Knowing that her father was securely bound and unconscious outside of the cabin, the psychopath entered the room and proceeded to sit upon the blood soaked couch, such from where he had accosted Charles Chandler over the head with the very same rolling pin that Catherine had used on him months earlier.

There he sat staring at the door, biding his time, knowing that there was no other way out, having secured the shutters from the other side with the aid of a very large tree trunk an hour earlier. He’d been amazed then that no one had heard a thing, he hadn’t exactly been quiet about it. Still if the woman was holed up in a room alone with her boyfriend…the psycho shrugged and hoped they had enjoyed themselves for it would be the last time that either of them did.

Lifting his trouser leg, he pulled out the knife he kept strapped there, its blade glinting in the light from the solitary candle and turning it this way and that he marvelled at the colours of red, yellow and orange captured in its light.

Finally anticipating that soon he would sink the fire reflected blade into soft flesh he drawled, “So what are we waiting for then? Christmas? You can come out Miss Chandler and your friend, there’s no way of escaping me.”

No sooner had he spoken when the sound of engines could be heard outside and tyres screeching on the gravel, yet undeterred he stood and walked toward the door gun held in his outstretched hand, fired and felled each officer as they exited their vehicle. That done he closed the door and returned to his seat on the couch without a backward glance.

Vincent had tried the shuttered window, heaving his weight against it and unable to shift it in any way, and hearing gunshots knew that to leave the room would be stupid and they could well be there a long time before the team that had come to help were missed. The only consolation was that he and Catherine were at least in the same room, but Vincent fumed at the fact that due to their canoodling he had not heard anything other than the sound of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears as their joint passion had ignited and burned and obliterated everything else around them. Because of what they had done, Charles Chandler could well be dead and he and Catherine were now trapped in the room at the psycho’s mercy!

It felt like hours but was only in actuality minutes that Vincent remained poised for anything behind the door of the back room. Whatever the psycho thought he would never expect anyone like Vincent, and Catherine plastered against the back wall watched the door expecting to see it flung open at any moment. They had snuffed out the candles and the only light present was that which dimmed from the main room beyond from the slit beneath the door. Watching it Vincent knew when the psycho advanced, seeing the shadow sweep across the tiny orange glow, and he moved to stand on the other side of the door, where he would be least expected to be. He might be different might be quick but was no faster than a bullet and Vincent felt that the fellow would be sure that someone waited behind the door. Sure enough, as a crack appeared in the door a gun held hand flung around it and fired indiscriminately and Vincent was glad that he’d had the foresight to change positions.

The door re-closed “Did I get him?” They heard the muffled voice from the other side of the door, “Is he dead? Is it just you and me now Catherine? What shall we do? Any suggestions? How about strip poker? I know you strip and I’ll kill you with the poker.” The chuckle that accompanied the suggestion made Catherine feel sick.

“Go to hell!” Catherine snapped, her voice hoarse.

He laughed, a deep resonate sound that made Catherine shiver as she remembered it from last time. Suddenly the thought of that axe hurtling toward her had her gripping the night stand at her side until her knuckles ached. She felt no pain, just wished that whatever was to happen would happen faster, sickened by what was to come, wishing she was anywhere else but there, wishing she was back in Vincent’s arms.

She could see him, her night vision now attuned to the silhouette of Vincent standing on the other side of the room and could see that he beckoned for her to join him. It was not good that they were so far apart. If he could overcome the psycho, they might be able to make a run for it after all, the vehicle was still outside that’s assuming he hadn’t tampered with it.

Slowly Catherine left her place and edged closer to Vincent, her eyes never leaving him and arrived at his side just as she heard the door handle rattle again. Vincent took one of her hands in his and squeezed it offering comfort and hope and as the door started to open he seized what he assumed to be the psycho shocked with disbelief as the arm that he held onto seemed clammy and strange.

Laughter came from within the cabin, “Tricked you!” And a body half fell half pushed dropped onto the floor at Vincent’s feet leaving the door wide open.

Neither Vincent nor Catherine could see who it was, but they soon found out, “Your father wanted to see how you were doing. I thought I’d show him.” Suddenly he appeared sauntering over the unconscious body of Charles Chandler like he had not a care in the world the psycho entered gun at the ready for anything that moved. What he did not expect was sound.

A growl had him spinning and firing even as the sound moved from one side of the room to the other growing in length and intensity disorientating the psychopath. “You got a dog in here?” he questioned with disbelief, “Where is it? Let me at the beast!” He fired more shots until there were none left and in the darkness lit only by the dimness of one candle in the room beyond Vincent jumped him from the side sending his gun and knife spinning out of his hand.

“What the…” Warm blood trickled down the psycho’s face and he put up a hand to ward off the next blow when something sharp hit him full on the back of the neck, like several needles piercing his skin at once, and he heard the most deafening roar in his ears.

This stunned him to the core, as unexpected and unpredicted he could never have known what Vincent was. Assuming that he was just a person that wore a cape and hood for reasons unknown.

A slow growl sounded to his left, then almost as soon as he recognised its location it was at his right yet the psycho saw no one move heard no sound and could not predict from where it might come next. Blood in his eyes, his intention was to wipe it furiously away with the back of one hand but the hand never made contact. Instead intense pain shot through his arm as his wrist cracked under the weight of something hard and warm and his mind refused to register that it felt furry too even though the sound that accompanied the action could only be described as feline and large at that.

His mind spinning the psycho pulled back his arm intent on rubbing his wrist and to his horror met hot blood gushing and plopping at his feet. His hand had gone, completely gone!

“What…what is this?” He cried almost sobbing, surprising Catherine that he could. He still had not located her position even though she wasn’t far from him. In the dim light from behind, she was able to ascertain where he was, but he could not see her even if he hadn’t had blood in his eyes.

He stumbled, his intent to flee paramount when an arm crashed down upon his back sending him reeling across the room and tearing huge rents in his flesh. The pain intense, the psycho stumbled running for the door forgetting everything but the need to survive, to get away from this…this…thing…this animal…whatever it was…that was set to kill him.

Vincent pursued him, batting him, flicking aside the flesh that was coming away in strips and glorifying in the squeals and screams as his victim’s life ebbed away beneath his mighty hands. Then suddenly he stopped as Catherine’s horrified screams filled the night and Vincent knew he had gone too far had shown her what he was really capable of, what those lethal hands that had held her breast so tenderly only a few hours before could really do on contact with skin.

Ashamed, Vincent hung his head, aware of the psycho dragging himself away and waited as Catherine reached his side. “Vincent…” she was unable to continue not knowing quite what to say, doubting that she had seen such a spectacle. If she had thought what the psycho had done was bad then Vincent had been no better. It shocked her that he had seemed to enjoy torturing the fellow so, even though at the back of her mind she knew that he’d deserved it. It was just seeing Vincent do that kind of thing, use the built in weapons at his disposal for something so monstrous and what was worse - to seem to enjoy it!

“I’m sorry Catherine. Now you know what I really am.” He stood for several seconds as if he might say more or as if he might be waiting for her to say something or to touch him, anything, but when she did neither he took to his heels and disappeared from view going in the same direction as the psychopath had gone. He would finish him off that was for sure, no matter what Catherine thought of him now, that fellow would not live to see another day to kill an innocent woman ever again.

In the silence that surrounded her, Catherine stood stock still as the last cracking branches could be heard further and further away. She supposed Vincent would return in his own good time, but found that part of her didn’t care if he never came back. And to think just a few hours ago she had dreamed of giving herself to him. How could she have been so blind?

Morning found Catherine wrapped in a blanket, forehead pressed close to the cold glass staring unseeing at the approaching dawn. Light shimmered on the lake, casting golden hues across its surface and yet her eyes saw none of it. In the back room, paramedics took care of her father who still unconscious was being placed upon a stretcher ready for transport. Officers were everywhere, the hand securely placed in a colourless plastic bag and then inserted into a brown paper one for DNA testing, bullets extracted from the splintered walls of the back room.

“We have to go now Miss.” One of them tapped her arm, “Don’t worry he won’t get far without this.” He held up the bag glad that she couldn’t see into it, though at that moment he doubted she could see anything at all. Shock he supposed, for whatever had gone on there that night he had could only ever surmise at.

It was like a bloodbath in there yet the woman had only minimal blood on her. They couldn’t understand why the psycho had seemingly turned his own weapons upon himself and had not tried to hurt her in anyway - it just didn’t make any sense. But the truth was they weren’t about to give him a second chance, one handed or not he was still at large and might come back at any moment to try and kill her.

Ushering Catherine through the door, she watched as they carried her and her father’s belongings out to the waiting ambulance, the truck they’d collect later. Mr Chandler was in critical condition but they were certain he would survive once he got the care he needed. And Miss Chandler once she had had some counselling would be as good as new though she would never forget whatever had happened at the cabin..

Only one watched them go, from his vantage point high above the cabin Vincent sat on his haunches wondering how he might get back home and yet glad that Catherine and her father were now in safe hands. Then he looked back to where beneath him on the other side of the hill, a man walked back toward the cabin, blood dripping from one handless arm and Vincent knew that he still had to finish him off. However, now that his fury had subsided and the one that he loved despised him for what he was Vincent wasn’t certain that he could do that anymore.

Ticking off another day, Father closed his diary. That made it eleven, eleven long days since Vincent had left the tunnels for Catherine and Charles cabin. How much longer would Vincent be away? He supposed that it would be impossible that they could get word to him, and he knew that no news was good news but he still wished he knew something.

A slight tapping at the entrance to his chamber had him looking up from where he sat behind his desk and a half smile formed on his lips, “Jamie, did you want me?” He queried wondering why she hovered on the steps leading down to his chamber and did not breeze in as usual. He knew he’d been bad company recently but he also knew everyone realised why that was and forgave him for it.

“Yes. Father, George sent down yesterday’s newspaper, and I wondered if you’d seen it?” She knew he couldn’t have or he’d be raising the roof by now, or pacing or barking orders or being a usual bear with a sore head not wanting to socialise with anyone.

“No, my dear, I haven’t. Where did you leave it?” Misinterpreting the question Father suddenly noticed the newspaper in Jamie’s hand and added, “Oh you mean did I wish to see it?”

She smiled wanly, and completing the few steps walked toward him, nervously. “I’m not sure it will please you,” she began and scolded herself, ‘not sure? She was sure all right. He’d be fuming when he read it. Who was she kidding?’

Already Father bristled, ‘what’s happened now?’ he wondered scanning the newspaper open at the appropriate page when Jamie spread it on the desk before him. She hovered then, expecting him to explode at any moment surprised when instead of that he slung off his spectacles and leaning back against his chair asked the air, ‘My God, Vincent where are you?’

Jamie understood the question, it had been the same one she had asked herself all the way over to Father’s chamber. It was the same question each member who had already seen the newspaper were also asking themselves.

“Shall I call a council meeting?” Jamie ventured gently.

“Huh? What? Oh yes, yes, do that, have them meet me here within the hour.” Jamie saw the tears in Father’s eyes and tried not to let him know she’d noticed.

“I’ll do that then, won’t be long.” She hastened to leave, tears clouding her own vision and her heart echoing Father’s question, ‘Vincent, where are you?’ when she suddenly stood stock still as Father burst into tears behind her. Her heart went out to him and she hurried round the desk to his side placing her arms around his shoulders, “Oh Father, don’t worry there must be some reasonable explanation. I’m sure the Chandler’s know where he is. Perhaps he is at their house.”

“You don’t really believe that.” Father sobbed.

“I want to do.” She told him, “Where else would he be?”

In reply, Father’s sobs increased for he hadn’t a clue. The newspaper showed that the Chandlers had been brought home by ambulance some two days earlier, Charles was still in hospital unconscious, Catherine was in a state of shock and not responding to treatment and the psychopath though maimed was still at large. But what of Vincent? Where was he? Of course, the newspapers would not mention him because they didn’t know he existed, and if there was some small consolation it was that. No mention of Vincent meant he had not be discovered, but where was he? If the Chandlers had been back two days then was Vincent still in the location of the cabin? And if he was and the psychopath was also still in the area, then there was a good chance that Vincent would be discovered. Father supposed that the area would be swarming with police by now. And maimed, they’d said the fellow was maimed, how maimed? And by what?

“There’s nothing we can do Father but wait. With Catherine in a state of shock and her father unconscious there is no one we can ask. What happened up there Father, to render those two senseless?” she didn’t expect an answer and Father could provide none. Her guess was as good as his. But someone had to know something, and his thoughts turned instantly to Peter.

“Jamie, can you take a message for me, get it to Peter? I’m certain that he can find something out. I fear that Vincent is still up at the location of that cabin, maybe Peter can bring him home.”

Jamie nodded. Any hope was better than none, but she seriously doubted that anyone would be allowed to enter within several miles radius of the cabin right now, in fact the paper had said people living up there had been evacuated. Still Peter might glean something from his contacts more than a newspaper reporter could, and so she hugged Father goodbye and then taking his scribbled message went out of his chamber to seek someone that could run it for her.

If it had been for any other reason, Vincent supposed he would have found great delight to be able to wake up to dappled sunlight streaming through the bush that he had spent the night beneath. But as circumstances were, he knew just how very vulnerable he was out there in the sunlight. With nowhere to hide and not knowing the location he dared not move too far from the inhabited areas although since everyone had been evacuated all the cabins were empty. Still if Catherine should return for him, here is where she would look, and though Vincent doubted that she would he couldn’t give up hope.

That first day when the Chandlers had been taken away in the ambulance and Vincent had watched them go, he had been aware that on the other side of the hill, the injured psycho wandered aimlessly and half blind toward the cabin, but when Vincent checked his progress he had gone. Since then though a trail of blood had afforded him with information that the fellow was still alive though he had not clapped eyes upon him and Vincent found that most disturbing and one of the reasons why he lay beneath the bush now, his eyes ever watchful – his ears ever alert when he slept.

It had become increasingly perilous wondering where the fellow could possibly be, and if he were still a threat to others. Obviously he would have lost a great deal of blood and would not feel strong enough to tackle any other, but Vincent knew by his cunning alone that the fellow could get the better of him and might even expose him as the area was surrounded with police officers. And that was so frightening. Not knowing who they were after the tracker dogs might easily pick up his scent instead, or he might be seen trying to hide and Vincent knew that his life was in as much danger as that of the psychopath.

He was also hungry. A few blackberries had been all he could find the day before but he knew he had to find something to sustain him this day. Vulnerable as he was he had to keep up his strength and he wondered if he might be able to catch some fish at the lake. This was another one of the reasons he had chosen this particular bush to sleep beneath, as it was the nearest and largest shrub by the lake in fact, inches from where he lay, the water ebbed almost touching his fingertips. ‘Perhaps I can fish here’ Vincent thought. It was probable that small fry sought the cool bank to hide from the hot sun, but noon was hours away and he was hungry now but at least he had water.

Carefully slaking his thirst, Vincent sucked up the water as silently as he could feeling the ice cold slide down his throat and send shivers through him as it met an empty and unwilling stomach. This rumbled its disagreement and sounded so very loud to Vincent’s sensitive ears, that his eyes darted all around expecting that everything with ten yards would have heard the sound. Still nothing moved and the birds continued to sing.

He dozed a little, the sunshine, the birdsong the tranquillity of the place soothing his jangled nerves and Vincent let his guard slowly subside so that he was no longer tense, no longer ready to flee at a second’s notice. In that position he allowed his mind to drift back to the time he spent with Catherine at the cabin, dismayed when he felt himself harden instantly when he thought on the things that the two of them had shared. Was it really only three days ago? It seemed a lifetime. But would he ever look upon her again and not see the creamy rose tipped softness that she had offered so willingly? A soft moan sounded in his throat and instantly he was alert, checking around him breathlessly hoping that he hadn’t given himself away. But all was quiet - all was still.

He’d never self-abused himself, though he knew that some of the tunnel boys had resorted to it, Vincent had always felt that to masturbate would be shameful, something he should not allow and from what he knew of it did nothing to help the situation. Still as his flesh grew even harder, the need for release became so very painful - he had never been so aroused, not even with Lisa. Vincent closed his eyes and very carefully changing his position lay flat upon his stomach hoping that here he could grind his heated flesh against the earth and provide himself with a merit of comfort. It didn’t work. He imagined that the contours of the leafy earth beneath him were the contours of Catherine’s body and he wanted to sink himself into her so very badly that he almost climaxed in his jeans. Appalled Vincent buried his head against his arms biting hard against the material of the black cloak that he wore in order to stifle the cry that emitted from his mouth of its own violation. What had she done to him? He knew the answer to that of course. Catherine had shown him how to love, given him a need that he had not known existed, offered him the forbidden fruit he was never meant to have. He wanted to cry but knew how senseless that would be and it might signal his location. Still his fevered flesh beckoned for release and reluctantly, sickened that he could, dismayed that he had to, Vincent allowed his hand to drop down to where his engorged shaft bulged against the restriction of his tight jeans. He hated himself as he rolled slightly to one side, freeing his erection into one calloused hand and began the slow rhythmic rub that would bring the satisfaction his body cried out for. He’d never done this before, but the feelings coming over him swiftly caused him to rub faster and faster nearing completion with every stroke. Finally, finally he almost roared Catherine’s name out loud, as his climax pumped forth coating his fur backed hand in warm milky liquid. The spicy repugnant scent was abhorrent to his nostrils, but was soon lost in the relief that suddenly overwhelmed him.

Lying there in the aftermath as the coolness of the morning breeze touched his withering manhood, Vincent suddenly felt as if he could sleep for a week. His eyelids drooped and he only half remembered tidying himself and zipping up his trousers before he gave in to the feeling that washed over him. There he floated, a soft whimsical smile playing around his lips as he dreamed of Catherine. Of being with Catherine, of making love to Catherine until his heated flesh began to stir again and he awoke feeling as frustrated as before and disgusted that he would have to give in to the demands of his body over and over without letup if he were ever going to get any peace at all. But where would that lead him? He would be a slave to his own flesh and he would come to despise himself. He’d heard about such people, heard how desire and passion led them like a slave until they would stoop at nothing for a fleeting second of bliss. He vowed he wouldn’t be like them, he must think of something else, turn his wicked thoughts aside, and worst of all he must not think of Catherine, not in any way. That grieved him the most, but Vincent knew that this temptress that had shown him a little of what love could be had unleashed in him things he had not known existed, and things that would no more be caged. He wanted her desperately, and he was afraid that in that frantic need he would take anyone at any time whether they were willing or not, and with his great strength he could harm them, just as he had harmed Lisa, or he might even kill them when blinded by desire. And so, with a concerted effort Vincent pushed all thoughts of Catherine firmly from his mind and tried to think on something else. It was difficult but he succeeded and as he spotted some tiny fish swimming into the shore he cupped his hands until they were sucked into his palms by the whirlpool he’d created and he fed on the tiny little fish until his hunger for food was reasonably satisfied at least.

With Father’s note clutched in his hand, Peter arrived at the bedside of Charles Chandler surprised and pleased to see that he was awake. Catherine too was there, her hand resting in her father’s as the pair of them whispered asking each how the other felt. Peter surmised from that that Charles had not been awake long and though as a doctor he knew that his friend needed rest, he was also anxious for some answers.

“Peter!” Charles husked as he caught sight of his long time friend, “How are you?” The last time he had seen Peter he had still been in a state of shock over his receptionist’s death.

“I’ve felt better.” Peter replied, “How about you?”

“Same here. I’ve been out for the count till an hour ago.”

“So you’ve had a good rest then?” Peter quipped bringing up a seat so that he could sit at the bedside.

Charles tried to chuckle, but found that all he could do was cough. Catherine quickly poured a glass of water and holding it to his lips said, “Here dad drink this.”

His eyes met Peter’s over the rim of the glass and thanking his daughter Charles waved the cup away, he needed no more. Something was wrong. He’d known Peter a long time, and he knew that look!

“What is it? What’s wrong?” For a moment, Charles feared that Peter knew something about his health that hadn’t been revealed to him. Perhaps a bump on the head like that would cause a tumour or something. Perhaps part of his brain had been damaged. Charles wouldn’t be surprised if that was so for he had the most horrendous headache.

“Do you know where Vincent is?” Peter asked and Charles drew his brows together dismayed. It was not the answer that he had expected and for a moment he wasn’t sure what Peter meant.

“Vincent? Vincent who?” Catherine gasped and then he knew, “Vincent?” he turned to his daughter, “Catherine, didn’t Vincent come back with us?”

“How could he dad? He would have been discovered.” Charles did not understand.

“But surely when you brought the truck back…”

“I didn’t…its still up at the cabin…at least I assume it is. I didn’t drive us back dad, we were brought back in an ambulance.”

“What both of us? Honey, what is it that you haven’t told me? You said you were unharmed.” Charles struggled to sit up wanting desperately to see that his daughter was okay for himself but his head swam when he moved quickly and he was forced to lie back sharp. “Oooh that hurts.” He placed a hand to his forehead and his eyes closed tightly, causing Catherine to cry out and pull the emergency cord at her father’s bedside. In seconds, two nurses hurried in ushering Catherine and Peter from the room, despite Peter’s assurance that he was the family GP and should stay.

Outside in the corridor, Peter steered Catherine by the elbow to an empty visitors room and there bid her sit before he launched his questions, “So where is he?” Being the first of many.

“I don’t know! I’m not his keeper.” Stunned Peter could only stare at Catherine, she sounded like she hated Vincent, yet he had been led to believe that they thought a lot of one another.

“What happened up there Catherine? You and Vincent were friends, now it sounds as if you wouldn’t care if you never saw him again.”

“Well you’re right about that, I wouldn’t!”

“Catherine!” Stunned Peter could only utter her name in shocked disbelief. He never thought he’d hear her say such a thing.

“So he’s still up at the cabin somewhere, is that what you are saying?”

“Suppose so, unless he’s hitched a ride.”

“Now young lady, you know that isn’t possible. Have you spared no thought to him at all? He’s outside, Catherine for God’s sake. Outside for the first time in his life and in a place he doesn’t know, have you not spared a single thought as to how he must be feeling?”

“He’ll cope.”

“Young lady I could slap you!” Peter was furious. “If you could only hear yourself.”

“So slap me.” Catherine sneered.

“Why, you callous uncaring little bitch!” Jumping to his feet, Peter crossed to and flung open the door intent on striding out into the corridor down the stairs to the ground floor and leaving like a maniac in his sporty little car. But what he didn’t expect was Catherine coming galloping after him tears running down her cheeks and sobbing, “Peter wait! I’m sorry!”

He turned to her his temper subsiding as he took in her appearance. She did look sorry, in fact she looked downright miserable, and he was compelled to ask, “So what happened between the two of you, and don’t tell me nothing?”

“Noth…”Catherine began, then with a wry grimace went on, “Ok something did happen, but then I saw what he was really capable of. Oh Peter it was horrible!” She sobbed burying her face in her hands.

Placing his arms around her Peter hugged her tightly not caring that they were making a spectacle of themselves, concerned only with giving her comfort. He’d never seen Vincent in any kind of rage, except those times when a fever had placed him in its mighty grip, but he knew that Vincent had on occasions hurt someone that he’d vowed to love.

“Did he hurt you?” He whispered with obvious concern.

With tear filled eyes Catherine looked up at him, she shook her head, “Not in the way you mean. To me he was…” she sobbed before continuing, “To me he was everything, everything a boy should be. It was when that…that…psycho turned up…Oh Peter I thought Vincent was going to tear him to shreds!” She wailed causing everyone to look up in their direction. And despite the seriousness of what Catherine had seen, Peter felt relieved. At least Vincent hadn’t hurt her.

“Honey, try to understand Vincent is different from the rest of us. And he protects those that he loves in the only way open to him. He is after all half lion.” He spoke tenderly trying to make her understand.

“I know Peter, but looking like something doesn’t necessarily mean you have to act like them too. I just never thought, never realised that his actions, the sounds that he can make would be like that of a lion too. It just never crossed my mind.”

“Then you’ve had a nasty shock in more ways than one, but Vincent is still your friend, still your protector and you’ve left him to fend for himself up at the cabin with no way of getting home, Catherine you can’t leave him there. You’ve got to help me bring him home.”

“You’re going?” She sounded surprised.

“Well up until this moment I hadn’t realised I would be, but in the absence of your father I suppose I’m the obvious choice. However, there is one problem unresolved…”

“The psycho! He’s still at large isn’t he? Oh Peter! He and Vincent are up there together!” For the first time realisation sunk in and Catherine even knowing what Vincent was capable of, was frightened for him. That psycho maimed or not could do terrible things to Vincent, might even have him discovered. “When can we go?” She asked tearfully.

Peter shook his head, “I don’t know honey. I’ll make some enquiries, but I can’t see it being anytime soon. However the second we are given the all clear can you be ready to go at a moment’s notice?”

Catherine nodded her eyes grave and anxious, for suddenly she realised how it must have been for Vincent over the past four days up there, all alone, with only the psycho for company, and she prayed with all her might that he was still alive.