“Stop!!!  Don’t move!!”.  A voice, rough and strong, ripped through the air.  Heather looked over Castor’s shoulder to see Archer at the end of the hallway, his eyes gleaming with bravado, his face sneering behind a ****ed pistol.  She heard Castor sigh, but didn’t look at him.  He stood motionless at first, then cricked his neck slightly in exasperation.

     “And who the **** are you?”, he asked, his voice terse and tight as a drum, as he glanced over his shoulder.  He was still holding the apple.

     “Don’t ask… and don’t move!!  Drop it, Castor.  Put your hands up.”.

Heather’s heart was a knot of conflicting emotions… relief and concern, grief and resolution.  Instinctively she sidled a little closer to Castor but watched Archer as he stalked across the hallway, his pistol shaking slightly with every step.  His voice, in contrast, was strong.

     “Castor… give it up, man.  Your brother, Pollux?  We’ve got him downstairs.  Just be cool and drop your weapon.”.

     She heard him giggle in her ear, softly at first and then wildly exuberant.  “You’re a rookie, aren’t you?  Oh, little man, you need to go back to school…”

     "Shut up!  Drop your weapon now!!”, Archer screamed, and at that moment Heather realized that things could turn out very badly, very quickly.  Castor opened his mouth to taunt him again, but then looked into her eyes and thought better of it.  Carefully glancing over his shoulder at Archer again, he lowered his voice slightly. 

     “I’m not holding a gun.”.

     "Drop it!  I’m not gonna ask you again, *******!  Do it!”.

     “Sean…”, she heard herself shout, hollow and tinny in her ears, “he’s unarmed…”.

     The elevator doors opened to reveal two men in suits, the amber lights of the cabin reflecting off their pistols as the slunk beside Archer, aiming at both of them.   Turning to face the agents squarely with a bemused smirk, Castor sized them up coolly. 

     “Well… it’s about goddamn time you FBI freaks showed up.  Are you here to rescue the damsel in distress…”, he asked as he nodded in Heather’s direction, “or is this all about me?  Name your poison, bitches.  Oh, and… Sean?”, he said to Archer, whose hands were trembling like a leaf in a windstorm.       “You really should have arrested me on the plane, before we left the island.  If you would’ve done that, then we wouldn’t be in such a tight spot.  Now you’re trying to make me look like a jerk in front of my girlfriend, and I don’t appreciate that.”.  He shouted the last words, spitting them defiantly at the agents as he hurled the apple at their feet. 

     Before Heather could process what was about to happen, Castor grabbed her by the arm and shoved her backwards, through the open door and into the main room.  Shutting it behind them, he pulled her to the side instinctively as the sound of bullets -neatly splintering wood and shattering glass – followed their path.  She ran into the bedroom searching for cover, watching Castor’s shadow cut through the tiny beams of light filtering through the holes of the door, an animal coiled and prime for attack, the flash of gold in his hands winking at her every so often.  As much as she wanted to beat him over the head with a lamp for doing what he did, a part of her was strangely touched by his need for her, his need to keep her with him as long as possible, even if it meant putting himself in danger.  It suddenly dawned on her that she wasn’t afraid for her own life… somehow she knew that Castor, despite his twisted, wicked intentions, would protect her even as he held her captive. 

     Seconds of silence ticked by, melting into minutes, and her mind reeled wildly with every possible scenario… they could still be outside, or they could have went back downstairs, although that wasn’t likely.  They wouldn’t give up so easily.  From the far corner of the bedroom, crouched in the shadows, Heather strained to listen and was startled by a soft electronic ringing from the bathroom.  She and Castor heard it at the same time, and he dashed in to retrieve it before she had a chance.  His hushed voice grew calmer and more familiar… he was getting some very good news. 

     “That was brilliant… ****ing brilliant… are they downstairs yet?”.  He paused, still watching the front door from the bedroom, leaning against the doorway with his back to Heather.  Putting the phone back in his pocket with a snorting giggle, he turned to face her, and in the dim moonlight his suit and eyes glowed like cool fire.  “They just left… Baby Brother threw a little surprise party for them downstairs.”.

     “What did he do?”, she asked, her voice hoarse with fear and disbelief.

     “Oh, nothing serious.  A couple of firecrackers in tin cans… just something to distract them for awhile.  Gotta love the basics.”, he mused as he crossed the room to her, holding out a hand to help her up.  “They probably think there’s one hell of a gunfight downstairs.  Hope they won’t be too disappointed.”.  Pulling her to her feet, he embraced her tightly, just as he did when he came back a few minutes ago, but this time he said nothing.

     He peeked through the door, then poked his head out… for a moment, muffled shouts and scuffles could be heard under their feet, but it faded away.    They crept out of the room, and she noticed as he grasped her hand that his guns were holstered.  She wanted to say something, but there was a certain feeling of betrayal that she battled, not just the desire for him – a man who was considered an enemy just a few days ago - to protect her, but the rage that washed over her consciousness as she toyed with the idea that maybe, just maybe, this mission wasn’t about her at all.  Archer and the others had ample opportunity to rescue her, but they didn’t.  Did they want her, or did they want Castor?

     “Can I ask you something?”, she whispered, startled that her voice still carried across the hallway.

     Castor didn’t reply, just kept walking towards the elevator, but more slowly now.

     “Is this a big shakedown, or are they just after you?”, she ventured further. He stopped for a moment and looked at her quizzically. 

     “You don’t know?”.

     “Well… no…. not really.  I wasn’t told much.”, she replied, her voice rising a little.

     He merely shrugged his shoulders and kept on moving.  “****, babe, it could be anything.  I guess I’m just one hell of a popular guy.”.  Approaching the elevator, he tapped on the buttons and waited… it was dead.  “Damnit…”, he muttered.  Without another word, he led her to the staircase and kicked open the door.

     A sharp crack echoed across the walls, a hot blast stunning her and jerking her arm back slightly.  She felt Castor’s hands on her shoulders as she crumpled to the floor, and for a moment, she thought she saw a dark-haired man in a black suit standing at the foot of the stairs, his gun lowering to his side, but her gaze was mostly fixated on Castor’s face, twisted with fear as he hovered over her.  Instinctively, she reached for her arm but felt nothing… ringing?  I hear ringing…she mused, but couldn’t move her lips.  She looked up and saw Castor reach for one of his guns… his hand was a slow, shadowy blur… shoot faster!  Too slow!… his lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear anything… I’m heavy now, I can’t move… she didn’t see the man in the dark suit anymore, he was gone, and now Castor was holding her up again… please help me…please help me.