>> “No, honey. You did very well. Listen, I would like very much for you to work with a sketch artist. If I can put a face to his man, it will give us an even better chance for us to catch him. But I don’t want to make you if you’re not up to it, okay? Won’t be right this minute, but maybe tonight so I can get word out about how dangerous this man is as soon as possible. How do you feel about that?”

"I'm up to it," Gina said, without a pause or a quiver in her tone. Gina drew her knees to her stomach and leaned against them, still clinging to the garbage can as she reflected on the man's face... the man's human face... again. She'd do anything to stop him, anything to help catch him. Gina could feel her stomach churning, but she couldn't fathom not meeting with the sketch artist. Think of all the people she could help if they had a face to look for... all the people that they'd save by tossing them behind bars.

"I'm up to it," Gina reiterated, having given it more thought. Emerald departed and returned rather quickly, bearing the drink that she so desired. Ah, a Sprite-- praise the living lord. Emerald cracked the bottle open, and then passed it to Gina.

>> "Here you go, fresh from the machine and don't worry about paying me back for it."

"Thanks Em," Gina said with a faint smile. She'd sneak the werewolf some cash when she wasn't paying attention. Tuck a dollar and a few quarters in a bag of hers, or something. Gina took a swig and relished the feeling of the carbonation trickling down her throat. She sighed after the first gulp, then took another, smaller swig.

"Could I... maybe have a phone number?" Gina inquired, "I mean, I know there's 9-1-1 and everything but. Could I have a number at which I could reach you specifically?" Not like Gina planned on having anything else happen, she just needed the reassurance of having such a number at-hand. And what if she remembered something else really important, something that she had to tell Detective Cervantes?

"It'd make me feel safer," Gina added on lamely.

>> "I'm up to it… I'm up to it,"[/color]

Jorge nodded. He would call the precinct and set up to have a sketch artist come by this evening. That should give Gina enough time to get her strength back up after this interview and to inform her parents or whichever other family that she had present here at the hospital.

The idea of having at least a composite sketch of this man to circulate quickened his blood just a little bit. After the incident with Andrea, Jorge had wanted nothing more than to capture this bastard and lock him up until the sun refused to shine anymore. Unfortunately because of lack of witnesses, clear ideas of what he looked like, and his ability to just vanish as if he had never existed, was frustrating. But really, how hard was it to capture an over 6 foot tall, muscular man, sporting long hair and wicked tattoos?

…why did that description sound so familiar?

>> "Here you go, fresh from the machine and don't worry about paying me back for it.”

>> "Thanks Em,"

He blinked back to reality as he watched Emerald return, sporting a soda from the vending machine. The look of bliss on Gina’s face the second that she took a sip made the good detective grin. He was glad that she was at least doing well enough to get pleasure out of something. This was not an easy thing to go through. But she seemed resilient enough, he was glad for that.

The detective then began to close his notepad. It was probably better that he got going anyways. Gina was well, she gave him everything she could, now was a time for her to rest. But just as Jorge was putting his notepad away, Gina caught his attention.

>> "Could I... maybe have a phone number? I mean, I know there's 9-1-1 and everything but. Could I have a number at which I could reach you specifically? It'd make me feel safer,”[/color]

He smiled warmly.

“I was just about to do that,” he said with a comforting nod.

He understood the need to keep in touch with those he came across. Many times he never heard back from the people that he handed his card to. But he felt better knowing that if people needed to, they could contact him at any time. After placing his notepad in, Jorge shifted to another pocket and pulled out a small contact card, the size of a business card. He handed it out for Gina to take.

“That has as both my direct line at the precinct, and my cell phone number,” he explained. “You can call me any time, day or night. I’m always available, okay?” He stood up as he glanced back to the door. “I’m going to call one of my boys from the precinct to watch over that door, okay? I know you have Emerald here and your family, but it will make me feel like I’m at least doing my job if I offer you a guard. Okay?”

Emerald watched as Gina drank the Spirte up, glad that the girl could at least drink something after all the crap she had gone trhough. She was a little concerned she was going to hurl it all back up again but it looked like she was keeping it down alright so that was good at least.

The phone number for Gina was asked and Emerald nodded a little, to it, aboout to fish the Dectectives old card out of her jackets inner pocket when he gave Gina one. At least this one wasn't as ripped up as Emerald's was so it probably would have been easier to read anyways.

For some reason Emerald had always been really good at memorizing phone numbers so she never understood why she kept the dectectives card in her jacket. Maybe to give to someone in the future perhaps?

Once the talk about the body guards occured though, Emerald figured she should add her ten cents in there considering her line of work now. That and she just plain wanted ot make sure this sort of thing didn't happen to Gina under her watch. She was glad though that she was mentioned as a good guard by the Dectective, surprisingly that gave her quite a confidence boost.

"Yeah, I'm usually patrol around the outside of the mansion for Territory reasons, wolf thing don't ask, I can be your guard whenever you need me to be there, just don't use a dog whistle or I'll be deaf for like a week." Emerald told Gina, that playful pup like smile on her face. Her tone though was a little more serious, she meant every word she said about guarding Gina. If she could do it for her family she could do it for her friends.

>> “I was just about to do that... That has as both my direct line at the precinct, and my cell phone number. You can call me any time, day or night. I’m always available, okay?”

Gina took the card lightly into her gasp, surveying it while the detective spoke. She'd keep this in a safe spot up until the point in time in which she got her cell phone back. Gina murmured a thank you, and with a minor soreness in her motions, slid the card onto her bedside table.

>> “I’m going to call one of my boys from the precinct to watch over that door, okay? I know you have Emerald here and your family, but it will make me feel like I’m at least doing my job if I offer you a guard. Okay?”

"Yeah, that's fine," Gina agreed. In some respects, the idea of having a guard made her feel safer, yet it also brough a note of insecurity. As in, if one were so pent on getting to her that she needed a bodyguard, would a bodyguard be enough, or would the determination to get to her be so great eradicate the bodyguard's purpose completely?

Emerald chimed in about how she was good at the whole "guardian" role because she frequenly patrolled the perimeter of Xavier's, and she'd be more than willing to guard Gina while at Xavier's. Gina smiled faintly at the sentiment, but to think that she wouldn't be safe at Xavier's, at her second home, made a knot twist in her stomach. She smiled back, but said nothing. Only took a swig of the lemon-lime soda.

After a brief conversation, the detective dismissed himself, wished her the best, and reiterated taht if Gina needed to call him, that she should do so by all means. The hours following drifted into a lull, of Emerald coming and going, and humming about the room like a protective, redheaded bumblebee. Pamela and Maxwell returned later-on, this time without Agnes, giving Emerald time to take a break.

The sketch-artist came later in the evening, and got a decent sketch of perpetrator. It was warped by hazy memories and time, but the gist of the murderers appearance was there-- grim, heavyset features, dark hair, and an overall immensity in form.

The day trickled into another, and the day stretched into a week of comings and goings, over which Gina's dehydration and bloodloss was mended, and her miraculous recovery was regarded as nothing short of that-- a miracle. Days seemed to be a melt of medical tests and observations, punctuated by brief visits from friends and family. Nearly two weeks following the attack, Gina was released from the care of the hospital.

Pamela drove her daughter back to Xavier's, and a tearful farewell was exchanged among the relatives. Pamela reminded them of their bargain, told Gina to call if she needed anything, and to talk with the counselor. Maxwell reiterated this, told his sister to stay safe and keep up in her studies. They then left for the airport, to return home.

Now on her own once again, Gina wandered up the steps of Xavier's, towards the grand entry. There was a twinge in her shoulder but a relief in her heart. She was home, she was safe, the nightmare was over-- the gargoyle child pushed open the door, and the familiarity of Xavier's foyer embraced her.

Gina surveyed her surroundings, put-off by the normalcy. Fellow students, mulling about the whole, locked in low conversation... while younger classmates were chasing each other about rowdily and laughing. It was the typical chaos of a mutant school. In what had been the most traumatic night of her life, and the tensest few weeks following, life had still carried on as it usually had. Everyone was still just as carefree and unaware as ever, and Gina couldn't help but feel slightly detached from that feeling.

How long would it take for her to readjust? To rise up from her past horror and keep on keeping-on? While Gina' optimistic side proclaimed that with time, she'd return to normal, a secret side of her wondered if she'd ever forget. Was it all, truly finished with, or was it only the beginning? A singular, unfortunate occurrence, or one of many yet to come? Only time would tell. With that nagging, persistent wisp settled into her subconscious, Gina went upstairs, to her room, and flopped onto her bed. For now, she would relish the normalcy, and take each day as it came.

the end.