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"Here comes the bride!" announced Terry, aiming the camera at Abby.

"Oh, no!" the young woman exclaimed, "not the camera!"

"You say that now, Abby," laughed Terry, "but one of these days, you'll be glad you have these pictures! Go stand next to Jake!" he directed.

"Here are the rings for the ceremony," said Abby, handing the velvet box to him.

It was then that she noticed a strange look on Jake's face, as he watched Terry's camera pan the room. His fingers tightly gripped the box, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Suddenly, Abby remembered something she had read in Jake's file, just a few hours ago.

"Abby," warned Dr. Jacoby, "you'd better get him out of it."

"I know," said Abby, waving to Terry to turn off the device. "It's off, Jake," she said, gently.

"You're losing him," observed Dr. Jacoby, as everyone backed away from Jake and Abby.

"Jake, look at me," she instructed him. "Come on, look at me. Who am I?"

"Abby?" Jake whimpered, incoherently. "Make him stop. Please, make him stop!"

"Your father isn't here," she assured him. "The camera is off, and you're safe. Try to relax-- you're all clutched up."

Jake slowly unclenched his hands, accidentally dropping the ring box to the floor. Abby bent down and picked it up.

"You'd better hold on to this," she smiled, handing it back to him. "Okay, Dad. Let's go."

John looked at his wife, and exhaled deeply.

"All right," he said. "The little chapel isn't far."

Terry put down the troublesome camcorder and pocketed his cell phone, (the one with a digital camera). In the dim of the fast approaching night, the wedding procession made its way down the road to a small winding path that led to the church. John knocked on the door, and a middle-aged man answered.

"Yes?" asked the man.

"My daughter," began John.

"Come this way," interrupted the man, not waiting for John to finish his explanation. "The bride needs to fill out these forms, and the groom, these forms. If either of you are on parole or probation, I'll need the permission of your parole officer, before I can proceed."

"Jake's parole officer is Sheriff Peterson," said Abby, handing him the phone number.

"I'll be right back," said the man, accepting the card from Abby.

"This place has changed," observed John, looking about the church, as Izumi settled down to help Abby fill out her stack of forms. Dick guided Jake through his set, and was not even half finished, when the man returned.

"The Sheriff said it's all right, so when the couple is ready, we'll start the ceremony. I'll be in my office until then."

As he left, Terry sat down on an empty pew. The inside of the church was lit up, contrasting the night that darkened the stained glass windows. Kernels of rice scattered about the floor, lonely remnants of the previous ceremony. There was a stale feeling in the air that made Terry feel disappointed. He sighed heavily and glanced at Dr. Jacoby, who looked as though he were feeling the same thing.

John took a seat near Terry.

"This isn't how I remembered the chapel at all," said John, sadly.

"As long as it's legal-- that's the important thing, right?" grinned Terry, trying to rally his friend's spirits.

"Poor Abby," sighed John. "I had hoped to make this more special, like the way it was with Izumi and me. I remember that night so well. I wish Abby could have had those kinds of memories."

"Just look at Jake," smiled Terry, showing John a photo on his cell's display screen. "The poor guy looks terrified."
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