Ever After Chapter 2

It was a long walk back to the office, and as Diana walked she felt the tension ease out of her body, and the memories and events that had battered her just a few minutes before started to fade, as if she had just woken up from a dream, and no matter how hard she tried to grasp at those memories to hold on to them, they faded away.

Brian...she thought desperately...remember Brian...I must go to him.

So it was that when Diana returned to her office it was with no memory of the preceding hour, but just one conviction - she must see Brian Harris. There was something she had to do, and when she saw Brian it would come to her.

She went into Norma's office - Norma was a friend, Norma was a romantic, Norma would understand.

''Norma, I need to take a couple of days off. Starting this afternoon. Please.''

Norma looked up at her, surprised. ''Certainly, Diana, certainly. Nothing wrong with Roger, I hope?''

''No, of course not, not at all.'' Diana smiled. ''I just have to go visit...an aunt of mine.'' Suddenly she didn't want to mention that it was Brian she was going to see. Norma would probably think that anyway.

Norma smiled. ''Alright, Diana. Don't worry about a thing. You go off and take care of your business.''

Diana sighed, relieved. ''Thanks, Norma. I'll be back in a couple of days.''

Diana left the office, and Norma's gamine smile faded. Diana was right - Norma did assume Diana was going to see Brian Harris. Norma picked up the phone and dialed long distance - to London, England.

''Mr. Smythe? Norma here. Something happened today. Diana's going to take a couple of days off. She's going to fly to Denver, I'm sure. Where Brian Harris is.''

Norma listened to Smythe for a few seconds, then said, ''Alright,'' and hung up. Immediately she picked up the phone again. When the individual on the other end answered she said, ''Mr. Pat? I have a job for you and Mr. Knee.''

Diana left the building straight from Norma's office, taking the tube, the subway that was to say, back to her flat. The first thing she did was call up the airlines, and make a reservation for the next flight to Denver, leaving in just a couple of hours. Then she called a taxi. She threw a couple of things into a suitcase, closed and locked her door behind her, and was waiting outside for the taxi when it arrived.

She arrived at the airport with an hour to spare. Diana put her suitcase into a storage locker and then began to pace around the airport, to anxious to sit in one place. Besides, she hadn't brought anything to read. Diana paused in front of a newsagents. She may as well get something to read on the trip. Something to occupy her mind. Better than just letting her thoughts run around in her head like mice in a cage.

There was not much of a choice at the newsagents, lots of romance novels with sickeningly sweet covers that made her want to gag. She turned away from the books and found the rack of magazines. She chose several crossword puzzle books and a book of cryptograms - ''Expand your mind with these brain teasers!'' the blurb read. Well, she could certainly do with expanding her mind.

Diana managed to get a window seat, and barely noticed the portly man who sat beside her. He had also, as coincidence would have it, acquired a book of crossword puzzles to do. Diana took her pen and began on page one of the first book of her crossword puzzles. Beside her, Mr. Florrie began on his own crossword book. Minutes passed...Florrie looked sideways at Diana who was working with a pen and going through the crosswords one at a time quickly and efficiently, while he was still working on the first one.

Time passed, and she had finished all of her books. Mr. Florrie handed hers with a rather bemused smile. She accepted it and went to work on the half remaining pages.

Brian Harris entered his dressing room, followed, as usual, by his manager John. He had just completed his final concert in Denver and it had gone much better than the debacle in New York at Lincoln Center. But he was no happier this night than he had been a week ago.

''Do you want to see anyone?'' John asked, as usual. Brian shook his head. ''I'm making an early night of it tonight,'' he said briefly. ''I'm going to my suite. And no - don't send anyone there, either.''

John looked at him curiously, but said, ''Alright, Mr. Harris.''

Brian went into the inner dressing room to shower and change, and then slipped out the back door and past the dozens of people waiting at the stage door. For a few seconds Brian felt a pang of guilt - he hated to disappoint the fans who were waiting for his autograph, and those other fans who were waiting for a bit more - though those fans were the last on his mind, now.

Diana should be with him now, he thought. Why wouldn't she come with him? Diana, she probably thought he went home with a different fan every night. Well, he didn't. He could, but he didn't. And if he liked to tease her with the fact that he could, and it didn't matter to her that he didn't, then that was all parsnips.

By the time he reached his suite Brian Harris was in a slow burn. He didn't know why he felt so angry, he only knew that he did, and that he was angry at Diana. He should go out and get a woman...serve her jolly well right.

Brian meant to head to the door once again. with that object in mind..but instead he found himself seated in front of his piano. That was one of the perks written into all of his contracts - he was always to have a piano in his suite. That was a bit odd, that, Brian thought idly, for the last year he'd always had a piano in his suite and he'd never played on it once. He stared at the keys, alternating black and white, and reached out a hesitant finger to tap them.

He didn't feel like playing Rachmaninoff...he didn't feel like Chopin or Mozart or Brahms...Greensleeves...he'd play Greensleeves...

Greensleeves, you do me wrong

To cast me off, so discourteously,

And I have loved you for so long,

Who but my lady, Greensleeves?

Brian stared at the piano keys...he placed his fingers on the keys...he didn't know how to play Greensleeves.

That was impossible. He must know how to play it...if nothing else he should be able to pick it out by ear...but his hands stayed on the keys...he couldn't do it.

Well, alright then, no Greensleeves. What else could he play? How about something simple...Mary Had A Little Lamb. He straightened his back, arced his palms...and stopped. How did one play Mary Had A Little Lamb?

Brian Harris blinked at the keys. Had he been drinking and not known it? Impossible. Perhaps he'd better have a drink and then try it.

Scotch and soda in hand, Brian returned to the piano. He gulped down half the drink, then attacked the piano...and Mozart's beautiful music rolled off into the night...beautiful...beautiful...alright now, segue into something very, very simple, like...like Piano Man, that piece of Billy Joel's that he so liked, a nice pop piece that made such a change from the classics. He hummed the lyrics:

And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinkin' alone

Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright

But he looked at the keys and for the life of him he had no idea what keys to hit.

How could this be possible? How could he play incredibly difficult pieces from Brahms, Mozart, those chaps, and yet he couldn't play something as simple as Mary Had A Little Lamb?

Brian Harris felt the palms of his hand grow cold and clammy with sweat. What was wrong with him? Had he had a stroke? Brain fever? Brian buried his face in his hands ...Diana, he thought...Diana, I need you. His eyes closed, Diana's lovely, smiling face appeared in front of him, comforting, secure. Brian remained at the piano, hands over his eyes, unmoving.

There came a knock on the door. A familiar knock. 'Shave-and-a-haircut, two bits.'

Brian leapt to his feet, turning over the piano bench in his haste, and jerked open the door. ''Diana.'' She walked into his arms and stood pressed against him, her head buried in his chest. He held her, pressing her to him, feeling the warmth of her body.

''My dear,'' he said, holding her tighter, ''You're trembling.''

''I don't know why,'' she whispered. ''I can't explain it. I needed to see you, Brian.''

''I'm glad you came.''

They stood together for a few more seconds, then Diana pulled away.

She walked further into the room, and Brian closed the door behind her. He turned, and then for some reason pulled a chair in front of the door. Then he went back to Emma and they hugged again. She lifted her face to his and very gently they kissed. Then they sat down on the couch, holding hands.

''Something's wrong, isn't there,'' Brian said at last. ''Something wrong with the two of us. I've sat at that piano for the last couple of hours, trying to play the simplest pieces...and I can't. I can't read music, I can't play by ear...I can play all the classics...but nothing else!

''On the flight here, I went through about ten crossword puzzle books and a book of cryptograms in three hours. In ink. It was incredible. I felt like a genius - I knew everything. And, when I got done with the last page of the last book, I turned it over and drew this.''

She took a piece of paper from her pocket. Brian unfolded it. It was the sketch of a man, wearing a vast eagle's head mask over his face, arms outstretched with claws at the end of them, and the words Ee-urp! resounding above him. It was a comical sketch, but Brian didn't smile at it. He looked at Emma.

''Something's wrong with us,'' he repeated.

They sat, holding hands, staring off into space as they thought.

''Analysis?'' Brian asked at last.

''Takes too long,'' Diana replied. ''Spending twenty years on a couch telling every minute activity to an individual who nods and says 'yes' and 'go on', is not my idea of solving the problem.''

''What then?''

''Hypnosis.''

''Hypnosis! You must be joking.''

''No, Brian, I'm serious.'' She turned to face him. ''We find a reputable hypnotist, of course. One off us stays in the room while the other gets hypnotized. We get sent back...into time or into subconscious, whatever you want to call it, and we find out what's going on!''

They stared into each other's eyes. Brian nodded. ''Okay, Emma. We go first thing tomorrow.'' He brought up her hands to his lips. ''Will you stay here tonight?''

Diana stared at him. She said, not angrily, ''Why did you call me Emma?''

He blinked. ''I...I don't know.''

''Yes, Brian, I will stay here tonight.''

They leaned forward to kiss...when there came a knock on the door.

''I have to see who it is,'' Brian said. ''I'll get rid of them.'' Diana rose as well.

Brian got up and skirted the chair in front of the door to open it. A man filled the frame of the door, and in his hand was a gun. Brian slammed the door with all the speed and reflexes of the hands that could dance over a keyboard and look as if they were merely floating. He turned to glance at Diana, said one-two-three, and opened the door again. The massive man had gotten a running start. He burst through the doorway, his shoulders brushing the jambs on either side, and tripped headlong over the chair in his path. Diana kicked him in the head as he tried to rise and he subsided with a whimper.

''What on earth was all that about?'' Diana demanded.

''I don't know, but I have a hunch we're going to have to find out very soon,'' Brian commented. ''My darling, I hate to disappoint you but I don't think we'd better stay here tonight. I've heard the best hypnotists are in California.''

''They would be. Right, you have a car?''

''Of course not. Limousines and chauffeurs, everywhere I go!''

''Well, call up the limousine service, then. From the lobby, of course. Tell them you need a car, but you've already got a driver.''

''Right.''

Thirty minutes later, the chauffeur who had brought the car round was telling a curious 'fan of Brian Harris,' that Brian Harris had decided to drive back to New York, 'to see an old friend,' as he'd put it. But would be returning the next day, solemn promise. Meanwhile, Brian sat in the front passenger seat of the limousine, with a bottle of champagne filched out of the back, while Diana drove them at top speed towards Los Angeles.

For a long time they drove in silence. Brian sipping his champagne, replaying the image in his head of Diana very coolly and calmly kicking their attacker in the head and rendering him unconscious. He also replayed in his mind his own actions - the placing of the chair in front of the door, his reaction not of surprise but of...well, of what? adrenalin? at the sight of a man with a gun facing him. The slamming of the door, the turning to Diana - what had he expected that dear woman to do, and why had he been so sure she'd be able to do it? But she had, of course, knocked him unconscious as easy as winking.

''Let's play a game,'' Diana said at last.

''A game? While you're driving the car?'' Brian asked facetiously.

''Not that sort of game,'' she glanced at him with a smile. ''Word association. Is there any paper or writing material in the glove box?''

''This limousine is a first class machine from a first class service. They provide my every desire.'' Brian opened the glove box, and removed a squat notebook and a pen. He held it up. ''Voila.'' he flicked past the first few pages, in which the limousine driver had apparently kept track of mileage and petrol purchased, and then sat with pen at the ready.

''Word game. Right.'' he said.

''Any chocolates in that glove box?''

''Under the seat,'' Brian reproached her. He brought out a box of individually wrapped gourmet chocolates, unwrapped one, and popped it into her waiting mouth. She savored it. He helped himself to one as well.

''Word game. Right.'' she said at last. ''I say a word. You write down the first thing that pops into your head.''

''Right.''

''Night.'' said Diana.

''Day,'' replied Brian immediately. He wrote it down.

''Sun.''

''Moon.''

''Emma.''

''Peel.'' Brian hesitated, felt a sickening lurch in the pit of his stomach. ''Emma Peel,'' he said. ''That sounds familiar.''

''Yes, yes it does.''

Diana continued driving. Brian gave her another chocolate.

''Horse.''

''Derby.''

''Piano.''

''Man.''

''Steed.''

''John.''

''John?''

''Steed.'' Brian sat very still, as sweat broke out on his brow and the sickening feeling in his belly reached acute proportions. He curved his arms around his stomach.

Diana was herself not doing to well. She took a deep breath. ''Something's wrong,'' she gritted. ''Something that's not naturally wrong. Not the both of us reacting like this.''

''I've had enough of this game,'' Brian gritted in return. ''At least, not playing it in a moving vehicle.''

''Right. Turn on the radio.''

At four o'clock in the morning, Diana decided that she'd done all she could for one night. Her eyes were burning and each time she thought of the names John Steed or Emma Peel it was like a knife stabbed her in the stomach, yet she couldn't help thinking of them. And she rather thought that Brian was in the same boat, his arms still wrapped around his stomach and his patter noticeably absent.

''I'm going to turn into the next rest area,'' Diana told him, ''We've got to get some sleep.''

''Sounds like a good idea to me.'' Brian agreed.

Ten minutes later a sign loomed up on their left, announcing a rest area. Thank heavens for American efficiency. Diana pulled the limousine, with its opaque windows, up between two parked semi-trailer trucks, their engines throbbing. ''There's room for both of us in the back,'' she commented.

They got out of the front seat, and into the rear seat. It was not a giant-sized limousine, with room for a sauna, but with the seats turned down it was as large as a queen sized bed. The two of them were too exhausted to do anything but fall into each other's arms and sleep.

Diana woke up three hours later, feeling wonderful, her head resting on Brian's chest, his arms wrapped around her. It felt very, very right. She yearned to stay there, in his arms, but they didn't have time to waste.

''Brian,'' she whispered, kissing him gently, ''We have to get going.''

His eyes opened immediately. They gazed at her, and their expression almost made her melt. ''Must we?'' he said huskily.

''We must,'' she said softly.

''Under protest,'' he said, and giving her a squeeze, let her go. This time, he took the wheel, and she the passenger size, and she nibbled on chocolates as he drove.

They drove in companionable silence. Indeed, Brian glanced over to see that Diana was drowsing and he did not disturb her.

''What an awfully big city Los Angeles is,'' Brian told her, several hours later, as they sat in the limousine, parked by a curb in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. Brian had a very thick Yellow Pages on his knee. He paged through it until he found the Aitches, and looked for hypnotism. ''There's a whole page of hypnotists,'' he pointed out to Diana. ''Fancy that.''

''Anyone look promising?''

''How about this chap? He ripped the page out and handed it to her, finger pointing at a name.

''Dr. Robert Hartley. Hypnotism and Help, Guaranteed.'' Diana read. ''He'll do.''

''He's certainly got a very prestigious address,'' Brian murmured, reading it. ''Right on the LA equivalent of Harley Street. We can walk from here, my dear.''

Dr. Robert Hartley was a man of average height, balding, with friendly eyes and a soft voice. He invited Brian and Diana into his office and offered them coffee.

They had already discussed the tactic they would take. Brian explained that he was a concert pianist - Hartley said he'd heard of him which Brian found very gratifying, and perhaps if they delayed the session for an hour they could go find a piano and ...Diana kicked Brian in the ankle and he got back to the point.

''I can't play simple pieces, Doctor.'' he said abruptly. ''Rachmaninoff, Brahms, Mozart, Chopin, yes. Anything else, no. I'm wondering if I have some kind of mental block. I'm wondering if you hypnotize me, will I be able to figure out why that is?''

''Of course, Mr. Harris. Here, sit down on the couch. Miss Smythe, if you'll excuse us?''

'''Oh, no, doctor,'' Brian said quickly. ''She must remain. In fact, I rather think that the only way I'm going to feel comfortable enough to be 'sent under' as you'd say is if she held my hand.''

''Well, certainly. Miss Smythe?''

''I'd be delighted, Doctor,'' Diana said, giving Brian another kick in the ankle.

Dr. Hartley went to his desk, and brought out a large coin suspended from a chain. ''Yes, it's done just like it is in the movies,'' he said ruefully to their looks. ''Now, just bear with me...''

Ten minutes later, Brian Harris was in a hypnotic trance.

''Ask him what his name is?'' whispered Diana.

Dr. Hartley looked at her, startled. ''I beg your pardon?''

''Please, doctor, this is very important. Ask him what his name is.''

Hartley turned to his patient, and said, slowly and clearly, ''What is your name?''

Brian's lips worked, his forehead creased, his blank eyes grew blanker.

''What is your name?''

''John,'' he croaked. ''John Steed.''

Diana's hand went to her mouth.

''John Steed,'' repeated Hartley. ''Why do you call yourself Brian Harris?''

''D...on't know. Don't know.''

''Ask him who is Brian Harris,'' Diana said urgently.

''''Who is Brian Harris?'' Hartley queried obediently.

''Concert pianist. Con..cert pianist...looks...like...me.''

''Who told you?'' Diana demanded urgently. ''Who told you you looked like Brian Harris?'' Robert Hartley repeated this question faintly, looking from one of them to the other and perhaps wishing he had a pair of straight jackets handy.

''Woman...doctor...Dr. Tara King. Told me...looked like Harris. Would be...Harris. Laughed at me...nothing I could do...nothing I could do...'said they'd killed...said they'd killed...'' Suddenly John Steed's eyes looked out of Brian Harris' face, and they filled with tears as they looked at Emma Peel. ''They told me they'd killed you,'' he said huskily, and he went into her arms and wept.

''Will he be himself again, when he wakes up?'' Diana asked Dr. Hartley, wiping away tears of her own as she looked at the sleeping form of the man she knew as Brian Harris, who must really be John Steed.

''Yes,'' he said quietly. ''You heard me give him his instructions. He's going to sleep, and when he wakes up he's going to remember everything. Now, what about you?''

Diana took a deep breath. ''I think it was time I was myself again, too. But I'm going to wait, until Br...Steed is awake and in command. How long do you think that will take?''

''At least a couple of hours. I should really let him sleep longer, but I get the impression that this is rather urgent.''

''Indeed it is, Doctor. Indeed it is.'' Diana looked down at the sleeping form of John Steed, the tear tracks still on his cheeks, and rage and anger and yes, hatred, filled her, for the people who had done this to them.

She recalled a psalm from the Bible and spoke it aloud. "It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them."

She looked at Dr. Hartley, and smiled a smile. ''Deuteronomy 32: 35.'' she pointed out. ''A very apt quotation.''

''I ...somehow I think so...Miss Smythe.''

''No,'' Diana said decisively. ''You heard what he called me. My name is Emma Peel.''