Back in Port Charles, Felicia was sipping her second cup of coffee, pen in hand, trying to sort out her feelings for Tom. It was odd, she realized. One day she'd been taken with him, indeed, had thought herself in love with him and contemplating marriage-not that he'd actually asked, but he'd hinted, making allusions to a long term relationship, saying things about their future. Then, the abrupt revelation of his lies about the Spencers-and her little world had been shown for what it was-"a big fat nothing."

It wasn't like she was too immature to have understood the Spencer's situation. Good Grief!! She was a mother and well comprehended priorities. For Pete's sake!! She'd have helped Tom and even provided a cover. He'd never have been found out if he'd asked for her help. She poured another cup of coffee and thought of how easy it would have been to outwit Taggert. Talk about tunnel-vision!! The man was after Sonny and Felicia would have pointed out to Tom that by being seen talking to Sonny, he was virtually advertising their connection. How could a man of his IQ have been so damned stupid?

Then, suddenly, everything became clear. Crystal clear!! And, speaking of stupid, how could she have been so blinded by Tom that she couldn't see what he was about?? Gripping her mug tightly, Felicia rose to her feet, a look of consternation on her face. Tom had intentionally set up the Spencers. All along, he'd been acting like their friend, and then led Taggert straight to them. Why? They were being chased by the Cassadines, or so Luke thought.

"Ohmigosh," she whispered, and then thought, "And Luke didn't know?? Heck, I didn't even know, and I've been sleeping with Tom." Disgusted with herself for trusting Tom, for loving him, Felicia realized that she, and therefore, her daughters, were potentially in danger. No point trying to contact Frisco, she thought grimly. He was useless at times like this. No, her best bet was to contact her most trusted, best friend, Mac Scorpio. But, not from here, she thought, looking around the apartment. Had Tom bugged it? She glanced at the place, and made a snap decision. It was time to move. Too much had happened here, and now it was spoiled by yet another betrayal.

Righteous indignation rising, she wondered who else had felt the bite of Tom's betrayal? Kevin maybe?? There was something about that whole stalker thing that still bothered her. She remembered when she'd thought that the stalker was Tom. Then, everything had gotten crazy ending with Kevin losing his job and being offered a consulting position by the...Cassadines.

"I'm starting to think like Luke," Felicia muttered as she left the brownstone.

Frank White walked into the gun shop, a calm smile on his face. It was odd, he reflected, how just talking with Dr. Cesar made him feel better. Was it only a few days ago that the pain he'd felt had left him nearly paralyzed? Now, he would be able to get on with his life. Only yesterday he'd had Linda committed to the sanitarium. It was for her own good. Now, she'd get the help she needed, and if it wasn't too late, she'd recover.

"More bullets?" The shopkeeper asked, recognizing him as a repeat customer.

"Please," Frank asked. "Target practice really eats up the ammunition. Same caliber as before-but double the order."

"Your aim improving?"

"I think so. No point having a gun if you can't shoot straight."

"I agree."

Thomas Cameron stared at the small disk in his hand. It was finally finished. Tested, completed, and the stuff was exactly what he'd designed it to be. He wondered momentarily why his conscience didn't bother him. But, it didn't. Not so much as a twinge of discomfort. Odd how contemplating the deaths of countless people, nameless, faceless people, didn't seem to matter. Hell, he told himself rationally. It wasn't like they were going to live forever. Everybody died sooner or later. His discovery would simply expedite their exit from the planet. He was probably doing them a favor, if the truth be told, by providing them a quick, painless death, an end to the drudgery of their miserable lives. Overpopulation would become a thing of the past.

One of the best things, he mused, was that the formula was completely biodegradable, all natural ingredients. Just lethal. Active for a maximum of five hours, with the effects being reversible for one hour after exposure, it was the perfect weapon. And, the delivery could be accomplished in any number of ways. Yes, formula and antidote were ready. It was time to make his contact, collect his reward, and retire to a life of sun, fun and fast women. He looked at the six-inch square box that held the samples of the formula and antidote.

"Hello, darling," Angie greeted as she strolled into the room. She smiled brightly.

"What are you doing here?" Thomas asked as she came closer, a dangerous glitter in her eyes. Not for the first time, Thomas felt a profoundly uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. Then, he saw the gun, and noted the silencer on the barrel.

"I've come for the formula and the antidote," she told him.

"I don't understand."

"Don't be silly, darling. Now, just hand the disk and the box over to me. That's a good boy. Now, back away carefully, or I'll have to shoot you."

"Angie, this is insane."

"No, Thomas. This is perfectly sane. Did you really think that we were going to pay you millions?"

"But I thought..." He backed away, only vaguely aware of the contradiction before him.

The lovely young blond woman in the ruffled white cotton dress motioned with the gun. "Now, move back, Thomas."

"But Angie-we were going to the Bahamas or Rio."

"Thomas, do you actually think I enjoyed being with you?" She shuddered dramatically, a look of amused disgust on her face. "Sorry, Thomas, but I just wanted the formula. Now", and she took the box, gingerly opening it, and removing one bottle. Carefully, she opened it and with the dropper, took out a few milliliters of the clear, colorless liquid. Thomas watched in horror as she dripped the fluid into the glass, adding water. Then, she restoppered the bottle and replaced it in the box. Taking the flask, she held it out to him.

"Drink this, Thomas."


"It's this or the gun. If I have to shoot you, I'll make it painful," she assured him. "Both kneecaps for openers. Then, one of your arteries-and don't worry about anybody hearing you scream. I've taken care of that." She smiled sweetly. "Or, maybe we could just have you fall out the window. Six stories down should do it."

"Angie," the name was a plea.

"Thomas, I'm trying to be merciful. Now, drink the nice water."

"Oh god..." The words were a strangled sob as he reached out and took the glass from her hand. He was shaking almost uncontrollably as he lifted the liquid to his mouth.

"It's painless, you said," Angie reminded him. "You'll just drift off to sleep and your heart will stop. Now, drink. DRINK, THOMAS!"

Suddenly, he sloshed the glass at her face, wetting her head and shoulders. Reflexively, she fired at him, wounding him in the abdomen.

"You shouldn't have done that, Thomas," Angie said, wiping her face. "Damn! Now my mascara is running!" As Thomas lay writhing on the floor, she held the gun on him and said, "I anticipated this, you fool. Did you think that I'd be unprepared?" She reached into her pocket and took out a small vial which she quickly tossed down.

Then, she took the gun and said, "I'd love to stay and watch you suffer, Thomas, but I have a full schedule. Now, in the interest of maintaining security, I'll just finish up here." Calmly, she shot him, ending his life, and then tidied up after herself before leaving with the wooden box and disk tucked under her arm.

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