Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Pierce weakly nodded.

"Let me hear you say it."

"I understand the consequences."

"Good. Then let's go, Six-Eight."

And Pierce was left alone, gulping for breath and clarity, trying to stay in the light when he sensed darkness closing in all around.

Pierce grabbed a T-shirt out of a box in the bedroom and held it to his face, trying to stop the bleeding. He straightened up and went into the bathroom and saw himself in the mirror. His face was already ballooning and turning color. The swelling of his nose was crowding his vision and widening the wounds on his nose and around his left eye. Most of the bleeding seemed to be internal, a steady stream of thick blood going down the back of his throat. He knew he had to get to a hospital but he had to warn Lucy LaPorte first.

He found the phone on the living room floor. He tried to go to the caller ID directory but the screen remained blank. He tried the on button but couldn't get a dial tone. The phone was broken -either by the impact with his face or when Wentz had thrown it to the floor.

Holding the shirt to his face, involuntary tears streaming out of his eyes, Pierce looked about the apartment for the box holding the earthquake kit he had ordered delivered with the furniture. Monica had showed him a listing of the kit's inventory before ordering it.

He knew it contained a first aid kit, flashlights and batteries, two gallons of water, numerous freeze-dried food items and other supplies. It also contained a basic phone that did not use electric current. It simply needed to be jacked into the wall for it to work.

He found the box in the bedroom closet and dripped blood all over it as he desperately used both hands to rip it open. He lost his balance and almost fell over. He realized he was fading. The loss of blood, the depletion of adrenaline. He finally found the phone and took it to the wall jack next to the bed. He got a dial tone. Now all he needed was Robin's number.

He had it written in a notebook but that was in his backpack down in his car. He didn't think he could make it down there without passing out on the way. He wasn't even sure where his keys were. The last he remembered, they had been in the hands of Billy Wentz.

Leaning against the wall, he first called Information for Venice and tried the name Lucy LaPorte, asking the operator to check under various spellings. But there was no number, unlisted or otherwise.

He then slid down the wall to the floor next to the bed. He began to panic. He had to get to her but couldn't -he thought of something and called the lab. But there was no answer. Sundays were sacrosanct with the lab rats. They worked long hours and usually six days a week. But rarely on Sunday. He tried Charlie Condon's office and home but got machines at both numbers.

He thought about Cody Zeller but knew he never answered his phone. The only way to reach him was by page and then he would be at the mercy of waiting for a callback.

He knew what he had to do. He punched in the number and waited. After four rings Nicole answered.

"It's me. I need your help. Can you go to -"

"Who is this?"

"Me, Henry."

"It doesn't sound like you. What are you -"

"Nicki!" he shouted. "Listen to me. This is an emergency and I need your help. We can talk about everything after. I can explain after."

"Okay," she said in a tone that indicated she wasn't convinced. "What is the emergency?"

"You still have your computer hooked up?"

"Yes, I don't even have a sign on the house yet. I'm not -"

"Okay, good. Go to your computer. Hurry, go!"

He knew she had a DSL line -he had always been paranoid about it. But now it would get them to the site faster.

When she got to the computer she switched to a headset she kept at the desk.

"Okay, I need you to go to a website. It's L.A. dash darlings dot com."

"Are you kidding me? Is this some -"

"Just do it! Or somebody might die!"

"Okay, okay. L.A. dash darlings…"

He waited.

"Okay, I'm there."

He tried to visualize the website on her screen.

"Okay, double click the Escorts folder and go to Blondes."

He waited.

"You got it?"

"I'm going as fast as -okay, now what?"

"Scroll through the thumbnails. Click on the one named Robin."

Again he waited. He realized his breathing was loud, a low whistle coming out of his throat.

"Okay, I've got Robin. Those tits have gotta be fake."

"Just give me the number."

She read off the number and Pierce recognized it. It was the right Robin.

"I'll call you back."

He pressed the plunger on the phone, held it for three seconds, and then let go, getting a new dial tone. He called the number for Robin. He was getting light-headed. What was left of his vision was starting to blur around the edges. After five rings his call went to voice mail.

"Goddamnit!"

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't send the police to her. He didn't even know where her real home was. The message signal beeped after her greeting. As he spoke, his tongue started to feel too big for his mouth.

"Lucy, it's me. It's Henry. Wentz came here. He messed me up and I think he's going to see you next. If you get this message, get out of there. Right now! Just get the hell out of there and call me when you get somewhere safe."

He added his number to the message and hung up.

He held the bloody shirt back up to his face and leaned against the wall. The flow of adrenaline and endorphins that had flooded his system during the attack from Wentz was ebbing and the deep throb of pain was settling in like winter. It was penetrating his whole body. It seemed as though every muscle and joint ached. His face felt like a neon sign pulsing with rhythmic bursts of searing fire. He didn't feel like moving anymore. He just wanted to pass out and wake up when he was healed and everything was better.

Without moving anything but his arm, he raised the phone off its cradle again and brought it up so he could see the keypad. He thumbed the redial button and waited. The call rang through to Lucy's voice mail again. He wanted to curse out loud but now it would hurt his face to move his mouth. He blindly felt around for the phone cradle and hung up the phone.

It rang while his hand was still on it and he raised it back to his ear.

" 'Lo?"

"It's Nicki. Can you talk? Is everything all right?"

"No."

"Should I call back?"

"No, I me ehry'ing's nah all ri."

"What's wrong? Why are you talking funny? Why did you need the number of that woman?"

Despite his pain and fear and everything else, he found himself angry at the way she said

"that woman."

"Lohn story and I cah… I…"

He felt himself fading out but as he started to roll off the wall to the floor, the angle of his body sent jabbing pain through his chest and he groaned from somewhere deep inside.

"Henry! Are you hurt! Henry! Can you hear me?"

Pierce slid his hips down along the rug until he could lie flat on his back. Somehow an instinctive warning came through. He knew he might drown in his own blood if he stayed in his current position. Thoughts of rock stars drowning in their own vomit passed through his mind. He had dropped the phone and it was on the carpet next to his head. In his right ear he could hear the tinny sound of a far-off voice calling his name. He thought he recognized the voice and it made him smile. He thought of Jimi Hendrix drowning in his own puke and decided he'd rather drown in his own blood. He tried to sing, his voice a wet whisper.

" 'Suze me why I iss the sy…"

He couldn't make k sounds for some reason. That was strange. But soon it didn't matter.