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Date: Fri, 27 Feb 1998 22:10:52 -0800 (PST)
From: Akane-Rei 
Subject: FIC: Beyond Good and Evil 1/?
To: jq@edc.ml.org, jqbackup@stargame.dyn.ml.org
Sender: owner-jqbackup@stargame.org


author’s note:  before I begin, i’d like to ask that if
you have any objections to the following things i’m about
to list, please, please do not read this thing.  it is not
my intention to offend anyone’s sensibilities.
a. violence -- be it directed to the self or to another
person.
b. a certain jq character -- one of the good people -- in
this fic will be portrayed in a very, very different
manner.  almost . . . villanous, in fact.  what am I
saying?  can I say sociopath?
c. dark fics.

more author's note: i'd also like to issue an apology to
anyone who might be waiting for a new installment of ‘the
one and only jessie bannon’ or ‘the prophecy.’  ‘the one
and only jb’ is right now receiving a plot overhaul, i.e.,
i’m rewriting the outline from chapter twelve on.  as for
‘the prophecy,’ part 2:3 is half way done.  unfortunately,
writer’s block has afflicted me so further development of
that part is put one hold.  
disclaimer: jq:tra belongs to hb.  no profit is made out
of this venture.

archivers: just let me know where

category: alt, e

warning: violence

********************
Beyond Good and Evil
by Akane-Rei
********************

“He who fights monsters should look to it that he himself
does not become a monster.  And when you gaze long into an
abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.”
	-- Friedrich Nietzsche, “Beyond Good and Evil”

Chapter One:  The Coming of the Storm

	It was said that the experiences that people have in
their pasts shape them into the people that they become in
the present.  A single moment out of time can have as much
of an impact in a person as that of years of experiences.
	Estella had never been a philosophic person.  Yet, on
days like these, when the sweltering heat of the sun bites
at any exposed flesh, when the inherent stillness of the
air oppresses any motion, when the humidity makes every
movement a hardship, a certain mood dominates her being
and she can’t help but reflect on her life and the lives
of those around her.  Some would say that these wanderings
of her mind are purely delusional in value.  She didn’t
care.  She had learned a long time ago that it was better
to leave people with their false impressions of you. 
You’re much safer that way.  And in a world full of
shadows, you would want to be safe.
	She leans against the makeshift cot in her tent and
stares at the gun cradled in her hands.  Perhaps her plan
wasn’t the most morally right plan to have under the
circumstances.  But she was driven to it.  The shadows
were out to get her and they had used a weapon which she
had no defense for.  Until now.  Now, the prey will become
the predator.  There comes a time in a person’s life when
he or she will just have to take a stand and eliminate the
danger that threatens him or her.  Moral flexibility
becomes required and softer emotions must be shut.  The
options are quite limited.
	That’s not to say that she would perform her duty to
protect herself with a coldness which will rival that of
the shadows.  She, unlike the shadows, will give an option.
	A choice.  She gave her prey a choice: to leave this
place or to stay.  Should her prey decide not to leave,
then Estella would have to use the weapon she has in her
hands.
	It will be a clean and painless death.  After all, she --
unlike her now prey -- was merciful.  She would never
deliberately inflict pain on another person.  The
execution will be quick.
	She closes her eyes as her mind goes through her plans. 
Perhaps it was wrong.  Killing -- no, let’s be honest
here, murder -- is wrong.  Always.  Isn’t it?  Either way,
it wasn’t her fault she was driven to these ends.  Life
threw her lemons and this was her way of making those damn
lemonades.
	Her world will be a much better place without the
presence of --
	Her fingers tremble.
	There must be some other way.  There has to be. 
Shouldn’t there?
	The sound of footsteps approaching her tent had her
scrambling to hide her weapon under her pillow.  Looking
up, she saw her daughter push aside the tent flap and enter.
	“Hey, mom,” she greeted.
	Swallowing convulsively, Estella smiled sickly as Jessie
flopped herself at the cot.
	“They’re talking, you know,” her daughter tells her
nonchalantly.
	Estella’s fist clenches.
	“They think you killed him,” she said, her voice almost
grave.
	Estella fought to stifle of a laugh of bitterness.
	“Poor Diego,” said Jessie with a sad look on her face.
	Estella glared at her, feeling a surge of bile rise up to
her throat.  “Shut up,” Estella says viciously.  “Just
shut up.”
	She hears the beginnings of a buzzing sound in her head.
	She tries to grab hold of her gun, only to have Jessie
trap her hands.
	“Oh no, you don’t mother,” she says cheerfully.  “You
shouldn’t play with guns, you know.”
	Estella looks closely at her daughter’s green eyes and
shudders.  Those were *her* green eyes.
	“I gave you a choice, Jessie,” she said in a sing song
voice.  “What is your answer?”
	Her daughter frowns at her.  “Mother,” she replied
gently.  “Have you taken your medication today?”  Her
frown deepens.  “You know the doctor says--”
	“What’s you answer, Jessie!?” she asked softly at her
daughter’s face.  Her daughter.  She stifled a sob.
	A hurt look crosses Jessie’s face.  “Don’t you want me
here, mother?” she asked, her voice plaintive and
hesitant.  Then a hard edge enters the tone as she
answered her own question.  “No, of course you don’t.” 
She looks at her carefully.  “Did you tell him I was
coming?”
	Perhaps the answer was written in her eyes because Jessie
suddenly smiled.  “You did,” she said softly.
	She let go of Estella’s arms and Estella ceases her
struggles as well as her attempt to get her gun.
	“Then I’ll go,” says Jessie compliantly.  “If that’s what
you really want.”
	A sigh of relief escaped her lips.  She loved her
daughter.  She really did.  She didn’t want to have to
kill her and a large part of her was glad she didn’t have
to.
	Jessie’s quick movement to her left showed Estella that
underestimating her daughter was something the last thing
she was going to do.  She watched with dread as Jessie
held the gun in her hands.
	“You know they think you murdered your colleague, Diego,”
said Jessie in an absent-minded voice.  “You shouldn’t
have things like this around you.  It will only implicate
you more.”
	Estella watched as Jessie looks closely at the weapon,
then at her.
	“I could shoot you now,” said Jessie calmly, pointing the
gun at her.
	She could feel her heartbeat do a triphammer beat as her
gaze is fixated at the dull glow of the end of the gun. 
She cursed herself for her stupidity because she knew she
was going to die from it.  This moment.
	“But I won’t,” continued her daughter.  Her daughter.
	Estella looks at her in surprise.
	Jessie smiles at her and Estella watches in horror as
Jessie brings down the handle of the gun in her own face. 
Estella stood dazed for awhile as her eyes took in the
sight of her daughter’s self-infliction of pain.  The only
thought that ran through her head is the fact that her
daughter’s face was going to bruise.
	Finally, Jessie stopped and Estella stared at her
daughter’s bleeding and soon to be black and blue face. 
Estella watches as Jessie slowly approaches her and places
the gun at her feet.
	That’s when Estella noticed something she should have
been more alert to.
	Jessie’s hands.
	Jessie was wearing gloves.
	She met her daughter’s eyes just when her daughter starts
to scream.
	And Estella discovers her daughter’s own plan.
	She sees her daughter huddle in a corner just as a
barrage of people storm into her tent.
	“Oh my God!”
	“She’s gone insane!”
	“She’s trying to kill her daughter!”
	“Get her!”
	Her mind snaps as she concedes defeat.

****

	Everything was perfect.
	Jessie cuddles next to the man holding her, choking back
the sobs that tried to make their way past her lips.  She
blinks as tears filled her eyes and she buried her face
against his chest.
	She felt his hand pat her back in an effort to comfort
her and she tightened her embrace.
	“I -- I don’t understand,” she says, her voice trembling
and full of fear.  “She -- she was okay this morning and --”
	“There now,” he says.  “She won’t hurt you ever again.  I
promise.”
	Jessie raises her tear-filled gaze to his face and saw
his dark brown eyes look at her with concern.  She grabs
his hand and hold it tightly around hers.  “Miguel,” she
said softly, looking at the younger version of Dr. Diego
Rivera’s face.  “I’m sorry about all this... I -- I know
th-that I must be a burden to you, especially at this time
when your own father--”
	“Shhhh,” he said, his fingers closing her lips.  “You are
never a burden to us,” he tells her.  “You know that.”
	She was about to protest when he interrupted her.
	“Father and I loved having you with us in this dig,” he
continued.
	“But my mother,” she began.
	“Estella will be given to the proper authorities,” he
said stiffly, his body tensing.  “You don’t need to worry
about her.”
	She glanced at his eyes before she bowed her head and
took deep breaths.
	Yes, everything was definitely perfect.  She saw the look
of determination in his eyes.  He will avenge his father’s
death against the one he thinks responsible.
	“I have to tell my father,” she said, hesitantly.
	“You don’t have to do that,” he declared.  “I’ll do it
for you.  You should just rest for now--”
	“I’m going to the States,” she informs him.  “Don’t you
see?  It’s better if he hears it from me.”
	“You are in no condition to--”
	She looks at him closely.  “Don’t you see?” she asks.  “I
have to do this.”
	She bows her head again and she felt him pull her into a
tight embrace.
	“I’m scared,” she said softly.  “I have to do this, but
I’m scared.  What if she gets out?  What if -- what if she
tries t-t-to k-kill me again?”
	“Jessie,” he says gently.  “That’s not going to happen.”
	Burying his face against his chest again, Jessie smiles.
	Perfect.

****

	The sound of thunder could be slightly heard in the room
as the constant pounding of rain punished the large glass
windows facing the east.  Ordinarily, this deluge of wet
weather would be the background for his readings.  He
liked the sound of the splatter of rain as part of the
ambiance when he read the current journals over the latest
development in technology that were being made outside his
own home.  This time, however, Benton looked up from his
journals and watched as his long time friend and bodyguard
paced nervously and backed and forth in front of him. 
Ever since Estella had called to say that his daughter
would be coming to Maine, Race had been edgy and agitated.
 Nervous, really.
	And so he paced.  For the past several days.
	And it was driving Benton nuts.
	“Everything all right, Race?” he asked.
	The pacing stopped.
	Thank the Lord.
	“Yeah,” he answered distractedly.  He glanced at his
wrist watch and then began pacing again as the room was
illuminated by a quick flash of lightning.
	Benton prepared himself for the loud crash of thunder as
he carefully placed his reading on his desk and leaned
back on his easy chair.  The crash came and he watched
with almost a smirk as Race jumped in surprise.  And then
he continued walking back and forth.  Benton drummed his
fingers on the table as he stared his friend.  The friend
who was driving him crazy at the moment.
	“Race,” he said.
	Still pacing.
	“Race,” he said again, louder this time.
	The carpet will definitely have a path by the time this
is over.
	“Race!”
	A pause.  “Yeah?”
	“Is anything wrong?” he inquired.
	“Huh?”
	“I asked if there is anything wrong,” he reiterated.
	A look of confusion entered the gruff man’s face.  “No,”
he replied, again with an air of distraction.  “What makes
you ask?”
	Another flash of lightning.
	And the pacing begins again.
	“Oh nothing,” he replied wryly.  “Nothing at all.  Why
the fact that you’re wearing a hole in the carpet has
nothing to do with it actually.”
	Crash of thunder.
	Still pacing.
	This time, Benton didn’t think he heard him or the thunder.
	He sighed.  It was disconcerting to realize that there
exists in this world something that can ruffle his usually
unflappable bodyguard.  In all the years that Benton had
known him, he didn’t think he has ever seen Race as . . .
disturbed as he is now.  The calm and collected man who
successfully helped him and his sons dodge bullets without
a blink of an eye was nowhere to be seen.
	Benton didn’t know whether to smile or be worried at this
unexpected softness in his friend’s demeanor.  But then,
he shouldn’t have been surprised.  Race’s interaction with
Jonny and Hadji showed that the bodyguard did have another
side to his usually composed bearing.
	“I haven’t seen her in ten years, you know,” a voice
suddenly said, interrupting his reverie.
	He looked up again to find Race staring at him intently. 
“What do I say to her?” he continued.
	“Ten years?” gasped Benton, grabbing hold unto the most
puzzling fact.  “You haven’t seen your own daughter in ten
years?  But--”
	“It was to protect her,” he said quickly.  “When Estella
and I finalized our divorce, she demanded that I don’t try
to see Jessie.  She didn’t want me bringing trouble on
their doorstep.”
	He began to pace again.
	“After that incident with--” he stopped abruptly. 
“Needless to say, I thought her demand was reasonable
considering what just happened.  God, I could have lost
them both . . .”
	He stopped.
	“What if she hates me?”
	“AN UNIDENTIFIED PERSON HAS ENTERED THE COMPOUND,” came a
disembodied voice.
	“What the--” said Race as he ran to the hidden security
monitor.  He and Benton stared in disbelief at the screen
as it showed a hooded person carrying a backpack dodge
several security devices with an almost ballet-like grace.
 The muttered invectives that came from the hooded
figure’s mouth were what ruined the effect.
	Benton watched as Race grabbed his revolver and headed
outside.  Curiosity driving him, Benton followed closely
behind, in time to see his sons do the same thing.  The
four of them exited the house together in the pouring rain
and walked carefully towards the figure who at that moment
was picking himself up from the ground.
	A colorful set of language can still be heard from the
guttural yet almost high-pitched voice when Race’s voice
demanded, “Who are you?”
	The quick efficient movements of the hooded figure to
stand up slowly stilled into a stop.  Carefully,
deliberately, he turned to face them and the cold steel at
the end of Race’s revolver..
	“I’m looking for Roger Bannon,” he said in a steady
voice.  The howling of the wind and the violent pattering
of the rain wasn’t able to cover the almost controlled
anger in that voice and it sent shivers down Benton’s spine.
	“I asked you a question,” said Race, deliberately
ignoring the intruder’s statement.
	Benton watched as the figure stiffened in response to
Race’s curt tone.  There was a tangible stillness in this
stranger’s movements.
	“I demand to see Roger Bannon,” the stranger returned in
an unwavering voice.
	“I don’t think you’re in any position to be demanding
anything, are you?” returned Race.  “Now I’ll ask you
again.  Who are you?”
	Seconds ticked by as the figure stood still in front of
them.  Then, Benton saw the person’s hands move quickly
towards a direction, only to be halted by Race as Race
touches the gun to the head of the intruder.  
	“That’s not a good idea,” Race growled.
	Hands where they could all see them, the intruder nodded
his head.
	Finally, he answered, “My name is Jessica.  Jessica
Velasquez.”

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

February 25, 1998




===
Akane-Rei
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither
angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor
any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in 
all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of 
God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Romans 8:38,39




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