"It's Halloween," CyFi notes, as he, Connor, Risa, and Lev help with cleanup in the main house. "So was today's wedding the trick, or the treat?"

"The best of both?" Risa suggests. She takes Connor's hand a little too firmly and he can't help but flinch from the pain. "Sorry," she says.

His seams are deep, and although the healing enhancers speed the process, there's no escaping the aches of being rewound.

Lev shifts his clingy kinkajou from his waist to his back as he approaches Connor. "So what was it like?" Lev asks. No one has dared to ask Connor that question. Lev, however, having been to the edge of his own existence too, is one of the few who have the right to ask.

"Like . . . breathing out and never stopping," Connor tells him. "While listening to disco."

"No, not the unwinding," Lev says. "What was it like to be divided?"

The only way Connor can see Lev anymore is to look right into his eyes. Otherwise all he sees are the names inked on his face. What he sees in those eyes is longing. A need to know so intense that Connor can't look away.

"Did you go into the light?" Lev asks. "Did you see the face of God?"

"I think you have to get through the door before you see that," Connor tells him. "Being divided is kind of like being storked on the welcome mat."

Lev considers it and nods. "Interesting. I believe the door would have opened if the master of the house knew you were there to stay."

Connor smiles. "It's good to believe that."

"What do you believe?" he asks.

As much as Connor wants to avoid the question, he wants to give Lev an answer that's true. "I believe I'm here," Connor tells him. "I'm here even though after what happened, I shouldn't be. There's got to be something to that, but right now I'm not going to unwind my brain again wondering what that something is. Let me think of water for a while before I have to think about it turning into wine, okay?"

He thinks Lev might smile at that, but he doesn't. "Fair enough," he says.

The kinkajou-a literal monkey on his back-now peers out from behind Lev with wide innocent eyes, but clings with claws that can kill. It reminds Connor that as much as Lev has changed, he'll always carry the wide-eyed tithe somewhere within him. As well as the clapper.

Una and Cam escort Lev back to the Rez before leaving for Molokai. Out in the front yard before they go, Risa hugs Lev so tightly, she actually lifts him off the ground. Then suddenly she gasps, and apologizes, realizing she might have hurt him. But instead Lev is smiling. He smiles so rarely that when he does, it holds such joy that Connor can feel it from five feet away. He hugs Lev a little more gently.

"This way you won't blow up, and I won't fall apart," Connor says. He finds his eyes welling up, and sees a tear on Lev's cheek roll over Justin Levitz, to Marla Mendoza, to Cedric Beck, and off his chin.

"Thank you for saving me, Lev," Connor says, barely able to get it out. Maybe he'll fall apart after all.

"You saved me first."

Connor shakes his head. "I used you as a human shield."

"You could have let me go once you got to the woods, but you didn't," Lev points out. "Because you didn't want me to go back. You didn't want me to be tithed."

Connor can't argue with that. He might have grabbed Lev out of desperation, but he held on to him out of compassion, although he really didn't know it at the time.

"Do you still have the scar from where I bit you?" Lev asks.

Connor looks to his right forearm. Of course the bite mark isn't there. "Sorry, the scar went with the arm." But he notices for the first time that the shark's teeth are almost exactly where the scar from Lev's bite would have been.

The kinkajou, apparently wanting some attention climbs from Lev's hip to his shoulder, and starts pulling at Lev's ear. He seems impatient for Lev to get on with his day. To get on with his life.

"Take care of him," Connor says.

"I will," Lev answers.

"I was talking to the monkey."

And Lev smiles, big and broad.

At the insistence of CyFi, Connor and Risa stay the night. The day has been hard on Connor's healing body, and as he lies in bed, Risa gently rubs all his wounds with a special healing ointment that Cam gave them before he left.

"An early Christmas gift," he said. "My second-favorite Proactive Citizenry product."

Connor had been dense enough to ask him what his first favorite was.

"Me, of course," Cam had answered.

The ointment is soothing. Warming. But it's not just the ointment; it's the touch of Risa's hands.

"Remember back at the Graveyard, when I would massage your legs?"

"It was the best part of my day," Risa says.

"Mine too."

With all his wounds gently massaged, he rolls to face her. She kisses him, he takes her into his arms, and his embrace holds not the slightest bit of hesitation. Whatever else is wrong with the world dissolves into down pillows and fine linen sheets, and he finds that Risa fills that space left within him from being pulled apart and put back together.

Connor stays awake late into the night with Risa in his arms, wishing he could unwind time, so he could experience this night from every possible angle-not just passing through the moment, but living in it.

He holds on to the feeling until morning, when the authorities come to take them away.

Part Seven.

All Saints.

ANONYMOUS RALLIES AGAINST HORRIFIC, ABUSE-RIDDLED "TROUBLED TEEN" INDUSTRY.

By Roy Klabin, March 27, 2013 PolicyMic.com.

A faction within the exceedingly diverse "Anonymous" online collective has begun targeting the Troubled Teen Industry-trying to expose cases of extreme child abuse, sexual misconduct, psychological torture, and even deaths, at various facilities which claim to "correct bad behavior."

The sales pitch is simple: "If your teen has emotional issues, abuses drugs, or is promiscuous, help is just a phone call away. Our programs promise to fix bad behavior by teaching your child life skills and building self-esteem." . . . Sometimes you get taken to these facilities in the middle of the night, grabbed from your bed by camp employees your parents have let into your home.

Exposure of the behavior modification industry is slowly gaining traction. . . . But it seems parents all over the country are still falling for the misleading assurances offered by these companies-even though every corporate site that promises sunshine and happiness has shadow sites full of survivor's horror stories.

. . . [i]n a world of webcams, victims can no longer be hidden away. . . . But there are places where no cell phones or Internet are permitted. Places isolated in the wilderness miles from any form of civilization, where children are taken to correct their behavior-and suffer a wide array of vicious torments.

#OpTTIAbuse represents hackers, activists, victims, parents, and survivors who are trying to expose horrific abuses being suffered by children across this country at various facilities hidden away from public scrutiny. . . .

Cases where children have died from mistreatment, medical neglect, or starvation have rarely led to any consequences. This is partly due to the lack of any regulatory oversight, as well some states not even requiring any licensing system for these programs to exist. . . .

The prison-like design of some of these facilities further limits the children's ability to report abuse. . . . The children rarely have access to telephones, and when they do utilize these connections, their conversations are watched carefully. If they were to say anything "negative" to their parents, like "I miss you, I want to come home" they would be punished for being "manipulative."

Anonymous groups continue to try and expose the survivor stories from within the system, but with limited attention from the press their success has been marginal. Some of the major companies involved have even managed to lobby and block reform on private residential "treatment" centers. . . .

The full article can be found at: http://www.policymic.com/articles/31203/anonymous-rallies-against-horrific-abuse-riddled-troubled-teen-industry.

79 * Connor.

The raid comes just after Connor and Risa shuffle down for breakfast. All is quiet, then out of nowhere, the house is flooded with a tactical unit that's beyond overkill. It happens so fast, Connor finds himself surrounded while still holding his cereal spoon. There's no time to panic, or to resist. Too many guns are drawn for him to count. He locks eyes with Risa across the table, who returns the same shocked gaze. He should have known it wasn't safe coming here. CyFi and his fathers might be trustworthy, but with all the wedding grooms, and the various parts of Tyler Walker living in the commune, someone was bound to turn them in for the reward.

"What took you so long?" he says to the gaggle of gunmen. They don't answer. They don't make a move to apprehend him. They just wait. Then in walks the man in the dark suit. For once, Connor wished these people could find a more inspired wardrobe.

"Looks like we've got a twofer!" says the suit. He gestures for his unit to lower their guns, which they do.

In response, Connor puts down his spoon. "I'll come peacefully if you leave her."

"Connor, don't you dare!" says Risa.

The suit stays focused on Connor. "You're not really in a negotiating position."

Then Risa leaps up and lunges for him.

"Risa, no!"

She's tranq'd by one of the gunmen before she gets halfway there, and is caught by another before she falls to the ground. This is her way of making sure that wherever Connor goes, she goes. Damn her!

CyFi and his fathers are brought downstairs. The one who happens to be a lawyer argues over the violation of their rights.

"We don't have time for this," says the suit, then he turns to Connor. "You want a deal? How's this? You and sleeping beauty come peacefully, and they don't get arrested for harboring known fugitives."

And although Connor doesn't believe for an instant that they're going to leave CyFi and his dads alone, his only other option is to fight and get tranq'd like Risa. What chance would he have to negotiate for her then? Besides, there's something that he senses in this man. He's trying to be efficient, even a little nonchalant, but there's an uneasiness in him. The man in the suit is scared. Why is he scared?

They turn Connor around to handcuff him, pulling his arms behind his back. He grimaces. "Careful! My seams!"

"Your what?" the suit says. "Forget it, I don't want to know." He has them turn Connor around again, cuffing him in front instead of behind.

They lead him and carry Risa to a jet that's sitting in a weedy field across the road, without the benefit of anything resembling a runway. Connor had seen planes like this at the Graveyard.

"A Harrier Whisper-Bomber?"

"You know your machines," the suit says. "Workhorse of the Heartland War. Vertical takeoff and landing. Completely silent."

"Then Risa and I must be the bombs."

The suit shifts uncomfortably. "That remains to be seen."

They're loaded inside, the three of them in a forward compartment separate from the tactical team. The intimidating boeuf carrying Risa puts her down gently and actually takes the time to put on her seat belt.

"Will you be coming back with the beverage cart?" Connor asks as he leaves to join his comrades.

The jet rises like a helicopter, its engines emitting only the faintest whine, then the craft accelerates, heading into the rising sun. Risa, still unconscious, slumps limply in the seat beside Connor, her seat belt and Connor's shoulder the only things keeping her from falling. Across from them, the suit seems very pleased with himself. Connor considers how he might, even in handcuffs, throw the man out of the plane. But then the suit says: "Congratulations-you're in the protective custody of the federal government. We've taken you as a precaution, just in case the bee in the Juvenile Authority's bonnet buzzes in your direction."

It takes a moment for Connor to replay that in his mind and process it. "Wait-you're not the Juvies?"

"If we were, you wouldn't be alive right now."

Connor's still not ready to buy. "If I'm in protective custody, why am I in handcuffs?"

The suit smirks. "Because I trust you even less than you trust me."

He introduces himself as Supervisory Special Agent Aragon, reflexively flashing his FBI badge, as if it means anything to Connor at this point.

"We are not the enemy," he says.

"That's what the enemy always says."

He regards Connor, studying him like maybe he wants the eyes that Nelson never got.

"Do you believe in democracy, Connor?"

Not the kind of question Connor was expecting. "I used to," Connor tells him. "I believe in the way it's supposed to work."

"It always works the way it's supposed to work," Aragon says. "A lot of bitching and moaning until somebody gets their way." Then he pulls out a tablet and strokes the screen until he finds whatever it is he's looking for. "As of this morning, forty-four percent of the American people are ready to reject the idea of unwinding."

"It's still not a majority."

Aragon raises his eyebrows. "That's only because you're not seeing the whole picture." Then he turns the tablet so Connor can see it. On-screen is a simple pie chart. "This morning, support for unwinding hit an all-time low of thirty-seven percent, with nineteen percent undecided. And I have news for you-that nineteen percent will ALWAYS be undecided. Which means, Connor, after all the bitching and moaning, it looks like you're the one who got his way." Aragon forces a smile and winks at him.

Connor has no faith in anyone who winks. "So it's that easy?"

"You of all people should know it wasn't easy at all."