Sherwood, Scott Sherwood
by Susan L. Minnick

Disclaimer: "Remember WENN" and its characters are copyright AMC/Howard Meltzer Productions and are the sole creation of Rupert Holmes. This story and any original characters, however, are copyright Susan L. Minnick 1998 all rights reserved. :)

Author's Note: I'm determined to continue my story no matter what my teachers throw at me, so here it is, 'Sherwood, Scott Sherwood' in all it's glory. Comments are more than welcome!  Enjoy! A special thank you to Rebecca Immich for beta-reading; she's going to be such a faboo English Professor! :)

Part One

"Buy Barley Futures."

Oh no, they aren’t starting that again! Betty thought as she walked past Victor’s/Scott’s/ Pruitt’s/Mackie’s/Eugenia’s/ and her office.

"That’s right Sherman. Buy Barley Futures," Victor’s voice echoed out through the door.

"That’s it!" Betty said, entangled in frustration. She burst through the door, holding the stack of scripts in front of her as a shield. "Stop the violence!" she shouted.

"What? Betty, has the asbestos been getting to you again?" Victor asked in confusion.

Scott just twisted his brow and gave Betty a glance before turning back to Mr. Comstock.

"As I was saying Sherman, Barley Futures is a great investment for the Stock Exchange rookie like yourself. I suggest buying at least 50 shares."

Betty let down her shield and looked at the two men sitting in the office with utter shock.

"Well, it’s time for me to be getting to the train station."

"Oh Victor, so soon? You just got here!" Betty exclaimed in disappointment.

"Yeah Vic, do you have to leave so soon?" Scott asked, hiding the sudden rush of glee that had become familiar to him since he started seeing Victor off.

"I’m afraid so. Washington needs me," he said, stacking his papers into his briefcase and clasping it shut.

"When will you be back?" Betty asked, hopefully.

"In another season or two. Maybe by then I can be a Sergeant instead of a Lieutenant Victor Comstock," he pondered. "I’ll write when I get there Betty!" He left the office and made his way down the hall to reception. "Goodbye all!" He turned and waved at the doorway.

"Goodbye Victor!" Betty said with a tone of sadness.

"See ya Vic," Scott said, noting Betty’s sudden depression.

"Goodbye Heir Comshtock," a cool voice replied.

"Gertie! My, your voice has changed!" Victor remarked.

"That wasn’t me Victor," Gertie replied nervously, noting the stranger in black standing behind Victor’s tall frame.

"It used to be at least three decibels higher, and it never had a western European/Adriatic accent. In fact, if I recall correctly,
you’re of French decent."

"Um, Victor, you might want to turn around very slowly," Scott said, pulling Betty behind him.

"Now that I think about it, that voice must mean one of two things; we have a new person working here at WENN that has a strong German accent, or a Nazi is standing behind me and is about to kill me. If it’s number two, he’s probably going to shoot me down in cold blood with a luger within the next ten seconds."

"Very astute, Heir Comshtock. Goodbye!" With that the Nazi shot Victor in the back. Comstock collapsed to the floor.

"Victor!" Betty yelled in shock.

"Well, I guess it was number two then," Victor muttered, trying to catch his breath. "Good bye everyone." He closed his eyes and laid there still.

"Alright! You are all unter my control!" the mysterious Nazi shouted, waving his pistol at the three onlookers. "If you want to go against me, then you’ll vind up like Victor did a few moments ago. D-E-A-D."

"Actually, I’m not dead," Victor remarked, lifting his head. "I’m going through the process of dying. My bodily functions are slowly shutting down, my heart is pumping at a vastly slower rate, and therefore my blood is not circulating correctly. In actuality, it could take up to five minutes for me to, quote-unquote 'pass on.' In fact, having me lie here is the best possible position for me."

"Oh will you shut you mouth already! You’re going to die and zat iz it! I am a dead eye shot shooting; I never leave any victims alive!"

"Well, granted, you do shoot very well... In fact, I can’t feel my whole left arm; you must have hit a vein," Victor replied.

"Zats it! For your loose tongue, Comshtock, your Betty Roberts vill die!"

"That’s it!" Scott exclaimed. He walked over to the Nazi. "Good day Sir."

"Good day?" the Nazi questioned.

"Thank you," Scott smiled. "It certainty is." With that, Scott kicked the Nazi in the leg, caught his gun and threw him to the floor. Stepping on his back emphatically, he pointed the gun at the evil-doer’s head. "One move and you’re dead. D-E-A-D. Thanks for the spelling lesson."

Betty and Gertie looked on with wide eyes. "Scott!" Betty exclaimed, heroism dotting her eyes.

Scott smiled back. "Everything’s okay now, Betty Roberts."

"Who--" the Nazi asked in strained breaths, "who are you?"

"The name is Sherwood. Scott Sherwood," Scott replied coolly.

"Agent 1313!" Victor remarked.

"Nice to meet you Victor," Scott replied, stepping harder on the Nazi’s back.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you! I’d shake hands, but I’m dying... and I wouldn’t want to get blood on that nice suit."

"Well thanks Vic. Oh, and thanks for the tip too; that should get me enough money to buy that schooner again. How are you
doing?"

"Couldn’t be better, actually. Uh-oh, I think I’ll have to say goodnight for now... I’m about to pass out."

"Goodnight Victor."

Victor shut his eyes and sagged to the ground.

"Scott! He’s dead!" Betty remarked in awe.

"No he’s not. It’s just a flesh wound," Scott replied.

"And how do you know?" Betty asked, folding her arms.

"He’d have died instantly if it wasn’t. Besides, I’m Sherwood, Scott Sherwood- I know these things."

"Ah, but you don’t know everything Sherwood!" the Nazi said from below Scott’s shoe. "SWARM SWARM!!!!"

All of a sudden ten Nazi thugs surrounded the small group in the reception hall of WENN.

Part Two

"When we left off, our hero was bravely standing atop the Nazi thug he crushed with his bare hands. Betty and Gertie were
standing by the switchboard in shock, horror, and amazement (as well as a bit of admiration on Betty’s part) staring at Scott.
Victor was lying on the floor finally unconcious, yet probably not dead yet. (If it was Victor, he’d let us know if he was dead.) Ah but alas, all was not right! For ten Nazi thugs had just surrounded our crew in the reception hall of WENN....what was Agent 1313 going to do?" a deep voice narrated, echoing in the halls of WENN.

"Alright Agent 1313, what are you going to do?" a Nazi thug questioned the hero of WENN.

"Didn’t someone just ask that?" Betty said, looking around for the mysterious stranger that began the sequence.

"I don’t know, but then again, it is WENN. I’m going back to the switchboard," Gertie said, becoming bored with the recent chain of events. As we all know, it takes something very interesting to keep Gertie interested, and Nazi thugs with lugers are pretty boring when you think of it.

Scott, what are we going to do?" Betty asked nervously.

"About what Betty?" Scott asked, innocence covering his face.

"World peace!" Betty said, sarcasm coming to the surface due to the intense shock caused by watching Victor being shot, finding out that Scott was really "Sherwood, Scott Sherwood" and having ten nondescript Nazi thugs enter the door of WENN within five minutes. "The ten Nazi thugs surrounding us, ready to kill us if we make one move!"

"Oh, that!" Scott said smiling. "Well, I thought we’d do a bit of this-" and he elbowed the one behind him, "and some of this-" he punched the two thugs in front of him square in the jaw, "a tad of that-" he kicked the one on his right side, "quite a bit of this-" he poked the three near Betty in the eyes with the statement "Thank you Larry, Curly, and Moe. For the last three," he stated, "I thought I’d do this-" with that he socked two in the stomach and kicked one in the leg, causing them all to fall with domino-like effect.

"Scott! That was amazing!" Betty remarked.

"Yeah, great work," Gertie mumbled, flipping through the edition of ‘Photoplay’ sitting on her desk.

"Oh, but we aren’t finished yet," Scott smiled. With that he grabbed Betty and dipped her, planting a passionate kiss on her lips. He let her go, and she looked at him with wide eyes.

"Scott..." she said, mystified by the man she thought she knew.

"It’s Sherwood, Scott Sherwood," he smiled.

"Hey Scott, what happened to your suit?" Gertie asked, looking up for a minute to see if Scott was finally handling more than
Betty’s "business affairs."

Scott looked down, and his suit had changed from the cream he was wearing to a white tux, complete down to his spats. "That’s easy to answer," he remarked coolly, "I always shine when I kiss the woman I love." Scott, or rather, Sherwood, Scott Sherwood, smiled at Betty and caressed her chin.

"Scott, I hate to interrupt what is defined as a, quote-unquote 'romantic moment,' but the gentleman that shot me and that you were stepping on just a few moments ago before valiantly is getting away."

"Oh my, looks like our broadcasts really do kill the public," Hilary remarked, stepping over the bodies on her way to Gertie’s desk. "And that reminds me, speaking of valiant, Betty, the script today was a tad on the dry side; do try to keep it semi-interesting will you?"

"Sure Hilary," Betty answered wryly.

"Thank you. Well, I must be on the air now. Ta ta," she said, stepping over a few more thugs. She stopped by Scott and tapped him on the shoulder, "By the way, nice suit, Scotty." She turned back and walked to the studio with a smile.

"What were you saying Victor?"

"Oh, I was just saying that the man you so valiantly beat up in defense of me ran out the door a few moments ago."

"Oh no Scott! That means that he’s out there, effecting the lives of every Pittsburghian!" Betty exclaimed.

"Pittsburghian? Betty, I think you’ll need a dictionary to define that one!" Maple said, entering the hallway. "Hey, is that you
Lenny?" she asked one of the groggy Nazis. "Nah, Lenny had dark hair. Sorry kid! Well, I’m off for a dress fitting! I found this really cute place right down the street! Betty, you’d love it!" she walked to the door. "See you all later! Oh," she said, stumbling over an arm, "Hiya Vic." Maple smiled and patted her hair.

"Hello Miss Experience!" Victor said, completely ignoring all of Maple’s 'attributes' that s he professed so well and talking as if she was a business partner in a law firm instead.

"Say, Vic, do you need a little help there?"

"No, really, I’m fine. This is the best way for a victim of a gunshot to lie. I learned that when I was over in London. It helps the
blood to keep an even flow. Thanks for asking though!"

"Oh, sure Vic! No problem. Well, have a nice day," Maple smiled shyly and left.

"Scott, I don’t mean to interrupt your plans, but aren’t you going to notify the police that one of the menacing Nazis is loose?"
Victor asked.

"No, I don’t need to do that Victor," he replied, walking over to the tall man lying on the floor.

"Well, why not? In the aspect of things, it is always safer to notify the police in such cases, don’t you agree?" Comstock
questioned.

"I would, except for the fact that I’m Sherwood, Scott Sherwood. I’ll see you all tomorrow," Scott said, facing the two ladies.
"Miss Roberts, I’ll see you tonight. Dinner at eight," he said, looking charmingly at the young woman. "Take care Vic." Scott
patted the injured man on the shoulder. With that, he was off.

"That Scott Sherwood thinking he can just demand a date from me! Ha! I’m not going to show up at the Buttery until nine; that’ll show him!"

Part Three

"Wenn we last left our favorite radio station, Sherwood, Scott Sherwood had departed in hot pursuit of the evil Nazi known only to the public as 'Nazi Thug so valiantly beaten by Sherwood, Scott Sherwood after shooting Victor Comstock (or Comshtock as he called him).' Ah, but before leaving he made a date with station writer/love interest/perfect mix of Hollywood Starlet and Down-home Sweetheart known as Betty Roberts. Let us now join that dinner- date, already in what some would call progress."

"Scotty, what are you looking around for?" the girl sitting next to our hero questioned.

"Who IS that?" Scott asked, looking behind and above him.

"Scotty, don’t you even remember who I am?" the girl sitting next to him asked. "Talk about your gratitude! I buy you a drink and everything! Humph!" With that the girl, smartly dressed in red, grabbed her purse and left.

"Goodbye Laura!! Thanks for the Cherry Coke!!" Scott called after the girl. "I hope she finds Agent 1314; I could really used
McVie’s support," Scott said as he looked at his watch. "I should’ve known it. Betty’s too good for a guy like me," Scott said, downhearted. I tried so hard! I came back to the station, confessed all my lies- to Victor even!-and she still won’t go out with me. I beat up almost a dozen Nazis for that girl! "Sherwood, you midas well give up." Staring at his glass, he took the last gulp and got up from his table to go to the bar.

"What do you need Scotty?" a waitress questioned the handsome man in the white tux.

"Cherry Coke, Jenny. Thanks," he handed her his glass.

"No problem Scotty," she took it with a smile and headed over to the counter.

"Hey Jenny," he called as she turned around. "Thanks. I knew I could count on you."

"No problem 1313," she smiled and went to the counter.

Scotty began folding up the paper napkin at the table when the door chime interrupted his work. He looked up and found Betty Roberts standing in front of the door, looking around the half empty Buttery for her "dinner-date." She was in a neat black dress - a change from that day’s wardrobe. Her hair was curled at the bottom, and pulled back on each side, revealing her brown eyes which, at the moment, looked a bit nervous and a bit excited at the same time.

Finally she met his eyes and walked over to the small table towards the back he and his origami swan occupied. "Hello Scott," she said, smiling as he got up and helped her into her seat.

"Good evening Betty. Jenny! Make that two Cherry Cokes!" he motioned to the waitress. "How was the rest of the day at
W-E-N-N?"

"Oh, it was the usual day at WENN." She let out a light laugh. "After Victor regained consciousness he called the police and they came to pick up the thugs. Then he left for his train, and things were back to normal."

"But, Betty, what about his bullet wound?" Scott asked, a bit confused at how a man with a bullet hole in his right shoulder could get on a train for Washington after losing about a pint of blood and slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Oh, well," Betty said as she sipped her soda, "he said he didn’t want to be late for his 8 pm broadcast. You know Victor, he never misses an appointment!"

"Oh, okay," Scott said nonchalantly, playing with his paper swan.

"What’s that Scott?" Betty asked, taking the swan from his hands.

"It’s a little swan. I learned how to make it when I was sailing the China Seas on my schooner. I ran across a Japanese sage who taught me the art of origami - paper folding. He said it built concentration and strength," Scott said sternly.

"Oh, really?" Betty asked.

"Yes. He said that the art of origami builds up the strength and agility in the hands," Scott replied, making tight fists.

"Is that where you learned how to fight?" Betty asked with wide and interested eyes. "The way you did with the nondescript Nazi thugs today?"

"Nah, I learned that from the movies. Waitress!" Scott called the waitress over as Betty looked in confusion.

The two ate their Buttery dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with a side of small talk. As the conversation progressed, both began to feel more at ease with one another, and the conversation flowed from their days at WENN to new territory on their walk home.

"Scott, when did you become 'Agent 1313'?" Betty asked. "Scott?"

"Huh? Oh..." Scott said, looking back at Betty. Where is that voice coming from? he wondered.

"The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?" Betty asked, looking up at the sky where Scott had been staring.

Scott smiled. "Not as beautiful as your eyes," he remarked with his trademarked grin.

Betty blushed. "Scott, when did you become 'Agent 1313'?" she questioned again.

"A long time ago, but you don’t need to know about that; at least not yet."

"But Scott, I want to know! Why can’t you tell me?" Betty asked, saddened.

"I just can’t, Betty, for your own safety," Scott said with sympathetic yet firm eyes.

"Victor can trust me with the fact that he’s alive yet reported dead, and you can’t trust me with a little Secret Agent thing?! Sometimes I just don’t believe you Scott Sherwood!" Betty exclaimed in disgust.

"Betty, you want a secret of mine to keep?" Sherwood asked, flattered.

"Well, sure Scott. I mean, I do work with you, and I am the best at keeping a secret at WENN," she explained as they walked up the steps to the Barbican Hotel for Women.

"Well then Betty, I suppose-"

"Yes Scott?"

"That means that there’ll be a second date," he grinned. "Goodnight Betty!" He kissed her quickly on the cheek and hopped down the steps, turning around after he reached the sidewalk.

"Scott Sherwood!" she exclaimed, stifling a smile.

He waved and ran off down the block. Frustrated, Betty turned back to the door and let herself in. Walking the two flights of
stairs up to her apartment, she unlocked the door and went in, not bothering to turn on the lights. Walking over to the small window in her bedroom she said in the chair by it and looked out at the stars. "I suppose there will be a second date," Betty said, smiling; a well of excitement exploding in her stomach.

Meanwhile Scott was across town, fighting the battle of his life.

Part Four

"As we last departed our tale, we were told that Agent 1313 was fighting the battle of his life. Let us now go to downtown
Pittsburgh where we meet our hero in action."

"Would you stop narrating my every move!" Scott screamed into the night. I need to quit the spy business, he thought as he
pulled out a gold plated cigarette case. popping open the latch he pulled out the small white stick and sniffed it. "Ahhh," he said, enjoying the familiar smell. Clasping the case shut and putting it back into his coat pocket, he placed the white tube in his mouth and took a bite. "Nothing like a sugar rush to get you through the Pittsburgh night shift. Thank you Mr. Willy Wonka." Taking another bite out of his sugary beauty, he walked along the silent Pittsburgh street and stared at the stars. All of a sudden, he felt a tap on his back.

"Excuse me, Mister," a kid’s voice came after the third tap.

"Yes?" Scott questioned, turning around.

""Come with me." The voice wasn’t a child’s any more; it was the gruff voice of a man; and it wasn’t alone. A small shiny Colt 45 accompianed it in his left hand, ready to be fired.

Scott’s eyes widened in surprise. "May I ask where we’re going?"

"Not unless you want my friend here to give you the answer," the man replied, his pistol poised facing Scott’s heart.

Scott shrugged and answered "Lead on" not knowing what to expect.

"I think I’ll let YOU do the leading," the man motioned for Scott to turn around, and then pushed him down the street with a shove of the pistol’s barrel into his spine.

"I do hope that gun is clean," Scott said as they walked along Isabella Street. "Getting this jacket to sparkle is no easy task."

The gentleman had no reply; he simply pushed him onward and upward; right to the door of WENN.

"What are we doing here?" Scott asked, nervous that someone might still be in the station.

"Go in," the gunman replied.

"Oh, so you do talk while aiming a gun! How multi-talented!" Scott replied with a grin as he opened the door. "Now where to?"

"Control Room."

"Scotty obliged, walking down the hall, second door on his left. Upon entering, he met a startling surprise."

"Did you just say something?" Scott asked the gunman.

"No."

"Then did you hear anyone-"

"Get in there!" the gunman yelled, unamused by what looked to be Agent1313’s weak attempt at getting out of the sticky situation.

"Alright already!" Scott replied, making a mental note to find out exactly who belonged to that voice once he found out why a man dragged him to the station at gunpoint. He slowly opened the door and walked in to the tune of an evil, sinister laugh.

"Hello Scotty!" the laugher greeted Sherwood.

"Pruitt. I should’ve known," Scott replied with a cold stare. Six months in prison hadn’t done a thing to him. He was still the same old bulging, crude Pruitt. Six months away from him hadn’t changed Scotty either; he still hated Pruitt’s guts with a passion.

"Well Scotty, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, nothing much. Keeping WENN in the black and out of your grubby hands," Scott replied wryly.

"I suppose I out smarted you this time, haven’t I?" Pruitt half asked, half said with a snarl and a maniacal grin.

"Well," Scott said, having formed a plan, "I don’t think so." He kicked Pruitt in the stomach and grabbed the lone gunman by the arm, hoisting him over his shoulder and onto the cold linoleum floor with a pleasant thud. Scott walked over to Pruitt lying on the floor and nudged him with his foot. "I don’t suppose you have outsmarted me Pruitt."

"Oh!" Pruitt groaned. "Think again- Mr. Sherwood."

Scott slit his eyes and looked up. Directly behind Pruitt’s twitching body stood a man, hunched over a revolver and a small brown bag.

"This is the summer of your unhappiness," the man let out with a belch.

"No no no! It’s 'This is the winter of your discontent!' Don’t you listen to our programming at all?! How could you misquote Betty Roberts?!" Scott asked in disgust.

"Ha! Listen to it? I used to write it! That is, until that Roberts sap came in."

"Who are you to call the finest woman in the world a sap?!" Scott asked, lunging over Pruitt’s mass and knocking the man to the floor.

"My name’s Gianetti, and I used to run this station! Watch it! These are famous bones you’re crushing!"

Scott got up and brushed himself off, as did the old man. Suddenly a flash of light landed on the old alcoholic’s face.

"Do you ever stop drinking?" Sherwood remarked, catching a whiff of the man’s breath.

"Mr. DeMille?!" the drunk asked into the spotlight. "I’m ready to write the closeup now!"

Scott furrowed his brow in complete confusion, and shaded his eyes from the blinding light. "Who is that?" he shouted, grabbing the spare rod lying on the filing cabinet. "I’ve got a gun, so watch out!"

"Here it is Mr. DeMille, my closeup!" Gianetti walked towards the light and tripped over Mr. Pruitt’s leg, falling face-first to the ground to Mr. Pruitt’s horror. A shot rang out (later Scott found that Gianetti’s hand that was holding the gun had hit the floor in such a way that it caused his fingers to squeeze the trigger and the rod to, therefore, go off) and the lone gunman, who had just gotten up from being knocked against the control board, fell onto Pruitt, dead.

"Ahhhhhh!!!!" Pruitt groaned. The two bodies pinned him down against the floor, and there was no way he could get up. Although the diets in the Pittsburgh prisons were three square meals a day, they were reduced to round meals of bread and water for Nazi saboteurs, therefore Pruitt had lost nearly all of his strength, causing him to lie desperately on the floor, a heaping mass of what used to be a human being.

"Mr. Sherwood, I’ll- I’ll give you twenty dollars if you help me up!" Pruitt begged.

"Well, that sounds a bit familar," Scott said with a grin. "Goodnight Pruitt."

"With that Scott triumphantly left the room and walked down the hall. Realizing he forgot to find out who the person behind the flashlight was, he turned around and walked back down the hall. When he reached the Control Room his aide was gone, along with Pruitt and his two accomplices. It was as if they vanished into thin air, and didn’t leave a trace."

"Why, it’s as if they vanished into thin air, and didn’t leave a trace," Scott said in amazement. "Hey! Would you quit narrating my every thought and movement!!!" Scott yelled looking around. "I swear, when I find you, you’re gonna pay big time!!! What nerve! You don’t see me going around talking about you!" Scott complained to the mysterious stranger as he walked back down the hall to leave.

Part Five

"And now we-"

"Oh no you don’t!" Scott yelled. "I’m doin’ the intro this time!"

"But Scott, I’m writing the story!"

"But I’m your main character! Besides, without me there wouldn’t be a story."

"And without Norma Desmond there would be no Paramount Studios, yada yada yada. Go ahead then! I feel like some Starbucks anyway.... want any?"

"Hmm... do you have Latte?"

"Yup! Two dips?"

"Great! Thanks! Now, on with the story," Scott said, figuring that he’d worry about the face behind the mysterious voice later. "It was a cold and rainy Pittsburgh night, but Scott-I- wasn’t at home in front of the fire where he-I- oh forget it, wanted to be. No, he was at radio station WENN, performing the latest edition of ‘Sam Dane- Private Eye’; a most excellently written script by Betty Roberts, for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?"

"Didn’t I say I was narrating this story?" Scott complained.

"Well, if you want to narrate, you have to do it thoroughly. Besides, you aren’t even sticking to the script! Here, have your Latte and let a professional do the work!"

Ahem "It was a cold and rainy night in the town of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. That night’s Pirates’ game was a washout, so the skeleton crew of WENN had to perform a quick edition of ‘Sam Dane Private Eye’ for the Pittsburgh listening audience."

"I walked along the cold slate path of the alleyway and down to where Benny the Bookie and his Thugs called ‘home,'" Scott read the script in his "Sam Dane" tone.

"Hey Betty, isn’t this Jeff’s part?" Maple asked the brunette writer as they stood around the water cooler.

"Well, yes, but right now he and Hilary are in the Green Room meeting with their Marriage Counselor."

"Marriage Counselor? More like a mortician for those two!" Maple laughed.

"Meanwhile, in the Green Room...."

"Now Hilary, I think instead of taking your anger out on Jeff with physical violence, you should communicate to him your feelings. Let’s try that."

I’m taking marriage advice from a fan, I don’t believe it," Hilary remarked wryly, her arms folded in her lap.

"Come on Hilary, let’s just try what Michele suggests; it couldn’t hurt!" Jeff pleaded.

Hilary scowled in response.

"Hilary," Jeff gritted his teeth and looked at her with stern eyes.

"Oh alright! Jeffrey, what you did in London with that Czechoslovakian Chamber Pot hurt me immensly! How could you ever think of doing something like THAT with a perfidious pirana like, like THAT!"

"Hilary, I did it to save democracy and everything I believe in!" Jeff pleaded in despair, realizing that it was the fiftieth time he had explained that to her.

Hilary’s eyes wavered from anger to admiration. "That’s not good enough," she replied, fixing her skirt and biting her lip.

Jeff sighed and rolled his eyes. Looking at her sideways he gritted his teeth and smiled. "Hilary," he faced her with love in his
eyes, "I did it for you."

Hilary smiled. "Well, in that case," she touched his chin, "you’re getting there," she finished sarcastically.

"HILARY BOOTH!" Jeff yelled in disgust.

"Wow, sounds like they’re making real progress, doesn’t it?" Mackie remarked sarcastically as he sipped his water. He and Scott had just finished ‘Sam Dane’ and were taking a break while Eugenia and Mr. Foley did their long- awaited interpretation of "The Nutcracker" for the Pittsburgh listening audience.

"BettyBettyBetty," Scott said as his favorite writer rounded the corner. "How’s Victor doing?"

"Who?" the writer replied, smiling at Sherwood.

"Victor," Scott said in confusion. "Victor Comstock. You know, tall, bald, grandeloquent ‘beer in your underwear’ guy? The one who pops in and out of the station during crucial scenes and is absent at any other time? Victor!"

"Oh-him. Hmmm.. I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in a while. Oh well, he’s probably in Washington or something," Betty said, perusing the papers on her clipboard. "Scott," she looked up, "could I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure!" Scott said dotting the exclamation point with his trademarked grin. He threw the paper cup away and gave Mackie the
"I’m THE man!" smile before retreating to the Writer’s Room with Betty.

Mackie shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the evening paper in his hand. Furrowing his brow, he looked up in confusion. "Hmmm." Tilting the door to the Studio open, he peered inside. Walnut shells flew out of the crack and Mackie closed the door. Flipping to page eight the gentleman remarked, "No, I guess he doesn’t need any help. Hey! Would ya get a load of this...." before trailing off into the Hollywood news.

"So Betty, what did you want to talk to me about?" Scott asked as he shut the door behind him.

Betty set the clipboard down on her desk and turned around. "Scott, we’ve known each other for a long time now, and I-I, well Scott, I know I haven’t exactly been vocal about my feelings for you..." Betty folded her hands together and looked at them nervously. "Scott," she looked up at him, "I-"

"Aha! I knew I’d find you two somewhere! Betty, we need to discuss the new sponsors for ‘The Hands of Time’!"

"Victor?" Betty questioned.

"Victor," Scott grumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"Well Sherwood, I am the legal Station Manager of WENN. Well, actually, I’m not exactly Station Manger, that’s really Betty’s job; you see, when I arrived home from Germany, Washington had jobs waiting for me in D.C., that is to say, the Di strict of Columbia, where our na t ion’s capital is. Now, since I cannot possibly be in two places at once-"

"Yes, yes, yes, I know the story Vic. What I meant was- oh nevermind," Scott rolled his eyes and humphed in disgust.

"Betty, are you coming?" Victor questioned.

"Yes Victor," Betty said, and followed the tall man almost as if she were in a trance.

"Betty, what did you want to say to me?" Scott questioned. "Betty?" he pulled her arm and she turned around.

"Scott," she said as a look of helplessness came over her. "I’ve-I’ve- tonight behind the Glickman Building-please," she said with desperate eyes. Then she turned and left.

"Hmmm...." Scott pondered the odd chain of events. "This looks like a job for Sherwood, Scott Sherwood!" he declared. Suddenly his brown suit changed to a sparkling white and his hair was smoothly slicked back with Bryl-Cream.

He was a man ready for action.

Part Six

"The night passed slowly for Scotty. He had to stay at WENN for the next four hours and pretend everything was fine, when he knew it wasn’t."

"You don’t need to remind me," Scott grumbled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"Scott had finally finished his work at WENN, and to his dispair, Betty and Victor still had not returned from what Gertie called their ‘dinner date’."

"Dinner date-hmph. That guy couldn’t do dinner if his bald-head depended on it."

"Now it was time to go into action. As Sherwood-Scott Sherwood, our hero tapped down the wet slate sidewalk on a chilly Pittsburghian evening-"

"Pittsburghian? Is that even a word?" he questioned.

"Shh!!! Don’t ruin the mystery of the moment!"

"As if the picture of me tapping down a sidewalk didn’t already ruin the romance of it all."

"Not necissarily! Many romantic men tap danced down sidewalks- Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly-"

"Yeah, but I bet none of them were mysterious!"

"Just another way you’re one of a kind Scotty boy."

"Don’t call me that here! It’s Sherwood-Scott Sherwood!"

"SHERWOOOOOOD!!!!!!" a chorus of sopranos sang from the back.

"Oh no! A tap routine?!" Scott questioned in shock as the Sherwood girls, one by one, came out from behind the surrounding buildings with glittering costumes and bright, shiny feathers. Swirling around they all came to the middle and circled around Scott. Then, one by one, they twirled around their boss and planted a kiss on his cheek, proceeding to introduce themselves.

SMAK! the kiss plunked red lipstick on the shaven cheek. "Laura!"

SMAK! another red rose to add to the bunch. "Jenny!"

The girls continued to circle around until the last one came to the front. Looking at Sherwood with hero-worship in her eyes, she couldn’t resist and grabbed his face, planting a kiss right on his lips. With a proud grin she looked to the front and announced her name in the Pittsburgh lights.

"REBECCA!!"

"Oh no!" Scott shouted in dispair as the girls twirled again and started to sing around him.

"Dum-da-da-da-da da-da dum-da-da-da-da ~ SHERWOOD!
Who’s the man that gets ALL the ladies?
SHERWOOD!
Who’s the guy with the glint in his eye?
SHERWOOD!!"

"Hey, that’s not a half bad tune," Scott grinned and hummed along. Then, suddenly realizing he had to meet Betty in exactly thirty-six-and-a-half seconds he shouted, "Wait a minute!! Cut!! Hey stop! Show’s over!"

"But Scotty!" the girls cried.

"I’m sorry girls; maybe later. I have to go to work now."

"That’s what you always say Scott," Rachel pouted.

"But you forgive me, don’t you?" he flashed his smile.

"Of course!"

"The girls left and the street grew dark again, leaving Scott to wander down the pavement wondering what he would meet with on the other side of the Glickman building; the back side. The dark side. The side NO ONE ever goes to."

"Aren’t you dramatizing a bit much? Granted, not many people go to the back of the building, but it doesn’t mean it’s heck on earth." Just then Scott turned the corner and met with the back of the Glickman building. "Maybe I was wrong."

Thick darkness surrounded the two brown eyes and faded the white jacket into a deep gray. Feeling about, Scott heard the screech of a cat and wings overhead followed by the sharp chirp of a bird; a cruel bird, a ravenous bird
waiting for its prey. CRASH! The sounds of metal colliding with pavement shocked our hero and he pulled out his gun, but before he could say anything,

"Darn pen-lights never work!"

"Betty? Is that you?"

"Oh, hi Scott! Yes, it’s me; just hold on one second."

Furrowing his brow, Scott put the Colt 45 back in the holster and moved slowly toward the direction of the voice that rang love in his ears.

Click, click! "There we go!" Suddenly a tiny beam of bright light shot up between the two, revealing how close they were. "Well, hello Scott," Betty commented, pursing her lips and turning red.

He smiled. "H’lo Betty. Um, you wanted to speak to me?" he backed away a bit.

"Yes, Scott," she looked down, "come with me." Taking his hand in hers, she led him down the alleyway and to a cold black door. Pulling it open, a blackened corridor faced the two, dark and foreboding. He followed her down the path, one hand embracing hers, the other emabracing the pistol at his side. Ding! The elevator bell rang and the two stepped in; Betty pressed for the 16th floor.

"Betty, what’s going on?"

"Shh. We’re almost there." Slowly the elevator climbed to the top in total darkness albeit the tiny glow of Betty’s pen-light. He couldn’t help but notice that she had changed since he last saw her; her bright blue dress had been replaced by a soft black organdy print that complemented her dark curls and soft brown eyes.

"Betty," he began, reaching out tenderly to her arm.

DING! "Oh good, we’re here!" Betty hopped off the elevator with a smile.

"You just HAD to write that in didn’t you?"

"Relax Scotty boy, you’ll get your chance. Now, back to the story."

"Scott, did you say something?" Betty asked the handsome man at her side.

"Nice touch," he smiled.

"Thanks. Now, answer the love of your life."

"No Betty, I didn’t say anything."

"Oh, alright. Well, we’re here!" she smiled shyly. "Go on, open the door."

He pushed open the creaky door and a million stars, like tiny drops of dew shining on dark blue paper, greeted the couple as they walked onto the roof of the Glickman Building. Walking to the edge, the two looked down at Pittsburgh with its dim streetlights and fading sounds of whistles indicating the shift changes at the steel mills nearby. Scott and Betty looked at each other with a glow in their eyes.

"Scott."

"Betty."

"I hate the smell of burning metal," the two said simultaneously. They both laughed.

"Scott, you’ve probably seen so many exotic and adventurous places in the world; why come to Pittsburgh?"

"There’s only one answer to that Miss Roberts."

"Oh and what is that?" she smiled, raising one eyebrow and folding her arms.

"Betty Betty Betty," he smiled.

Betty turned away, not wanted Scott Sherwood of all men to see her blush. "Come," she turned back smiling. Leading the way, Betty took Scott to a small table in the corner with two chairs and a candle shining brightly in
the midst of the black Pittsburgh night. He helped her into her seat, and sat himself.

"Betty," Scott said, confused, "I thought you already had dinner with Victor."

"What? Oh, no, we were just meeting a sponsor for the station! Dinner with Victor? Where did you get that idea?"

"I don’t know," he smiled, forgetting everything in the world but her eyes.

She smiled back and the two gazed at each other for a moment, their heartbeats keeping the same time.

"Oooh, the blue plate special!" Scott suddenly exclaimed. Sticking the napkin in his shirt he grinned at Betty, "You’re the greatest."

"Thanks Scotty. I hope it’s good; I’m starving!" The two chowed down, enjoying the delectable Buttery meal of succulent fried chicken and corn while chatting about WENN and the things people chat about while eating meals from the Buttery on the roof of the Glickman Building at night in Pittsburgh, PA.

"Well Betty, that was delicious."

"I’m glad you enjoyed it," she said, yawning.

Looking at his watch, Sherwood realized it was nearly midnight. "I’d better get you home."

Scotty and Betty walked slowly, secretly in their own way not wanting the night to end. Linking her arm in his, Betty leaned on his shoulder and didn’t say a word except to laugh at his jokes.

"Well, goodnight Betty," Scott said, letting go of her at the door to the Barbican.

"Oh Scott, I don’t want this night to end."

"Then it doesn’t have to," he smiled, pulling her into his arms and twirling her around to the music floating down the street from an open window. “Betty,” he asked as they danced, "why did you invite me here tonight?"

"I wanted to see you. It seems everytime I try to talk to you someone interrupts, usually Victor. The roof of the Glickman was the only place I knew where we could be alone. Well, unless that crazy girl was there again, but I was willing to take my chances."

He smiled. "Betty, when Victor came in and interrupted us today, it was as if you were possesed; you had to follow him. Is something wrong?"

"Oh Scott. There’s so much I have to tell you, but-"

"But what?" he stopped and they both stood still in silence. "What is it Betty?"

"Please, Scotty, don’t ask me now. I’ve got to go."

"Betty--"

"Goodnight Agent 1313," Betty said, a look of sadness in her eyes.

"Betty Roberts," he caught her by the arm before she got to the door. "Do you love Victor Comstock?"

"Well Scott, I-"

Part Seven

"What will she say?! What will she do?!"

"Well, you won't find out tonight," came a deep voice from down the hall.

"What do you mean we won't find out tonight?! Say, who's writing this story anyway?"

Suddenly the dark Pittsburgh night turned into the bright lights of WENN. Sherwood was no longer Agent 1313 but Scotty boy, and Miss Roberts wasn't dodging a question, she was dodging the hot coffee pot in Mr. Eldridge's hand on the way down to finish Valiant Journey.

"Hey, Narrator, what the heck is going on here? I was just about to find out Betty's true feelings and- and THIS?!"

"I don't know Scotty! One minute I was about to continue and the next a tall bald guy is standing next to me in the director's chair! Say, who are you?"

"Victor. Victor Comstock. At least that's what my mother always called me. You see, my father, while he was alive, persisted in calling me 'sonny boy'," he laughed. "For years I signed my school papers 'Sonny Boy Comstock',"

"You did?!" the Narrator asked, laughing.

"Yes!" he turned serious, "It still plagues me sometimes..." the man's eyes drifted off along with his thoughts. "How could you dad?" he asked, wiping a tear from his eye. "Why couldn't he love me for who I was instead of a 'sonny boy'?" the bald man burst into tears.

"Umm... Scotty boy... I think you're on your own for this segment," the Narrator put a comforting arm around Sonny Vic Vic. "Hey, it's gonna be OH-kay," she soothed him with fearful eyes.

"Hmm. So I'm in charge, eh?" Scotty grinned. "Alrighty then; there's going to be some changes around here starting right now."

Scott walked into Studio A and interrupted Hilary's eggplant parmigan for an important announcement.

"We now interrupt this broadcast to bring you listeners a very special treat - 78 rpm's that you yourself could play at home, but would much rather listen to on the radio - for the entire evening!!"

"Scott, what the devil," Hilary began to howl.

"Hildy Hildy Hildy, I thought you could use a night off," Scotty grinned and pointed to the door where Jeff stood waiting, coats in hand.

Hilary turned back to the brown eyed devil, "Bless you Scotty boy," and sauntered to the door.

"That marriage counselor worked wonders," Mackie remarked smartly. "Thanks Scotty."

Sherwood left the studio, Lester in charge of the record player since Mr. Foley and Eugenia had already left for the evening, and was met by a frantic Betty in the hall.

"Scott, you're going to RUIN us! Records all night will see the competition ahead by double! How could you even-"

"Betty Betty Betty, relax! I have it all taken care of. The entirety of the Pittsburgh population, with the exception of the steel plant night shift, the kiddies who are in bed by now, the crazy teenagers out for a movie and a glass of pop at the drugstore, the old folks tucked in for a good night's rest, the women with terrible headaches after taking care of the baby all day, and the men down at What Ales You, will be tuning into WENN tonight; I know. After all, I AM Sherwood, aren't I? Now," he placed his hands on her shoulders, "what's say you and I crack open a warm, saucy box of Pete's-a-Pie and toast the first night off in this station's history?"

"It's a deal," Betty said, mesmerized.

"Then please, join me." Scott led the enamored writer to the Green Room and pushed open the door to reveal a golden ballroom filled with magnificent guests, all of whom awed at their entrance. Betty's eyes grew wide and she looked down to find herself no longer in the drab gray dress she had worn that day, but a beautiful silken treasure, hand made of the finest red satin and sewn together with thread that shone like diamonds. Her hair was fastened atop her head by two silver clips, engraved with her name, and droplet diamonds graced her hears, glowing between the fallen curls that surrounded them. Placing her white gloved hand in Scott's she noted he had also gone through a miraculous change. No longer was he wearing the plain red shirt and sport jacket; a sable tuxedo outlined his strong frame, satin lapels shining in the light from the crystal chandeliers above. He wore a deep red rose- the color of her dress- that accented the red undertone in his majestic cape, and shining black spats; his outfit being crowned by a black top-hat worthy of Fred Astaire himself.

Removing the hat and cape, and giving the silver-plated walking stick to the ever so trimmed butler at his side, Scott proceeded to wrap Betty in his arms and twirl her around the ballroom floor. As they spinned the guests oohed and ahhed, and even the orchestra gave them a round of applause.

Finally able to drag her away from the millions of men that surrounded her, Scott took Betty out onto the veranda, and the two gazed at the glowing moon above.

"It's like a great pearl," Betty remarked softly.

"It still isn't worthy enough to grace your crown, Lady Elizabeth Roberts," Scott remarked, touching her hair.

She turned to him and smiled, a hint of red gracing her cheek.

"Do you love me Lady Elizabeth?"

"Yes, oh yes Agent Sherwood; I could never love anyone more."

Part Eight

"When we last left our hero, he was in the midst of a ballroom soiree with Lady Elizabeth Roberts of WENN, Pittsburgh, who had just admitted her undying love for Sherwood. We now return you to the ballroom, or was it the Green Room?, of WENN...."

Scott caressed Lady Elizabeth's cheek. "Lady Elizabeth, you have made me forever the happiest man in the world," he leaned forward to kiss her and all of a sudden-

"Alright Scotty, Sonny- I mean Victor seems to be doing better now, so I'll take over."

"WHAT?!"

Scott looked up and then back down to the woman standing next to him, her face twisted in frustration.

"Look, you've interrupted this entire story! Now I finally have the chance and, and, and you decide to pop up!"

The narrator sighed. "I know what you're going through, believe me. But if I let you two kiss now, there'll be no more story, and no more-"

"SHERWOOD!!!!" the Starlets chimed in.

"Yes, exactly, thank you."

"Well, I don't want a SHERWOOD!!! I want a Scott; the kniving con-man I fell in love with!"

"Betty?! You, you fell in love with me even before you knew I was a Secret Agent?" Scott asked in disbelief.

Betty turned to him and smiled. "Scott, you didn't need to impress me with your white suit, your black tux, or this sequined ballgown; I knew I loved you the moment you walked in the door of WENN. Well, maybe not exactly then, but.... it sounds lovely. Anyway, one day I just woke up and realized it; no silver bells needed to ring in the Pittsburgh streets, no  dazzling beauties needed to sing your praises - all you needed to do was smile. Then I knew I loved you, and always would."

"Oh Betty,"

"Oh boy. Do you know what this is going to do to the ratings?"

"Forget the ratings!" Scott shouted. "I've got Betty and WENN, and if that doesn't pull ratings then what will?" He put his arm around Betty and the two looked at each other, romance burning in their eyes.

"A new show, that's what will!"

"Hey, who are you?" Scott asked the two men that had just burst into the Green Room. The couple looked at each other in confusion.

"Yeah, lots of action, lots of stars; we'll call it THE LOT!"

"Excuse me," Betty interrupted their brainstorm, "but who are you?"

"Archibald M. Cromwell,"

"And Ronald Jeris Prichard at your service ma'am."

"Well, we're really not at your service anymore." The two men looked at each other and laughed.

"Well then, whose service are you at?" Scott demanded. He could tell a scoundrel a mile away, and he wished these two were thousands of miles away at the moment.

"WENN's.  Funeral, you know."

"Yes. It seems that the funeral bell has sounded the knell for the fall of all at this station. Based on the latest ratings you're-"

"Out of business! Goodbye!"

A.M.Cromwell and R.J. Prichard laughed themselves silly as Betty and Scott looked at each other in despair.

"What are we going to do Scott?"

Scott furrowed his brow. "You can con a con man," he pondered, "but how do you con a conglomerate?"

"Will this mean the end of WENN- forever? What will happen to Scott and Betty's budding romance? What will happen to radio station WENN? What will happen to the faithful cast, crew, sponsors, manager, and writer of WENN, Pittsburgh?"

"What will happen to the writer of this story?!"

"Oh, well that's simple," A.M.C. replied, "you're fired!"

"What?"

"Yes. We're going to hire new, younger, more talented blood for the new show," R.J. P. finished.
"Oh look, here he comes now!"

"Is cataclysm spelled with an "i" or a "y"?"

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Part Nine

"When last we left WENN, the station had been taken over by A.M. Cromwell and R. J. Prichard; two ruthless moneymongers whose sole aim was to cut spending and raise profits at all costs. WENN's head and only writer, Betty Roberts, had been fired and forced to leave the station! Where is she going to go? Will Scott follow her? Will the rest of WENN follow them? Will Victor ever get the therapy he needs?!"

"Hey, I don't need therapy! I just need someone to love me for who I am...bald spot and all!"

"Er..yes..well..anyway, the WENNers are in crisis; what will our brave Sherwood, Scott Sherwood do to save the day?!"

"Great. So it's my problem. Again."

"Scott, that is how you got the name."

"Yeah yeah.. I know.. but they canceled WENN! How the heck can I get out of something like
that?!"

"Well, you could always kill them, and then secretly dispose of their bodies and their legal papers, denying any knowledge of them."

"Yeah, but it's the 1940s...we have honor and morals. We'd have to wait 'til the 90s to do that, and I don't think everyone wants to wait around 50 years for that."

"Who says we have to wait?" Betty asked slyly.

Scott furrowed his brow and looked slyly toward the writer, "Betty?" he questioned.

"We may not be H.G. Wells, but we are WENN. There are some things a radio station can do that even a time machine can't."

"Like broadcast the muse of the mind, the salmagundi of the soul, the-"

"Victor, can I ask you a question?" Maple's Brooklyn twang interrupted the syllabic speech.

"Oh no, now the writer's even sounding like Victor."

Oh shush!

"Why yes Ms. LaMarsh, what is your query?"

"Did you have Webster's implanted in your head, or do you just memorize it at will?"

"All right Betty, what's your idea?" Sherwood asked, somewhat intrigued at what she was thinking.

"Well...."

"Hours passed with the crew bustling about, preparing Betty's plan that would go into action that night- the night of WENN's final broadcast. Betty, C.J, Scott, and Mr. Foley set up Studio A accordingly while Gertie and Eugenia kept the two dreary new Presidents as happy and as distracted as possible. (Maple also helped in this venture to great success...) Mackie, Hilary, and Jeff busied themselves with an alternate plan in case tonight didn't work. It was an intricate, detailed little ditty involving loose cables and large elevators with no operators; the full details of which cannot be seen here, as requested by the three, on fear of possible incrimination. Mr. Eldridge, meanwhile, decided to visit the buttery for a piece of cake, and Victor randomly wound up Washington, much like he did in every other episode.

Finally it was eight o'clock.

Finally, the apocalypse of WENN had come."

"Gee, let's make it sound a little MORE freaky! Look - there's the four trollops! Ahh! I'm
scared!!"

"It's four HORSEMEN Scott... HORSEMEN," Victor corrected.

"Ohh... whatever. They got the drift. Hey~aren't you supposed to be in Washington?!"

"Yes. And I'm going...where people LOVE ME!"

"Sometimes you gotta go, where everybody knows your name," Betty, head in a script, came singing down the hallway.

"Oh why does everyone mock me?!!" Victor ran off.

"Most likely to see his therapist."

You're just the narrator..stick to narrating.

"Oh, fine. But admit it, it was funny."

All right.. I'll admit that. But, back to the story.

"Are you nervous about tonight Betty?"

She closed the script and looked up. "A little. Are you nervous Scott?"

"Nah," he blew it off nonchalantly.

The writer smiled and leaned up, kissing his cheek. "Don't worry; everything will be fine Scott. I know it will." Her eyes met his and she smiled, then headed off down the hall.

"You know Betty Roberts," he said to himself, "I think you're right."

A.M.Cromwell and R.J. Prichard sat in the control room like two vultures ready to attack at any moment. Displeased with the fact that they legally had to allow the last broadcast to go on, they grumbled to themselves throughout the night, every once in a while breaking out into hoarse, cracking laughter that faded into bouts of dry coughing before they settled down again. The
evening's programs wound down to an end, and it was, finally, time for sign off. Each one of the company, in turn, said farewell to their listening public, thanking them for being such faithful, wonderful fans throughout their time at the station. The last one to appear before the chrome mic was Betty Roberts, the one A.M.C. and R.J.P. mocked the most.

"She's such a CHILD."

"But Cromwell, look at her! She's more of a schoolmarm to me; you'd never see her out past 8 pm any night!"

The two broke into hacks of laughter.

"In my time at W E N N I have met many wonderful people, and had many fantastic experiences that I will cherish and carry with me for the rest of my life. My year and a half in Pittsburgh, PA has given me a chance to do so many things that most women only dream of. Now I would like to extend a special thanks to Mr. A.M. Cromwell and Mr. R.J. Prichard for snatching those things away from me, those dreams, that joy.... and for replacing them with sadness and trepidation
about my future," she started to break down into tears. "These-two-won...wonderful men," the tears began to flow, "have dashed from me my hope, my joy.... I .. I don't know what I can say but, thank you. This is W E N N signing....off!" She ran out of the studio and down the hall, tears flooding the way and leaving the rest of the cast, including A.M.C and R.J.P. in shock.

"Although for a full ten seconds the pair of misers were inconsolable, they soon recovered to their snithing selves and headed out, nodding smartly to the cast members lining their way to the door, who replied to their triumphant looks with cold glares. As they reached the door, however, their triumph fell from their faces as the two old men were trampled down by hundreds of people storming the door of the station, led by none other than the six Sherwood Girls themselves."

"SCOTTY!!!" they all screamed upon entering the door.

"Hello girls," he grinned, and they all ran up to him, hugging him in turn.

"Laura, Rebecca, Ashley, Nina, Jenny, Rachel.. I don't know what I could've done without you," he thanked them.

Betty just looked on when Scott met her eyes. His grin changed to a questioning look, and Betty replied with a smile and a roll of her eyes before walking over and plucking a kiss on his cheek.

"You did it Scott," she smiled.

"No Miss Roberts - WE did it."

"Well, I would love to stay here and watch the carnage unfold, but Jeffrey and I have a late dinner engagement, don't we darling?"

"Why yes Mittens, I almost forgot!" The two grinned mischievously at one another and stepped over the two bodies before walking out the doorway giggling.

"Looks like the marriage counselor did wonders," Mackie remarked smartly.

"Well, you know what they say," Maple smiled, "wonders always cease."

The two laughed and said their good-byes to everyone before making their way through the crowd of fans bashing the misers.

"And THAT'S for hurting BETTY!!" one enthusiastic gentleman yelled before decking A.M.C. in the jaw.

"Well, I would love to stay, but it is getting late," Eugenia smiled. Suddenly Mr. Foley came up from behind her and whispered in her ear. "Why, yes Mr. Foley," she blushed, "I-I would be glad to have you escort me home."

Mr. Foley blushed and ran his hand through his hair nervously before helping Eugenia make her way through the crowd.

"Cake anyone?"

"Tom, do you ever stop eating cake?"

"Well Gertie, it is sweet, but not to worry; nothing could be as sweet as you."

She laughed and patted her hair, "Well..."

"And that's for almost ending Crimson Blade!" one avid ten year old smacked R.J.P. in the behind with the last of his beebees from his Red Rider.

"Well Betty, I think it's about time you got home."

"Oh you do, do you Scott?"

"Well, you could always get back a little later..." he grinned.

"No, I think I'll be late enough as it is. Goodnight Mr. Eldridge, goodnight Gertie."

"Night Betty; night Scott!" the two smiled.

"Well Gertie, what are we going to do about this mess?" the elderly man asked, looking around at the chaos.

"Oh don't worry Tom," the redhead waved her hand at the crowd. "Everything will be back to normal tomorrow."

The two smiled and leaned back against the desk, reflecting on the site before them.

"Young people these days...."

"The moon shone bright on the streets of Pittsburgh that night. Outside the summer heat had died down temporarily, and it was a perfectly serene night for a walk. As Betty and Scott jaunted down the street, Betty couldn't help but notice how wonderful he looked tonight in his jet black suit and red tie. Looking up at the sky she couldn't help but admire the many stars. About to say something to Scott, she looked back down at him.....and his suit was white as snow, glowing in the moonlight.

She was convinced he was her night in shining armor."

The End.

"Or is it?"

That's it, next time I'm having Foley narrate.

"Oh, you wouldn't want to do that."

And why not?

"Are you kidding? He talks more than I do!"

The Writer's Room | The Green Room