Logan MacGregor

Logan stood in the shadows of one of the Cathedral's columns, using it as a windblock as he finished off his cigarette. He took one last drag before dropping the butt to the granite flagstones and crushing it beneath his black boot. It was then that he heard raised voices emanating from the parking lot.

Sidling around the corner, he saw a small group of people gathered around the Church's dilpadated old school bus, one of whom was recoiling, while another looked to be in shock. He strained his hearing, and managed to make out a few words.

"Well, do it again", another man - dark-haired, attractive, and - much to Logan's surprise - dead, replied. "It seemed to work."

The redhead concentrated on something, and a spark leapt from her fingers into the old bus, which rumbled into coughing life.

Logan shook his head in stunned amazement. He shifted his perceptions and nodded to himself. 'Sparky' was a spook, presumably a Haunter. One of the other men seemed solid enough, as was the tough looking woman who'd backed off from the initial jolt.

A woman he'd seen before, here at the church a few days previously. He'd recognized her then, as well. But he still couldn't remember where from. And she'd been projecting before, he recalled.

So, three spooks and two quicks were getting ready to make off in the church bus. Logan was sure he must have seen worse getaway vehicles, but at the moment he couldn't quite recall one. He shook his head and stepped back around the corner, headed into the church.

"Good luck, kids. Yuir going tae need it", he murmured quietly as he walked over to the confessionals.

He took a seat inside and let out a deep breath. It had taken him four days since the attack on his friends and former co-workers to build up the courage, but the tattered remains of his faith told him that he was, at last, on the right track.

There was the soft scraping noise as the divider slid back and a warm voice greeted him. "Good afternoon, my son."

Logan closed his eyes and tried to force his heart to calm. "Good afternoon. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been....a lifetime, since my last confession."

Logan walked slowly down the aisle of the church, thinking over what the Priest had told him. That redemption was possible for all who sought it, but only if the seeker truly repented of their past.

But was it really possible to wipe out a lifetime of sins? He shook his head as he stepped out of the sanctuary and started towards the parking lot, head hunched and hands in his jacket pockets to ward off the sudden cold snap.

At least he was free of his obligations. It hardly seemed likely that NextWorld would ever try and bring him back into the fold, considering there didn't seem to be a NextWorld left. Everyone he'd known was either dead or wanted by the FBI, along with the surviving Squibbs and Orphies.

Of course, he was on the wanted list as well - at least, Logan Murphy, his cover, was. Be interesting to see what happened when the Yanks matched that against the Interpol database and came up with the outstanding warrant from Brazil.

The thought of returning to the hellhole of a prison he'd been in for two months sent a shudder through him. He had no intention of going back there, even if it meant he had to get himself killed first.

He quickly scolded himself for the thought. It was hardly conclusive to redemption, after all.

He snorted at his own internal monologue and looked up in time to see the church bus pulling out of the parking lot.

You think you've got problems... He forced that idea from his head. Yeah, they do, boy. Just like you do. And you know what the difference is? You brought your problems down on yuirself. They're just caught in the crossfire. Innocents.

Another movement caught his eye, and he saw two more people walking through the lot towards a Ducati motorcycle.

One of the people was the leggy brunette he'd been trying to place, and his estimation of her rose as she reached the bike and pulled on a helmet. The other one looked like a young man, not much more than a kid, and his 'spidey sense' told him the kid was a ghost.

There was something familiar about the spirit, as well, though, and Logan took a few steps towards them before stopping dead in his tracks.

Logan raised his hand and started to call out before he caught himself. The boy would have no idea who he was - their father had seen to that, and the last thing he needed to do was add to the kid's problems. Logan himself had only ever seen his brother while skimming, since Sean had forbidden him to come anywhere near their house.

He turned away before either of the two saw him and hurried back over to his Lexus. He slid inside and started the engine before sitting back with trembling hands.

He'd just seen his brother's ghost - the brother he'd failed by not being there when Colin had needed him. Instead, he'd been rotting in a Brazilian prison cell. He'd returned to the States, battered and wounded, in time to attend his father's and brother's funerals, but not in time to exact his vengeance on the man who was ultimately responsible for both of their deaths.

He'd sworn to find Colin's murderer, the Yakuza agent named Ako Hariien, but his contract with NextWorld had forbidden outside projecting until his retirement a few weeks ago. Still, if his brother still...existed, Logan had to talk to him. Somehow, he had to find a way to make up for his failings.

Logan watched as Colin put a hand on the woman's shoulder and effortlessly merged with her form. He shook his head in amazement and slowly pulled the car out of the parking lot, making the same right turn for the interstate that the woman had taken.

He didn't know what it was that pressed him on, forcing him to pursue this insane course of action. He should be going the other way, putting distance between himself and his brother, but the desire to see Colin and the chance to actually talk to him was too great.

As the traffic thinned out, however, he realized that it was only a matter of time before one or both of the riders would realize they were being followed.

His thoughts were interrupted as the motorcycle suddenly swerved to the right and the remains of a flat tire came flying at him, smashing into the windshield and sending it crackling in a massive spiderweb pattern.

He swerved to try and shake loose the tread remains now plastered to the remains of his windshield and managed to clear it. The cracks in the windshield made visibility more difficult, but not impossible, and he slowed down to put some room between himself and the Ducati.

There was no warning swerve of the bike this time. A piece of debris from the side of the road lifted and shot straight for his car.

Logan tried to swerve, but he was a second too late, and this time the dead tire smashed into the undercarriage.

He felt the steering rack shudder in his hand and tried desperately to maintain control of the car. He slammed the engine back into second gear to try and slow the vehicle down, but it was too little too late, and the Lexus swerved off the side of the road and into the median.

The car plowed into the embankment, sending up a shower of dirt, wildflowers, and steam, and he cursed virulently in gaelic as he slammed forward into the airbag.

Muttering to himself, he pulled out the prepaid cell and dialed a number from memory.

"Dúnta, boy, doing well! How you doin'? We heard you retired - say it ain't so", Tony replied.

"Afraid it is so, Tony. Took me cut and walked, and given recent events, I'm glad for it."

"Actually, I wanted tae see if any o' yuir boys were out by Flowery Branch. Some semi had a tire blow, and the damn thing tore up me car. "

"Ouch", Tony replied with feeling. "Lemme see...yeah, Scott is up that way. Where you at?"

"Oh, no problem. Scott will be there in 15 minutes. If he's not, you tell me and I'll kick his ass."

Don't even think about telling him you owe him one, the warning voice in his head shouted.

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Last Updated: January 28, 2004 by Blake Sorensen

22 December, 2003