What is Mine
Stefan Cassadine leaned heavily upon his cane and extended his right hand. “Thank you. I owe you a debt which I cannot begin to repay.” “I would like to believe,” Dimitri Marrick responded, “that if the tables were turned you would have done as much for me.” He stepped back. “You had better go,” he prompted his friend. “This day has been long enough in coming for you.” Dimitri stood by patiently as Stefan made a slow, careful ascent into the non-descript aircraft. He had made remarkable progress since awakening from his coma four months earlier. Just as Stefan so confidently declared those months ago, he had walked out of Dimitri's home far ahead of the physical therapists' estimation. ^^^^^^^^^^ The entire sum of his concentration was fixed upon boarding the simple jet and taking a seat. No one among the flight crew attempted to come to his assistance, for which Stefan was grateful. “You have obviously put in a lot of hard work the past four months.” Stefan looked up in surprise at the unexpected voice. “Most men would still be learning to walk again.” “Most men are not driven by my motivation.” Stefan sank heavily into his seat. The exertion of climbing the plane's steps, coupled with his growing anxiety about the upcoming encounter, had already tired him more than he had anticipated. Both men fell silent while the plane taxied down the runway and eased into the sky. When the pilot had leveled off, Stefan fixed his gaze upon the man seated opposite him. “The dossier you hold contains the results of your investigation into my family's death, I presume?” “Yes.” Adrian Sword made no effort to hand the thick cardboard folder to Stefan. “And no.” The handsome spy reached into the folder and handed his curious companion a glossy 8x10 photo of a smiling family of three. Stefan glanced cursorily at the portrait before turning his eyes back to Adrian. “They named him Robby,” Adrian explained, handing Stefan another glossy photo of just the grinning toddler. He saw the dawning shock spread across Stefan's face. “Yeah. That's your son. He didn't die.” |