turning the water into a shimmering mirror of liquid gold as the heavens began to shine.
The shore washed up around their naked feet as John and Cameron walked arm-in-arm across the sand, the lighthouse a tiny spire in the distance, its reflecting lens little more now than an inoperable museum piece supplanted by radar and satellite navigation.
Neither said a word and neither needed to, enjoying the view and each other's company as the day wound down to a close.
"Dinner went well."
Cameron broke the silence, palpable amusement in her tone.
"Oh, God! Don't remind me!" He cringed, colouring up all over again in the rays of impending twilight. "I need to block that out."
Though she didn't laugh, he knew she did inside, his girlfriend always sparing in emotional displays. No jokes or hysterics. Making it all the more meaningful when she did.
From across the beach, the dog bounded towards them, a small rubber ball clutched in his jaws that he deposited in front of their feet, staring up at them expectantly as his tail wagged about.
John laughed as he reached down to retrieve it. "I think my arm will drop off before he gets tired."
She reached out her hand in offering and he placed the toy in her palm, the dogs' eyes following it like a NASA tracking system as Cameron took a throwing stance, launching the ball down the beach as though it were propelled by a rocket.
Undeterred, the Labrador bolted after it, tearing off into the distance in a shower of sand.
John huffed sardonically. "I hope he can find his way back."
"Charlie has stated that he knows 'where his bread's buttered'." She recalled. "But he will be some time."
He smiled and pulled her by the hand, leading her up the beach to the sturdy berm that had accumulated across the centuries, dotted with patches of wild grass and sand dunes where he pulled her close to him.
"Just long enough…"
He leaned down and kissed her, hands wrapping around her smaller frame and pressing her to him, feeling how firm she was beneath as her arms crossed behind his neck. In no time John felt her weight heaving him down, forcing him where she wanted down onto the sand in a deft combination of unyielding strength and a detailed knowledge of human anatomy.
She fell down on top of him as his back found the sand, holding him immobile as she kissed his mouth, feeling himself surrender to the firm and confident onslaught of a woman that knew what she wanted. It took some effort, but he eventually rolled her over, doing things with his hands to which she had no defence, rolling onto the warm aggregate where they lay together on their sides.
So much of their relationship felt like a role reversal. Him the strategist and technically minded, the idea-man, happy to plan the mission and watch it unfold or go head to head with a supercomputer. Her the balls-out alpha female, a woman of action and incendiary who cared nothing for the minutia of maintaining a supply line or a means of retreat.
They were a good match. Balanced and complementary. Meant for each other. There was nothing more certain in his mind.
"Want to hear something cool?" He asked, mystery colouring his voice.
She thought about it for a moment. He loved that she did that.
"Nine years ago today… we first met."
Cameron's face grew into the slightest smile. Of course she had remembered, her internal chronometer flawless, but she was touched none-the-less that he had recalled.
"Nine years, twenty-three hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds." She lightly corrected. "Chronologically speaking."
He loved that too.
"Okay, nine-ish years, as long as I'm within the window."
He sat up and took both her hands, bringing her up with him and drawing the strength he needed that she had in spades, rubbing her fingers with his thumbs.
"Do you love me, Cam?"
She smiled and nodded. "Very much."
"Would you do something important for me if I asked?"
"It's kind of a big deal."
"Are you sure?"
John took a fortifying breath, teetering on the precipice of disaster or triumph as a lump rose in his throat, petrified beyond all logical reason as he reached into his pocket and grasped his hand around the tiny case.
The rest of his sentence died in his throat, euthanized at the tip of his tongue as he stared at her, the plan he had agonised over for two whole weeks mired on an invisible sandbar.
"No… Cam," He objected meekly. "You don't know what I'm going to ask."
"Yes I do. And the answer is yes."
It was a little unorthodox; unlikely to go down in the annals of history, but then so much of their relationship was like that. The pressure blew off in a matter of seconds and he was left with the joy of her answer.
"Okay… awesome! Fantastic! Not exactly according to plan, but alright!"
"We can do it as soon as we return to Los Angeles."
His eagerness grew. "Even better!"
"I'm glad that you have finally asked me, John. Though I would have preferred it to have been sooner." Her hand rested on her stomach and he felt a twinge of regret.
"I know, I'm sorry. I was just trying to get to grips with everything, and I didn't want to do it just because of the baby."
She nodded with the quiet wisdom of a sage. "That's alright. So long as you've come to your senses…"
"…and don't be concerned about your mother's reaction…"
"…or the body."
John's universe and everything in it came to a crashing halt, stars and planets bunching up behind him as he slammed on the brakes, her words ringing out in a cavernous echo of realisation.
She nodded gravely, grim determination steeling her resolve.
John rolled his tongue in his mouth, prodding the side of his cheek as the prospect of miscommunication loomed ever likelier.
"Just for the record… what exactly did you think I was going to ask you?"
She smiled in triumph, looking happier than if he'd handed her a bucket of chocolate ice-cream and a cooking spoon.
"You have finally decided that I am to terminate Derek Reese."
In another time and place, John was certain this might have been funny.
"No, Cam. I'm sorry. I don't want you to terminate Derek Reese."
The light in her face slowly extinguished, the brightness replaced with the mordant disappointment of brazen reality.
She sounded genuinely disappointed, ruining the moment and all chance of recovery as the sun began to dip past the horizon, the window closing on the perfect moment as he buried the case in his pocket and closed his eyes in dismay.
"I'll marry you though if you want."
His eyes snapped open in an instant, looking at her curiously as a frown furrowed his forehead, feeling as though she had just swept the rug from under his feet or been replaced by comic impostor.
Cameron's mouth remained neutral for many moments before it curled into an evil grin, stating clearly before she spoke it aloud, that in every possible and conceivable sense;
John pounced on her and she squealed in delight, rolling them across the sand in a lovers tussle as the dog arrived back with the ball, dropping it in an instant as he saw his people playing and muscled his way in between them.
Well, that's it. Hope you enjoyed it. I thought about getting to the birth and what happens afterward, but it was too much for this story.
I have an idea for a sequel in mind, but it needs a lot of fleshing out. I'm open to suggestions of what you'd like to see next, so please feel free to make them. I have an idea for a prequel as well, set in the future about how Cameron is reprogrammed.
A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to write a review, it is very much appreciated, and I look forward to the story being evaluated as a whole. Constructive criticism is quiet welcome.