THE CRAVING:

Chapter 8

"Revisiting"

"They're dying!" Malone exclaimed as his hands, arms and body crossed from Marguerite then to Roxton,
helping to hold the man and woman down as both lay before them on the grass, convulsing wildly during the
worst part of their ordeal.

"No, they're purging." Challenger assured, checking a suddenly quieted Marguerite's pulse and pupils.
"Now we can only wait." he added, looking over at a concerned Veronica. She was gently stroking back a
bit of Roxton's dark hair, wiping his sweaty forehead with a cloth. Roxton too had finally stilled but looked
as drained and wan as Marguerite.

"Will they make it? Can they survive this?" Malone questioned with worry, glancing from one then the
other of his unconscious friends.

"Roxton has already survived it once. He's strong. And Marguerite ..." Challenger's fingers gently
pressed her left cheek. Already he could feel her skin cooling. "... is not to be under-estimated." he
assured himself as well as his companions, "They'll both need time to recuperate, however."

They had taken the belladonna mixture a half hour before, staring at one another as they swallowed. It
didn't need to be stated but Roxton's expression bellied his fear. They were contaminating themselves. He
was watching the woman he loved take poison, hoping to eradicate the savage evil which was manifesting
inside of her, and he could do nothing to stop it. As a matter of fact he was mirroring her actions. This was
absurd. But no, it wasn't. But yes, it was ... A last shred of self preservation twisted through Roxton's brain.
He knew what it was he was giving up and it caused him to step forward when he saw the first signs of pain
in Marguerite. He could still stop this, take her away, and they could live together under the stars, in the
wild, and be happy. They didn't have to answer to Calista or even their treehouse friends. They were self-
contained and could go on their own and do what they wanted ...

But no. That wasn't entirely true. Marguerite had been right. They would slowly lose all reason. One day
they would forfeit control and do something irrevocably horrible, to each other or to other plateau dwellers,
and both be damned - in this world and the next - forever. Marguerite. He could not be responsible for her
descent. Not like this. Then, as the poison began to grip him; as he slowly sank to his knees and saw
Marguerite reclined on the ground, Challenger fussing over her like some befuddled witch doctor, Roxton
closed his eyes. With Malone and Veronica's help, he lay beside her. Roxton hurt and could barely feel air
enter into his lungs but he was made aware of something significant before he passed out.

A hand had reached for his own and he seized it like a drowning man grasping a life preserver. Even like
this, near death, he craved her touch. He turned his head in her direction and saw Marguerite's half opened
eyes looking into his. She whispered his name before falling unconscious.

'I can die now and be complete.' he thought in his delirium. Or he could live, be with Marguerite and his
plateau family, and experience the reality of a full life again. Roxton had always enjoyed a challenge ... and
to be with Marguerite ... and respect the living and ...

Two hours later, awake but frail, Roxton and Marguerite sat up beside one another and looked around the
rain forest as if experiencing the world for the first time. Their senses were dulled, from more than the
belladonna they had ingested, and both felt deprivation.

Marguerite, more than before, understood why Roxton - the first time he had been infected - felt loss after
she and Challenger had cured him. Conflict, the moment she had awakened, fell heavily on Marguerite's
mind. She could only think about her complicated past and so many things that needed to be taken care of
when they all eventually returned to England. While at the palace and infected she hadn't thought of these
things at all. They didn't matter ... and *Roxton*. She looked at him. After having been with him, revealing
so many hidden secrets, showing herself as the true killer she was, could he ever look at her the same way
again? 'Do I want him to?' she unexpectedly thought but looked away, embarrassed, when he tried to meet
her eyes.

"Let's go home." Veronica told the quiet twosome as she kicked out their fire.

"No, not yet." Roxton straightened his shoulders as he weakly stood. His leg was slightly stiff from the
knife wound but, for the most part, it was not too painful. He had managed to marginally heal before he and
Marguerite's cure. Tottering slightly, Roxton took Malone's rifle from where it rested next to a tree. "I
have to go back. Calista and the others will only continue to ambush and kill if I don't stop her."

"Roxton ..." Challenger began.

Marguerite, now also on her feet, stepped forward. "I have to go with you." she stated firmly, despite her
physical fragility and ashen skin. She could tell he was ready to argue with her even before the words were
uttered.

"This is crazy!" Malone lifted his hands to express frustration, "We just brought you back from that hell
and now you both want to go back!? Calista *does* have to be stopped but neither of you are in any
condition to fight her."

Roxton stared down at Marguerite, ignoring Malone. "Me." he said, "Only me. It's my fault. It's my
fight."

"I've got to go too, John." She spoke gently, "I have to ..." Marguerite looked down at herself, at the
tattered robe and nightdress, at the dried blood and grass stains, "... see to unfinished business and," she
paused briefly, a fragment of misery and honesty registering in her eyes, "I left something at the palace
that I must get back."

Yes, the heart-shaped pendant Marguerite had tried so hard to dismiss while infected. Roxton knew,
despite what she said in front of Calista, that prized piece of jewelry was the one thing in Marguerite's
complicated life she could never give up. It was her parents and the mystery that was Marguerite Krux's
past. Who better than he, the person who was probably closest to Marguerite, to understand the woman's
needed to retrieve an absent piece of herself.

Roxton had taken more than his beloved's blood the night she was changed and he would be forever sorry
for his egoism. In essence, like himself, Marguerite had to witness that world of which she had participated
in drawn to its inevitable conclusion. If not, she wouldn't be able to go on with her life. It was enigmatic and
deeply personal. He accepted her need and nodded. Roxton then looked to his other companions: "You
*have* to go back to the treehouse. It's not safe for you here. Marguerite and I ... We need to do
something you can't understand. And we have to do it alone."

"That's ridiculous, Roxton." Veronica sighed, "You're both so weak. You'll be killed if Calista and her
followers find you."

"No, we won't." Marguerite looked off a bit into the distance, "Don't ask me how I know. I can't explain it
to you in a manner that would make sense. But I know Roxton and I will not die here, in these woods, or in
that palace. And if we're successful, and do what we must tonight, no one else will ever be harmed by their
kind again." Then Marguerite looked directly at Veronica, "But we have to do it alone. He's right. You
*must* go home."

"Do this for us." Roxton urged, "*Please*. Give us your word."

Malone looked at Challenger, uncertain. Were these the ravings of delirium or should they respect their
friends wishes?

Unhappy, Challenger sighed. "We will give you two days to do what you must." he relented but did not look
at all comfortable, "If you're not back in that amount of time, we're coming after you. No arguments."

"Even if it kills us." Veronica added, also unsmiling.

As with Marguerite, Roxton was about to argue but then thought better of it. How could he ask any more
from his friends when he himself would be hard pressed to yield as little as they had? It was tough enough
for them to agree to what he'd already put forth. "All right," Roxton said, "but we're going to be fine."

"Really." Marguerite encouraged, appearing nervous but firm.

The friends reluctantly shook hands and kissed good-bye then Roxton draped an arm around Marguerite's
shoulders as they watched their companions disappear into the greenery on their way home, to safety.

"I hope they don't do something stupid like follow us." With a small sigh, Marguerite looked up at Roxton
and blinked at his gentle smile.

He pulled Malone's rifle to his back, the strap holding tight across his chest. "I've missed you." Roxton
said in reply to her comment, an utterance so like Marguerite in so many ways.

She returned his smile and they walked. After a few minutes Marguerite asked: "We *are* going to try
and kill them, aren't we?" At his nod she then said, "It will be little compensation for Assai but at least
she'll know the evil that was responsible for Jarl's death will never come back for his and her children."

"Children?" Roxton asked, knowing the native girl and her spouse had only a daughter.

"Assai's pregnant. The night we gathered for dinner she told Veronica and myself her secret. She was
going to surprise Jarl with the news when he returned." Marguerite's voice grew low as she considered
recent events. "I can't think of anything sadder than children growing up without their father and mother."
she whispered, drawing on personal experience.

Roxton, falling easily into step beside Marguerite could almost breath easy. 'And maybe one day you and I
will know what it is to have a family.' he thought but decided to change the mood with a mild switch of
subject, "You've read my mind, Marguerite. You must still be under the influence a bit."

She glanced at the tall hunter from the corner of her eye, "I was always able to second guess you, Lord
Roxton, even before I became a blood sucker." Marguerite replied, with a fraction of a chuckle. She
leaned gently into his affectionate clasp as they continued their journey.

***

Debilitated, it took Roxton and Marguerite much longer to return to the palace than anticipated. However,
when they finally reached their destination both were disappointed.

There was no sign of Calista.

They searched, Roxton with his rifle and Marguerite with the dagger the hunter had given to her, for well
over an hour but found no one. Calista and her servants were either hiding well within the palace, in the
jungle stalking their escaped house guests, or had disappeared into thin air.

"They have to show sometime." Roxton said, "Shall we sit back and wait?"

"I'm not as patient as you." Marguerite barked, becoming more and more angry as time passed. She had
killed Calista once and, by God, this time the tart was going to stay dead and away from Lord Roxton! "I
know what will get their attention." Clasping the heart-shaped pendant to her chest, after having retrieved
it and donning a simple but elegant black dress from she and Roxton's room, Marguerite walked over to a
wall sconce with an already lit candle. She pulled off its hood and applied the flame to the foyer's red silk
drapes.

"Marguerite! Are you ...?" Roxton started then his voice drifted off. She had a point. Setting the palace on
fire would most certainly catch the attention of Calista and her followers.

Marguerite backed off and watched as the flames climbed, igniting the foyer wall, and licking the ceiling.
"Let's go." she said to Roxton and walked to the front door.

He nodded and followed Marguerite somewhat sadly. He recalled his fondness for the palace and wished
there was another way. Roxton then paused very briefly when his eyes took in something on the table near
the door where they were preparing to exit. His hand moved forward and, nearly shaking, he lifted it
carefully. "My friend ..." he whispered and gently put the hat on his head. Yes, he had missed it too.

Outside, the couple waited all night, until the palace had completely burned to the ground, but still there
was no Calista, Finzure or Annay. Marguerite and Roxton sat together in the grass, looking up at the
moon, watching sparks fly, feeling strangely lonely, but also bizarrely happy. They could gaze at one
another again with eyes that were of their true, natural colors and they could feel an affection and love that
was not madly amplified by infliction. But, even in that, they both felt loss although neither would ever
admit it.

Behind them wolves bayed at the full moon.

Later, when the embers had cooled slightly, they searched through the palace ruins and discovered three
skeletons. They had hidden in the basement when the flames and smoke became too much.

"I can't believe we missed them." Roxton murmured, staring at the charred bones.

Marguerite shivered and grasped Roxton's hand, "Let's go home." she said, pulling him away from the
scene.

Yes, home to the treehouse. It had never sounded so good.

****

They had expected a welcoming committee upon their return but as Marguerite and Roxton entered the
elevator, slowly allowing the device to heave the weary couple to the top, into their home, they could
understand. Their three friends were angry with them and would probably give them both the cold shoulder
for awhile. They had always fought as a unit and when Roxton and Marguerite pushed them away it must
have been hurtful.

"They'll cool off after a awhile." Marguerite assured.

"You always do." Roxton replied.

She playfully smacked him across the arm as the elevator halted.

"Hey, we're home!" Roxton called, lifting Malone's rifle to place it in their living area gun rack.

All was quiet.

Puzzled, Marguerite walked further into the treehouse, "Did you hear us ...?" she began then stopped,
gasping in horror, a strangled cry erupting from her parted lips. Roxton was by her side immediately,
looking to where Marguerite's horrified eyes were focused.

Challenger, laying on the floor, half hidden by the living area sofa was dead. His wide blue orbs stared up at
them, his complexion chalky-white, blood oozing from his neck and a stab wound in his chest.

"No!" Roxton shouted, collapsing to his knees beside the man he swore to follow to hell and back.

"Veronica! Ned!" Marguerite cried. She ran down stairs, to the lab, and found the horribly gutted jungle
girl. Veronica had fought valiantly. Torn books, busted test tubes and an array of items only Challenger
could catalogue lay about her. But, in the end, she had been subdued and murdered. Her arms lay splayed
by her sides and bruises marred her usually flawless throat. She had been strangled -- then fed upon. "No.
No. No." Marguerite whimpered, backing away. "Oh, my God!"

"Marguerite!"

She ran upstairs and saw Roxton leaning over yet another body. Ned Malone lay on the floor by his desk,
near his precious journals, his neck twisted at an odd angle and - again - there was blood taken from him.

Dead. They were all dead ...

"And to think, my love, you could have had everything ..." a voice crooned from up above. Calista, with
Finzure and Annay by her side, looked down upon the man and woman from the third floor, leaning over the
wooden railing.

Panic stricken and unthinking with heartbreak, Marguerite ran for the rifle Roxton had just placed in the
rack. Annay jumped over the railing to land directly in front of her. Marguerite attempted to strike out but
the girl, with no qualm, slammed the woman once in the face and watched her former mistress fall to the
floor.

Roxton moved forward but he never had a chance to intervene. Finzure had him from behind, holding him in
a vice-like grip as Calista walked casually down the stairs.

"Annay ..." Marguerite spoke gently, lifting fingers to touch her bloodied nose, and she spoke in her most
persuasive voice. "I was your friend. You don't want to do this. You don't want to ..."

"And there is where you're wrong, m'lady." Annay whispered, straddling Marguerite now, holding her arms
to the floor, looming close to her throat, "I liked you too. You were kind to me ... and I really *do* want to
kill you ..."

Roxton heard the snap of Marguerite's neck, "God, no!"

While he and his beloved were at the palace, thinking those skeletons were of Calista and the others, the
true fiends were on their way to the treehouse. The dead Roxton and Marguerite had seen were sacrifices.
They were the unfortunate victims brought to Calista by her servants, innocent souls that had been locked
into the basement, either alive or dead, but never given a chance once the fire engulfed the palace. He and
Marguerite had been played for fools.

"Marguerite!" Roxton bellowed, anguished.

"She's gone, My love." Calista whispered, "I truly hated to do this to you but you gave me little choice. It
was either Marguerite or me and it wasn't going to be me."

As Annay fed, Marguerite's head fell to the side, her dead gray eyes wide with terror and shock.

"No!" Roxton cried once again, manic grief over-coming him. He pulled from Finzure's grip and threw
himself beside Marguerite, roughly pushing Annay away. He took his beloved in his arms, holding the lax
body to him, openly crying. It had been his fault. If he hadn't come back to the treehouse, if he hadn't taken
Marguerite away in the first place, she - all of them - would still be alive. "Forgive me ... Marguerite .. Oh
God ..."

"My poor, poor darling." Calista stood behind Roxton then bent over slightly to whisper in his ear, "Just
think of all you had. Servants. Fortune. Power... and *me* but you chose to belittle yourself, to live with
common, mortal beings. Now you will exist forever in agony, knowing it was you and your misguided love
for this piece of baggage ..." Calista sat beside him on the floor now, her gaze on Marguerite. "... that
killed them all. They're dead, Lord Roxton. Every one of your friends are dead and gone! You have no
where to go but to me!"

"Kill me." he whispered, his eyes focused straight ahead as he rocked Marguerite. "Just kill me."

"Oh no ..." Calista crooned, a hand lifting to massage the shoulder closest to her. She pulled the hat from
Roxton's head and tossed it behind them. She frowned when he made no move. He wasn't even
acknowledging her existence. Angered by his rejection, Calista forcibly turned Roxton's head so that he
could only look at her. "I would never do that, my dearest-darling. You will never die. I will see to it
personally." Her smile was evil as she motioned Finzure to pull Marguerite away from Roxton's grasp.

He did. Marguerite's body lay, on her back, only a foot or two in front of Roxton and Calista.

"You will remain alive as punishment for all you have done to me -- and I will delight as I watch you bury
your friends, mourn their passing, and live here where they lived and died ..." Her bright blue eyes took in
the treehouse, "Our new home, here in the wilds of the plateau. I will remind you every day of your loss
and the greatest love of your life, the future you and she will never have ... and you will suffer as no man
ever has ever suffered before!"

"No!" Roxton pushed Calista away from him and reached forward into the folds of Marguerite's gown. It
was there. The dagger. "I love you Marguerite." Roxton murmured his relief, what he considered his
beloved's final precious gift, as he brought it up to his own throat and slashed himself from ear to ear.

"NO!" Calista cried her fury.

"I beat you ..." his voice gurgled as Roxton fell forward onto all fours " ... you bitch.". He smiled now, the
blood running freely from his throat, splattering the floor, the front of his shirt and vest. With an agonized
but incredibly cleansing breath he pitched forward onto his chest. The last thing Roxton saw before he died
was Marguerite's strong yet delicate hand as it lay beside her. "Marguerite." Roxton whispered, smiling,
reaching for it.

Then there was blackness.

****

Lord John Roxton awakened with a strangled cry and sat up in bed, looking around his bedroom. A sheen
of sweat had broken out on his face and chest. His white sleeping shirt clung to him. "What the hell ...?" he
whispered, confused.

"John?" came a groggy call beside him.

He looked out the window from where he sat. The moon was full tonight.

"Are you all right?" She asked, sitting up beside him, yawning.

Roxton looked at Marguerite, dazed. She was clad in the blue nightgown, her hair long and free about her
shoulders. And she was alive. "Are the others okay?" he asked, uncertain.

"The others? They're asleep, John. As we should all be. It's three o'clock in the bloody morning."
Marguerite's brow furrowed. She suddenly realized Roxton was shaking. "John? Are you okay?" she
whispered with concern.

"Yes. A bad dream." he murmured, looking about their bedroom.

Still groggy but allowing for humor, Marguerite replied. "Glad to see I still inspire nightmares after all
these years." and she smiled in the semi-dark.

He and Marguerite had been married for four years, a ceremony officiated by a Zanga priest. Jarl and
Assai had arranged it.

Sensing his fear and confusion, Marguerite gently took Roxton's jaw in her hand and turned him so he
would look into her eyes, "Really, are you all right?"

"It was so real, Marguerite. We were living in the past and I became seduced by evil ..."

"Watch it, Roxton."

"I don't mean you." he assured with a short chuckle. Then: "It was Calsita ..."

Marguerite stiffened, "What would make you think of that terrible creature after all these years?"

"I don't know." he whispered then, noting Marguerite's regard, added - "But it *was* horrible. She wanted
to take everything I loved away. Most especially you."

Marguerite, focusing on what he had said, smiled gently and reached over to take Roxton's hand, "Not
likely that will ever happen. Now that you have me, John, you will never get rid of me." Gently, she pushed
him back into the bed, "Come on, now. Sleep. We have to get up early and hunt."

"I remember the day you hated hunting with me." Roxton reminded, sleepily.

"Yes," Marguerite snuggled closer to her husband, "and I remember when you thought me nothing more
than a pain in the ass."

Roxton chortled softly at the memory. "Marguerite ..."

"Hm?"

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

"A thousand times, my love." She squeezed his hand, "Sleep well." Marguerite whispered, reaching to
kiss him gently on the chin, "And have a good dream this time."

With a nod Roxton closed his eyes, happy with the feel of her silky head resting against his shoulder.

In the distance, Roxton could hear wolves baying at the moon.

THE END

June 2002

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